#i've reached ascendance

[anaconda-creates]

for the life of me I cannot find the original post where I found this website but yeah it certainly is an experience

https://neal.fun/stimulation-clicker/

[good-and-evil-daily]

See

Song: Never Meant to Know

120/3221

120/269

[gonegrove]

heather 🤝 billy bpd girlies

[chuluoyi]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄, 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

husband and wife, at the pinnacle of their love. on a night filled with wonders, you will know that he sees only you and everything that you are

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, explicit smut: slightly rough & drunken sex, fingering, missionary. you and zayne have a daughter (her name is meirin!)

note: god what have i written... the anniversary banner pv made me do it T^T anyhow, this is also a direct prequel to the upcoming angst fic in the name of love :))

“Whoa, so that’s Dr. Zayne and his wife...”

Soft whispers rippled through the crowd the moment you and your husband stepped into the pristine ballroom, all eyes subtly drawn to your arrival.

Tonight, you were accompanying Zayne to Akso Hospital’s anniversary dinner party. His sharp gaze and immaculate three-piece suit made a striking impression. Naturally, you matched his sophistication in every way—your flowing black dress accentuated your figure, while your hair styled into an elegant updo.

A sight for sore eyes, that was what the two of you were.

“Mind your step,” he murmured softly, his voice reassuring as the two of you gracefully ascended the stairs. His left arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but notice the envious gazes of the ladies fixed on you.

“How does such a perfect couple even exist?”

“She’s so pretty… Of course, Dr. Zayne only wants the best.”

“Oh! And I’ve heard they already have a daughter too!”

A smile curled on your lips, a subtle boost of confidence washing over you as their murmurs reached your ears. You felt giddy too—on most days, you were a hunter in a life-and-death situations, rough and rugged. But tonight, draped in elegance and arm-in-arm with Zayne, you felt like a princess.

“Don’t smile that wide...” he suddenly whispered to your ears, a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “You’ll look like Meirin when she’s munching on her cookies.”

You shot him a frown. “Wha?”

“All those praises are going straight to your head.” Even in a prestigious event like this, Zayne couldn’t resist teasing you. “Sooner or later, it’ll get too big for me to handle.”

Fixing him with an unimpressed glare, you deadpanned, “Shush, you!”

When you reached the main hall, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, blending with the elegant music playing in the background. The hospital director, an elderly man with a warm smile, greeted you both along with his wife.

"Zayne, thank you for coming," he said, shaking your husband's hand and giving him a light pat on the shoulder. His gaze then turned to you. "Ah, this must be the stellar hunter wife of Dr. Zayne. You look absolutely radiant, madam."

"Ah, please don't call me that..." You mustered your most polished facade, supplying a soft, graceful laugh.

The director's wife grinned and added, "Why didn’t you bring your daughter here? Everyone’s looking forward to finally meet her already."

"She's a handful," Zayne immediately replied with a smile, his tone warm and affectionate. "And she gets fussy when her bedtime nears, so we decided to leave her with my in-laws tonight."

The director let out a hearty guffaw. "No matter how fussy she is, she must be really adorable with a mother this beautiful, eh?"

Throughout the night, it was a compliment you frequently heard. While you were flattered, a thought lingered in the back of your mind—what were your husband's true thoughts about all this attention to you?

Zayne was keenly aware of how captivating you were.

There was a surge of pride whenever he had you on his arm. Just like any man out there, he too wanted to show his hot wife off and flaunt her so everyone could see, as if saying: This is my woman.

But he too knew that it was in a human's nature to covet what they didn't have. And it was rightly proven when he stepped away for just a moment, only to return and find you engaged in conversation with a man.

The hospital director's son, no less.

"Miss, I've heard you're part of the Hunter Association?" he asked you inquisitively. "What a noble profession it is! Keeping all of us here safe on daily basis."

You responded demurely, "And those in Akso do the same, don’t they?"

Your conversation was harmless, and Zayne was a rational man, so he didn’t feel the need to intervene. He just made sure his gaze was on you every so often.

But when the director’s son began persistently offering you drinks, filling your glass time after time, Zayne's patience began to wear thin. The sight of the man’s insistence grated on him, stirring a possessive unease he couldn’t entirely ignore.

. . .

You could’ve sworn your vision swam a little after the third glass of alcohol. The warm buzz coursing through you also made everything seem a little brighter, and left you feeling just slightly off-balance.

"Miss, the white wine here is the best—" the man standing before you declared with a convincing grin, swirling the bottle in front of you. "Don't you want to try some?"

"Ah, no, sir..." you replied with a polite laugh, raising a hand in subtle refusal. "I've already had whiskey and gin just now—"

"Just a little! You really have to try it!"

You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck as the alcohol already coursing through your system made your cheeks flush. You didn’t even like alcohol much and only drank socially, but this was the very son of your husband's boss. Refusing outright seemed rude—

“Can you kindly not make her drink too much?”

Or so you thought, until your knight in three-piece suit suddenly stepped in and saved you from your plight.

Zayne’s tone was gentle yet firm, his words striking an authoritative balance. He flashed a placating smile. “My wife doesn’t have a very high tolerance.” Swiftly, he grabbed the glass from your hand and, without missing a beat, downed its contents in one go.

“If you’re looking for a drinking partner, let it be me instead.”

You knew better than anyone that your husband didn’t have a particularly high tolerance for alcohol either. Yet, for the next 30 minutes, you watched, equal parts impressed and concerned, as he matched the man drink for drink, deflecting further offers directed your way with a subtle, protective grace. Though Zayne’s words remained measured, you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

And soon, you’d witness just how far his limits had been pushed.

“Zayne! Are you alright?”

Worry laced your voice as you placed both hands on Zayne's cheeks, your brow furrowing in concern. Somehow or another you managed to drag your husband away and led him to the hotel room.

The warmth of his skin was unmistakable, and his face contorted in discomfort as the vertigo hit him full force. “Oh no, what have you done? Why did you even drink that much!?”

“I’m fine,” Zayne grumbled, his voice thick.

“You’re drunk!” You couldn't help but scold him as you started pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt, trying to help him breathe easier. “You can’t even handle alcohol properly, and yet you’re trying to keep up with him...”

To Zayne, your voice somehow felt comforting. His mind was hazed, but your touch—your hand against his neck—felt like a cool splash of clarity.

His pretty wife... The dizziness was making it hard to stay upright, but the sight of you grounded him, and he instinctively leaned into you—

“Zayne—!”

You barely managed to catch his weight, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. He was so warm against you, his breath uneven, not to mention the slight tremor in his body. "Are you alright?!" you asked in a flurry. "Oh, let me get you some water—"

"You talk too much..." Zayne murmured, his words slurred as everything around him swayed.

Gripping your shoulder to steady himself, his unfocused gaze lingered on you, drawn to the curve of your lips, the delicate line of your neck, and the outline of your cleavage.

How can he have a wife this ravishing and do nothing?

And suddenly, he was sober. Very sober.

Or maybe not. It was simply just him finally giving in to his desires.

In one go, he seized your wrist, yanking you against him with sudden force— and with a quick tilt of your startled, precious face, he devoured your lips in heat.

"—!" It was like a spark igniting, burning through every thought. His mouth was urgent, demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second to feel the rush of your closeness. His kiss was intoxicating—almost overwhelming—as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to gain better access.

Zayne's hands moved to your back, pulling you into him, so close that the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then those sinful hands wandered to your hips, guiding you toward the desk. With reckless urgency, he swept everything off the surface, sending objects crashing to the floor with a sharp clang and made you sit on it.

"Ah, Zayne, you—!" You accidentally pushed him back, and he growled the moment your lips parted.

"Are you trying... to escape?" His gaze turned dark with lust, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Why? Isn't this exactly how you wanted me to be...?"

In that moment, you gulped as your heart thundered in your chest. What was even happening now? How did it escalate into this?

You stuttered, eyes widened, "Z-Zayne..."

But your husband had shed all traces of his usual composed self. In the haze of his muddled thoughts, he was driven purely by need. He swiftly removed his glasses, tossing them aside without a second thought, and this time—

His lips went straight for your neck, which, unbeknownst to you, had looked so enticing to him all evening.

"Hahh..." His breathy grunts were hot against your skin and his touch no longer gentle but firm and possessive. His mouth moved with a mix of hunger and desperation, and you struggled to contain the moans as his hands slipped inside your dress, and—

A shiver ran down your spine when he spread your legs, and you couldn’t help the titillating gasp that escaped when inserted his two of his fingers in you all at once, edging you.

"Ungh, ngh! Hah—" Your body jerked and you clung to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Zayne wasn't usually this brash, but tonight it was as if a screw had come loose.

"Louder," he commanded in your ear, and your heart pounded at his authoritative voice. He pushed his digits deeper as if punishing you, that you yelped. "Do not hold back."

He lifted you by your waist, effortlessly pressing you against the small table by the window. You were on the 20th floor, the world below far out of sight, but the thought that anyone might catch a glimpse was somehow... thrilling.

"I-I'm close—" you stammered, and the moment you did, your husband vigorously moved his fingers inside your squelching folds, "A-ah!"

The room felt smaller, the air thicker. The way your walls took his fingers alone made your thoughts scatter, and when you came undone on him, you latched onto him, your head resting against his chest as your breaths came in shaky, uneven gasps. "Z-Zayne... please..."

He pulled out his fingers, looked at your cum coating them, and brought them to your lips. You, still trembling, sucked the essence off with teary eyes.

Sweaty, disheveled, lips swollen and cheeks flushed... how he had reduced you into this state was gratifying.

Zayne’s gaze darkened, his breath heavy as he stared down at you. "Are you ready to take me now?"

You nodded.

He gave you a small smirk, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw gently. "Good girl."

He lifted you over to the bed, and you gasped in surprise as he tossed you onto the soft sheets, the motion quick but not unkind. You barely had time to react before his intense gaze locked onto yours, his presence domineering above you.

“Spread your legs.”

Was this man really your husband? Sometimes, you still struggled to reconcile the tender part of him and the man consumed by a unrestrained intensity before you now.

By now you had swallowed all shame and did so. You wanted to look away, but then unable to when the sight before you caught your breath—

All the while, he had his eyes on you. Zayne pulled at his tie with deliberate intent, then he shed his suit pieces, casting them to the floor with a casual abandon, before undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt, revealing his bare chest altogether.

Your husband looks so hot. The way he gazed at you throughout it all too...

He glanced at the space between your legs. “Wider.”

You complied, letting your face burn impossibly hotter, anticipating him.

He eased in slowly, starting with just the tip. You whimpered at the intrusion.

"Hurts?" he questioned with a frown.

"No," you refuted quickly, desire too burning in your gaze as you met his eyes. "I can take more."

You arched your back as Zayne sank deeper, his full length filling you. A moan tumbled from your lips as your walls clenched in response, and he pushed himself completely inside you.

"Hah..." You inhaled sharply, giving yourself a moment to adjust to his entire length, and seeing you like that, your husband cradled the side of your face with his palm.

"So beautiful..." Zayne whispered, his glazed gray-hazel eyes fixed on your spent face. His other hand clasped yours, pinning it beside your head. "My wife... is so incredibly beautiful."

It was heart-fluttering to know that your husband found you pretty. Everyone might compliment you the same way, but his were the only one that truly mattered. After seven years of marriage, your heart still skipped a beat every time he held your gaze like this.

Without warning, Zayne started to move his hips. Your moans got louder and unabashed as his movements were slow at first, before he picked up the pace and thrusted in and out of you with fervor.

"Ahhh!" You threw your head back as his thick cock messily dragged itself against your walls. In, out, in out— Stars began to blur your vision, your nails digging into his shoulder as you reached for him.

You could see that excited glint in his eyes, the lust exploding at the sight of you. He watched you intently, savoring the way unbound desire twisted your face, each mewl you made filling the air. Your thoughts turned into puzzle pieces—

Thrust. So full, you are.

Thrust. What if... this time— you become pregnant again?

Thrust. That would be... nice. You can call it “New Years’ baby.”

Everything was incoherent. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, each hit to that one spot sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, pushing you to the brink of tears and screams.

Then, unexpectedly, he reached his climax first. His cum shot through, filling your womb to the brim in spurts after spurts, and you cried, trembling beneath him. Your release followed suit though, and you went limp in the aftermath.

Zayne collapsed on top of you and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in the crook of his neck, his name still falling off your lips as a whisper in his ear, a gentle song laced within moans. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, panting heavily against you.

“I love you.”

The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in a tangled web of desire.

The first thing he heard was your whimper.

With a groan, Zayne cracked his eyes open the morning after, instantly recognizing the dull ache in his head—it was a hangover. But before he could press his hands to his temples, his gaze fell on you, curled up in a blanket next to him.

And the whimper came again, and it tugged at something deep inside him.

“What’s... wrong?” he asked in a groggy voice, turning toward you, his hand instinctively reaching for you despite the pounding headache. “Are you alright...?”

You blinked up at him, a flicker of resentment in your gaze, and Zayne gathered you into his arms. The events of last night came back to him in fragments, and realization dawned on him.

“Are you... sore?” he murmured, concern edging his tone.

“I hate you,” you retorted in a scratchy voice, mushing your head in his shoulder. Zayne widened in slight surprise, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“Is that it...? I’m sorry...”

He gently patted your head and back, trying to soothe you. The sight of you—vulnerable and distressed—made his heart tighten with a pang of guilt. Just how rough had he been with you last night?

“There, there, it’ll pass...” he said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s normal... because we went longer and more vigorous than usual... Probably just mild irritation in your—”

“Don’t pull medical facts on me,” you muttered sullenly, weakly punching his chest. A smile made its way to his face at your mini attack.

“But it’s true though?”

How endearing. He couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, his heart softening at the sight of you, even in your grumpy state.

And in that moment, Zayne thought, nothing could've possibly ever shatter his world ever again.

[onlygarden]

[not so fast...] - yang jungwon

genre: smut

description: just as you're about to head out to grab a few things from the store, jungwon decides he wants you to stay. established relationship, dom jungwon, rough sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling/yanking, spitting in mouth, slapping, jungwon grips reader hard enough to bruise and draw blood, jungwon cums all over reader, oral sex (male receiving), cumeating, facefucking, degradation (whore, bitch, etc.), bit of power play.

a/n: it's a few days after christmas, but i'm wishing the merriest of christmases and the happiest of new years to everyone : ) it's been a little while since i posted a fic but i've been aching to write this for about a week. this might be the nastiest fic i've ever written but this is the result of jungwon. the inspiration smacked me in the face out of nowhere while i was watching a jungwon edit. jungwon PLEASE LET ME HIT

the muted padding of your feet against the carpeted stairs compelled jungwon’s curiosity, along with his undivided attention. a gentle “where are you going, baby,” sailed gracefully to your ears, and a small smile stretched it’s way across your face. 

“just.. headed to the store,” you said casually, as you lept slightly from the last step. your body drifted closer to his, your arms reaching out to wrap snugly around his torso. it was almost instinctual, but you were far too aware of the way you constantly longed for his warmth for any of your actions to be brushed off as involuntary. 

his hands slowly roam your back as you hug him, their path descending to lower territory, and quickly ending their journey as they rest a taunting distance from your rear. 

“the store?” he echoes, his voice a faint, leisurely murmur against your ear. “but i was just thinking about you, baby…” he starts, his fingers tensing a bit against the small of your back. 

“...and… mmmh, you always smell so good, i just wanna…” as the words tumble from his smooth lips, his hands slither down to the flesh of your ass, his fingers digging in with unbridled greed. 

a breath escapes your lips, your inclination to shop suddenly fading, the items on your shopping list suddenly becoming less of an urgent need. 

“won, i need to…” you start, but the harsh squeeze of his hands as they sink into your plush behind, and the way his body began to show you just how hard of a time he was having quickly began to usher any rational thoughts from your mind. 

he leans closer to your face as your weak, unconvincing plea rings throughout the air, and his lips brush against yours with every syllable that his mouth forms. 

“need to what, baby? hm?” his hands leave your ass with reluctance, caressing the curved lines of your waist as his fingers tense with the pressure of reining himself in. 

he continues, his words just as tormenting as his actions, slowly replacing everything you thought you ‘needed’ to do with an insistent desire that mirrored his own. 

“wouldn’t you rather just let me…” your arms now drape delicately around his neck as his hands land upon the waistband of your sweatpants, and his fingers begin to dip beneath the material, tracing along the lace of your thong. 

“do what i want?” his lips now glide along your jaw, igniting each inch of skin with a heat that only his lips could bring, though he still wasn’t kissing you. 

“god… please, won,” the words jumped from your throat in a breathless sigh before you could even think about denying him. 

a soft chuckle floats from jungwon’s lips, causing more heat to burst in your stomach, and the thin material of your thong struggles to accommodate the arousal gushing so plentifully out of you. 

jungwon lifts your body with haste, allowing your legs to wrap around him before ascending the stairs impatiently. in this moment, they were nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle further delaying him from drenching his cock with your sweet warmth. 

he tosses your body onto the bed, watching as you bounce slightly, completely helpless upon impact. your helplessness only serves to provoke his ache to devour you even further.

he lays down on the bed, resting his head against the pillow, his eyes refusing to leave your form– the way the breath escaped from your plump, parted lips as you regained your bearings, the way your chest heaved slightly and your tank top dipped low enough to provide him with a glimpse of your breasts, the way you looked at him as you patiently waited for a command from him. you were so delicate, so flustered, so pliant, and every bit of you belonged to him. all his, just his to use, to take, to ravage. 

“wanna make you choke, come here,” he announced casually, as though the words themselves didn’t weaken every fiber of your body. 

he pushes his pants down as you approach him, and you finish pulling them down the course of his legs as his boxers follow in tandem. 

god, you could never grow tired of worshipping his cock. jungwon is fucking hung. so hung, you can barely stop yourself from calling him ‘hungwon’ whenever you refer to him. he leaked with the evidence of his desperation, fully sprung from his pure adoration for you. 

you spit onto his length, stroking him, lathering him with it, spreading such generous lubrication over every inch of him. as you open your mouth and lower your head onto him, jungwon’s fingers lace into your hair, snatching any false sense of control away from you. he was entirely heedless of any sputters that escaped you as he pushed your head down, forcing his length to the back of your throat. 

a breathy grunt tumbles past his lips as he holds your head in place, thrusting upwards at a leisurely pace, thoroughly enjoying the way your saliva sloshed and flowed around his length, surrounding him, engulfing him with deliciously moist heat. 

“fuck, such a good fucking girl… mmm… just like that baby, yea…” he cooed, his head tilting back and his eyebrows drawing together as the pleasure began to overwhelm him.

the sweet praises which left his lips stood in such bitter contrast to the way he tortured your throat, tears sliding down the bridge of your nose as short, desperate breaths escaped your nostrils. 

with no urgency, he lifts your head from his length, tugging on your hair to encourage you to crawl up his body. as you reach his lips, he forces your face towards his, his fingers remaining stubbornly laced in your hair. his velvety lips meld against yours, and his tongue quickly shoves past your lips to tangle with your own. 

you feel his weight pressing you into the mattress, along with his shoulders caging you in, as he rolls on top of you, his cock prodding so demandingly against your lower abdomen. 

he draws his lips from yours with difficulty, leaving a final, chaste kiss against your lips before his lips meet your neck, leaving an urgent trail of kisses along your heated skin. 

“you’re so beautiful, baby… so damn pretty…” the words hardly leave his lips before he’s yanking your tank top from your body, each piece of your clothing leaving your body with such haste, you barely register the sensations of the material against your skin. 

“open your legs,” he demands, and you oblige, without a single thought.

jungwon swiftly discards his shirt, before his hands latch themselves onto the pillowy flesh of your thighs, his nails leaving imprints from the force of his grip. 

“fuck, look at you…” he whispers, marveling the sight of your glossy arousal spilling onto the sheets beneath you.

a low moan dances to your ears as he plunges himself inside of you, reaching unimaginable depths, punishing you with the speed and pressure of his thrusts as soon as he enters. his eyes flutter as he relishes the sensation of your silky slick swallowing and sucking his cock in. 

“oh, fuuuck, i love this pussy… you’re so fucking good at taking my cock baby, the only thing you’re good for…” he mutters drunkenly, his hand coming up to land a gentle slap across your face as the volume of your moans blares throughout the room. the smack arose from the desire to punish you, unable to control the aggression coursing through his body over how fucking good you were. 

your mouth hangs open, slack and pitiful, a series of whines and moans falling from your lips. tears spring helplessly to your eyes, playing along the edge of your eyelashes, and jungwon’s hands bury themselves within the flesh of your thighs, the pressure promising bruises to your skin. 

jungwon’s hand clamps onto your jaw harshly, forcing your eyes to meet his gaze. his eyebrows were furrowed, aggression, ecstasy, and effort all working together to create his expression. 

“who do you belong to? who’s fucking you dumb, huh?” he demands, his voice low and gruff as the sensation of your pussy surrounds him. 

you answer him, a pathetic “you, won!” leaving your lips, laced in with your moans. 

“that’s right, baby… good girl…my good little whore…” 

his hand clamps harder, squeezing against your cheeks as he instructs you to “open your mouth, baby.”

his spit falls into your open mouth, sliding down your tongue and mingling with your own, before you drink down every warm drop with an eager gulp. jungwon moans lowly as your mouth widens in anticipation for more.

“more? god, you’re such a whore. you’re so fucked up…” with a low hum, jungwon gathers a larger amount of saliva onto his tongue, spitting into your open mouth for the second time. his spit slides down your throat even more deliciously than the first time.

his relentless pounding continues, his long cock stretching you, abusing you, driving himself into you with such violent ferocity that it’s hard to believe he thinks your pussy is precious. mutters of “fucking bitch… nasty fucking bitch” tickle your ear as jungwon hurtles further into a haze of pleasure he’d never even dreamed of before meeting you. 

“mmm… baby, you don’t have a choice, do you? you just let me do whatever i want to you, huh?” in an almost taunting jeer, he grasps onto your breast with a firm hand, squeezing until he earns himself a whimper from you. he solidifies his ownership as he jiggles your flesh around, before returning to his bruising grip on your thigh. 

the velvety, slippery, warm confines of your pussy began to control his every action, his thrusts quickened to a euphoric speed, his erratic movements coupled with desperate breaths leaving his lips. 

your tears stream pathetically down your face, the pleasure coursing through your body only intensifying as jungwon’s desperation and aggression became more evident in each of his movements and noises. 

“too much! can’t, won…” you cry in a puddle of pleasure, every fiber of your body working quickly to prepare for your approaching orgasm, jungwon’s thumb working your clit in quick circles, sending you into a spiral of pure ecstasy that you could never be equipped for.

“too much? but you’re gonna cum all over me, aren’t you baby?” he mocks, his ingenuine coos and his comforting tone only serving to tease you as he continues to tear through you relentlessly. 

your moans grow stuttered, your volume escalating as your pleasure escalates, your delirious moans of his name leaving your lips impulsively, almost as though he was snatching it from you. you cum on his cock, your trembling legs evolving into writhes of your entire body, jungwon punishing your senses with pure bliss as he pummels you through your orgasm, still shoving his way into you at an unfaltering rhythm. 

fuck, you’re gorgeous, he thinks. it’s the most beautifully breathtaking sight his eyes were ever graced with in this life, certainly a sight he’ll never grow weary of. the sight of you, floating in the peak of a pleasure only he can ever bestow onto you. 

if he wasn’t close before, he’s close beyond question, now. as he races closer to his high, he lets out a series of low moans near your ear, quickly rambling, “oh, fuuuck, my dumb little whore…” in such depraved measure. he's not sure how he ever manages to hold out this long with you.

he swiftly withdraws himself from your divine pussy, stroking his cock for a brief duration before spilling his lavish cum over your body abundantly, his low moans now entwined with a more gravelly tone, his other hand drawing blood against your thigh as his nails embed themselves into your skin. a soft, feeble whimper falls from your lips at the sensation, and your skin warms from the pool of his cum decorating your torso.

he reaches over to the bedside table, retrieving his phone, before snapping a photo of your vulnerable, beautifully cum-drenched form. with two fingers, he greedily scoops his cum from your body, shoveling each bit into your eager mouth. he feeds you until you’re sucking hungrily on his fingers, yearning for just a bit more. 

“that’s all, baby,” he breathes out, chuckling softly before climbing off of the bed to retrieve a warm towel for you. 

jungwon returns, gently running the wet towel over your delicate, battered body, sure to soak up the blood he pulled from your skin in his pleasured haze. 

he brings the soft cover over your body in a tranquil manner as he lay beside you, dragging your drained body close to his, a whisper of “you did well” caressing your ear. you always do so well, no matter the severity of his treatment, he thinks. 

“still need to go shopping, baby?” he teases, another soft chuckle vibrating in his chest as he feels you land a weak slap there, and he pats your bottom with a tender slap in retaliation.

[lizzyiii]

Hello, I would like to make an obscene yandere request to Aemond Targaryen for a cousin who is a Helen of Troy, she never met her cousins ​​and Gwayne locked her in the lighthouse because the children in Antigua have already declared duels and fights for her, please

“Alexa play Angel by Massive Attack.”

A Beauty Too Tempting

pairing | aemond x cousin!reader word count | 5.4k summary | when aemond targaryen learns of his cousin—a beauty so captivating that men are willing to die for you—he becomes dangerously obsessed, determined to claim you for himself. tags | 18+ MDNI! smut, p in v, slight dubcon, fingering, oral sex (f) receiving, possessive sex, rough sex, virginity kink, breeding kink, obsession, dirty talk, no description for reader, creampie, religious guilt, guys this was crazzzyyy, yandere aemond, delusional aemond, obsessive aemond. a/n | this was such an interesting and creative prompt, damnnnn. also I think this might be the best smut I've ever written. KEEP BOTH HANDS ON THE PHONE (NOT PROOFREAD)

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Aemond had finally ascended.

His reckless, wine-soaked brother was a shadow of the past, burnt and broken beyond repair. Though the Seven Kingdoms still called him “Prince Regent,” Aemond knew he held the true power of a king—and wielded the might of a dragon unmatched in all the realm.

He was Prince Regent, yes, but also the rider of Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons, the slayer of Daemon Targaryen, the butcher of his treacherous half-sister and her rabble of bastards.

At God’s Eye, he had cast Daemon down, wresting from him the title of warrior to which he clung so stubbornly. And when Alys Strong’s deceit led him astray, she too had met the edge of his blade, her charms and false promises extinguished in the cold stone of Harrenhal’s dungeons. Now, what was left of his family was but the bones of the house.

Only his mother and his niece remained, the ones bound by duty and blood. Helaena, broken by grief and driven mad with sorrow, had thrown herself from her chamber balcony, finding an end that her shattered mind had long sought. Aegon, the crown’s fool, lay in a stupor of smoke and agony, burned and nearly lifeless after his fall from Moondancer’s flames.

But Aemond ruled now—his alone was the realm’s rightful power. The Seven Kingdoms were his to bend, as was his every desire. He had broken his betrothal to the Baratheon girl without a second thought; a warlord and dragonrider of his stature deserved a bride worthy of his legend. He was the last dragon of House Targaryen, and his queen would be a beauty revered, one whose grace and purity might rival the Maiden herself.

And that was when Aemond first heard of you.

Fleeting whispers had reached him from Oldtown, speaking of his uncle Gwayne’s daughter—a maiden so beautiful that men spoke of you as if you were touched by the gods. Tales claimed you had been cloistered away in the Watchtower’s highest chamber, veiled to protect the eyes and sanity of any man who caught sight of you.

There, concealed behind shadows and stone, you were kept far from the reach of suitors who risked life and honor in duels, each vying for even a single glimpse of your face.

Your father, Ser Gwayne Hightower, had fallen in the fires of the Dance, and your mother had died bearing you, leaving you alone in that desolate tower—an unclaimed jewel, hidden and waiting.

The thought stirred something fierce within Aemond. He would go to you, he decided. He would see this beauty so lauded, this Hightower daughter untouched by the world’s corruptions, and he would decide if you were worthy to become his Queen, his Targaryen bride. For if your beauty proved true, you would belong to him alone, bound by devotion and a loyalty owed only to the dragon and its rider.

After landing Vhagar just outside Oldtown, Aemond took a horse into the city, riding with the air of a conqueror. But even he was taken aback by the scene awaiting him. High walls surrounded the Watchtower of House Hightower, fortified and stern, yet it was the gathering outside that seized his attention.

Hundreds of men crowded the courtyard and spilled into the streets, shouting, some nearly brawling as they jostled against one another. Their voices rose in a fervent cacophony, names and cries echoing like a battle chant.

Aemond’s gaze swept over them with disdain. Fools, all of them, clamoring over the mere hope of being in your presence. As he approached the Tower’s gates, the guards lowered their spears and bowed their heads, recognizing the rider of Vhagar, the One-Eyed Prince who now held the realm in his grip.

They opened the gates without question, allowing him through to the Tower’s base, where a young servant girl waited nervously.

She kept her eyes down as she led him up the spiraling stairway to the highest chamber. But Aemond’s curiosity simmered, and his tone was sharp when he finally spoke. “Who are these men gathered outside? What madness drives them to swarm like starving wolves?”

The servant’s face went pale, but she dared to glance up briefly, voice trembling. “They’re suitors, my prince…men from every corner of the realm. Many have traveled from the Reach and the Riverlands, even as far as Dorne and the North, all to seek my lady’s hand.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, a dark satisfaction curling at the edge of his lips. While the Dance Of Dragons had gone on, you had become something of a legend—a prize for fools and hopeful knights. But you were not for them.

“Let them scream themselves hoarse,” he murmured coldly, mostly to himself, as they reached the final stretch of the climb. His voice softened, though the weight of his words was fierce. “By nightfall, they will know she belongs to me alone.”

The servant kept her gaze down, fearful of the silent promises in his tone. They finally reached the door to the high chamber, and with a deep breath, she pushed it open, bowing as he strode past her.

As Aemond stepped inside, the air was thick with expectation, and he knew: he would let none of those suitors have you—not while he still breathed.

A figure stood near the narrow window, framed by the dim light filtering through the high stone walls. Draped in a gown as pale as starlight, a delicate veil fell over your hair and face, obscuring your features with an ethereal softness.

You looked less like a woman of flesh and blood, more like some forgotten goddess cast down from the heavens, your beauty hidden behind gauze and shadow. Almost nervously, the servant girl who had led Aemond withdrew, sparing one last, uncertain glance before closing the heavy door, leaving him alone with the lady in white.

The room was silent but for the faint rustle of fabric as the veiled woman turned, your movements graceful yet guarded. You saw him—a tall, imposing figure shrouded in the black and crimson of House Targaryen, his silver hair gleaming like the steel at his hip.

Though your vision was blurred by the veil, there was no mistaking him. Even in the isolated walls of your tower, you had heard tales of him, whispered rumors that crept into your dreams. Aemond Targaryen—the One-Eyed Kinslayer, the dragonrider who had torn through his own blood, leaving most of House Targaryen ashes in his wake.

A shiver coursed through you as you lowered your head, barely daring to meet his single, penetrating gaze. You bent your head respectfully and murmured, “Your grace.”

At the sound of your voice—soft and lilting, as if it had drifted down from the heavens—Aemond’s breath hitched, and he paused, his gaze never wavering. You sounded like the very embodiment of the myths that had reached him, a voice so pure it defied the violence that had carved his path to you.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward you, each one bringing him closer to the veiled creature he had come to claim. “I am not only your Prince Regent,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “I am your kin as well.”

You nodded, your lashes fluttering beneath the veil. “Of course…cousin,” you replied shyly, your voice no more than a murmur, though it reached him clearly in the silence of the chamber.

Aemond’s lips curved, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his face as he closed the distance between you. “You must know,” he continued, his tone possessive yet calm, “that I have not come all this way merely out of kinship. You are spoken of as if you were a queen in waiting…your beauty, your grace. Men would kill for a single look upon your face.”

Your cheeks warmed beneath the veil, though you dared not lift your head. The idea of such fierce, consuming attention unsettled you, yet you could not deny the pull he exerted on your senses—a dark, magnetic power that seemed to draw you closer, even as your instinct told you to step back.

“And now,” Aemond murmured, lifting a hand toward you, fingers ghosting over the edge of your veil, “it is I who have come to see if these tales hold truth. To decide if you are worthy…to stand beside me as my queen.” He let the words hang in the air, laden with meaning, with possession.

Beneath the veil, your lips parted, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The One-Eyed Prince had not come to court or woo you like the other men clamoring below; he had come to claim you, with a certainty that brooked no refusal.

“Tell me, cousin,” he whispered, his tone heavy with dark intent, a veiled promise lying beneath each word. “Would you defy me if I named you mine?”

He drew closer, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a shiver through you as your heart hammered against your ribs. The weight of his claim felt as tangible as the stone walls around you, and in that instant, you knew defiance was a luxury that held no place here.

Before you could gather the breath to respond, Aemond’s hand rose toward your veil, his fingertips hovering just above its delicate fabric. A sense of desperation seized you, and your voice broke through the silence, raw and pleading. “Don’t! Please… I only wish to spare you.”

Aemond’s lips curved in a faint, humorless chuckle, his eye gleaming with something far more dangerous than mere amusement. “Spare me?” he murmured, as though the very idea amused him.

“You misunderstand, cousin. I do not seek to be saved.” His voice softened, yet the iron in his tone was unmistakable. “I seek only to behold my future wife.”

Your heart raced, every instinct urging you to step back, but your body seemed to betray you, rooted to the spot as Aemond reached out, his fingers grazing the edge of your veil. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it, casting the thin fabric away and laying bare the face that had haunted his imagination.

The moment the veil fell, silence claimed the room, broken only by Aemond’s sharp intake of breath. His gaze devoured each feature of your face, sweeping over you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, as if he were drinking in the sight of a rare and coveted treasure.

He exhaled slowly, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his fingers traced a line along your cheek, his touch both possessive and tender. “Beautiful…” he breathed, his voice thick with awe and something deeper, something darker. “Far more than any tale could capture. You are… a vision.”

A flicker of fear mingled with the warmth on your cheeks, and you dared to lift your gaze to his, the intensity of his stare almost unbearable. He studied you, and you sensed it was not mere admiration that darkened his eye, but hunger—a need so consuming it seemed to radiate from him.

“From this day forward,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw, “you are mine. And I… I will allow no one, not even the gods, to take you from me.”

Your breath caught as Aemond’s fingers ghosted over your skin, sparking a fire that seemed to radiate through every inch of you. For a fleeting moment, your eyelids fluttered closed, helplessly savoring the sensation. But reality, sharp and undeniable, tore them open again, reminding you where you stood—and with whom.

“C-Cousin, please…” you murmured, your voice trembling as your hands pressed against the hard plane of his chest, a fragile attempt to create space. “This… this cannot be. You should not…”

The words stumbled from your lips, half-hearted at best, even as your body betrayed you, arching subtly toward him, drawn like steel to a magnet. A flush of warmth rose beneath your skin, pooling in your cheeks, and beneath the thin fabric of your gown, your nipples peaked, aching under his gaze. The rush of sensations nearly overwhelmed you, each one more intoxicating than the last.

Aemond’s lips curved in a knowing, wicked smile, his eye gleaming as he took in your struggle, your futile attempts at resistance. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, so close that his breath mingled with yours, warm and heady.

“Wrong?” he murmured, his voice a dark, velvet caress, each syllable dripping with unrestrained desire. “There is no wrong between us, cousin. Only what was always meant to be…only fate and desire.”

Your heart raced, pounding against his chest, each beat echoing the dangerous thrill of his words. His hand slipped to the nape of your neck, his touch firm and possessive, as though he could bind you to him with that single gesture. He tilted your head ever so slightly, his mouth hovering just above yours, his gaze burning with intent.

“We are bound by blood,” he whispered, his words low and fervent, “by something far stronger than any foolish notion of right or wrong.” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, a featherlight touch that set your skin alight. “Do you not feel it, the way I do?”

You barely managed a nod, your mind clouded by the closeness, by the undeniable pull of him. With a fluid, almost predatory grace, Aemond’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, so close you could feel every contour of his lean frame pressing into yours.

His chest was a wall of heat, solid beneath your touch, and your breath hitched as you became all too aware of the hardness pressing insistently against your belly.

“Let me guide you,” he whispered, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and laced with promise, “to pleasures beyond the realm of mortal imagination.” His voice was low, dark, each word dripping with seduction as he continued, “Yield to me, and I shall make you mine in ways the world could scarcely comprehend.”

Every syllable curled around you, dissolving your remaining resistance like morning mist. Against all sense, your body softened, your resolve unraveling beneath his spell. Aemond’s words, woven with desire and power, coaxed you toward surrender. You melted against him, instinctively seeking the warmth he offered, your heart racing as his grip on you tightened possessively.

“Cousin…” you whispered, barely a breath, a mingling of plea and prayer.

Aemond’s lips curved, and he let out a soft, almost condescending click of his tongue, a smirk flickering in his eye. “I ask for so little,” he said, his tone deceptively light before his voice softened, becoming tender, almost reverent.

“Simply allow me to reign over you, to be the master of your heart and soul. Give me your loyalty, your love, your fear… let me own you in spirit and in flesh. Do that,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your jawline, “and I will serve you, worship you, slave to your every desire.”

A tremor ran through you as his hand drifted lower, fingers grazing the swell of your breast. Your nipple pebbled instantly, a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core. You gasped, your hips involuntarily rolling against his straining erection.

“Please... ” you whimpered, your resistance breaking in the face of such carnal temptation. ”I-I am a maiden, a child of the Seven.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Aemond's chest as he felt your delicate form yield to his touch, your body betraying its innate desire despite your protests. His fingers curled around the plump mound of your breast, kneading the soft flesh through the thin fabric of your gown.

“Child no longer,” he rasped, his thumb circling your aching nipple, coaxing it to an even harder peak. ”Maidenhood ends today, and a woman shall be born.”

With a swift tug, he ripped the laces of the front of your gown, exposing the swells of your breasts to his hungry gaze. He palmed them roughly, thumbs teasing the stiff peaks as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering the sweetness within with his tongue.

"Mine," he growled against your lips, his hands roaming your body possessively

Your cry of shock morphed into a moan of ecstasy as Aemond's mouth ravaged yours, his dominant presence swallowing your very essence. The rough handling of your breasts sent sparks of delight coursing through your veins, your nipples throbbing in time with the pounding of your heart.

"No...no," you breathed against his lips, the words tumbling out unbidden. "This is wrong... this is sinful."

Ignoring your feeble protests, Aemond continued to explore your body with unrestrained lust. His hands roamed freely over your curves, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence usually reserved for sacred texts.

“Sinful indeed,” his voice was a husky purr against your lips. “Yet how sweetly addictive it tastes.”

His hands trailed lower, bunching your skirts to your waist to find the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. He groaned at the wetness he found there, a testament to your body's readiness for him.

“Such a delectable little cunt...” he whispered, his fingers slipping between your folds to test your readiness.

Your head fell back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat as Aemond's skilled fingers delved deeper, stroking your slickened flesh with a confident touch. A shudder rippled through you, your hips canting upwards in desperate pursuit of more.

“P-please...” you gasped, your voice trembling with devastation. “I...I've never...”

Aemond's knowing smirk only heightened your mortification, yet it couldn't quell the inferno building inside you. Your body was aflame, craving the release only he could provide.

“I'm afraid...” you murmured though your eyes were glazed with desire.

Aemond's eye gleamed with triumph as he watched you squirm under his touch, your innocence and inexperience only fueling his desire. He pressed a finger inside you, feeling your tight walls clench around the invading digit.

“Fear not, sweet cousin,” he cooed, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “I will be gentle... at first.”

He pumped his finger slowly, savoring the exquisite sensation of your virgin passage yielding to his touch. His thumb circled your pearl, applying just enough pressure to send jolts of pleasure racing through your nerves.

“You're doing wonderfully,” he praised, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grip your hip firmly. “Now, let's see if we can't coax out that pretty little scream, hmm?”

Your mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the onslaught of sensations assaulting your senses. Aemond's fingers moved within you with a practiced ease, each thrust and twist sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“N-no...stop!” you managed to choke out, even as your body betrayed you, arching into his touch. “It's too much!”

Aemond's grin widened, his eye flashing with dark amusement at your futile attempts to resist. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching for more.

“Foolish girl,” he chided, his tone dripping with condescension. ”You crave this, every bit of it. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind doesn't.”

He seized your wrists, pinning them above your head against the window as he loomed over you, his face inches from yours. His hot breath fanned across your cheeks, carrying the scent of smoke and masculine musk.

“Now, be a good little maiden and spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice low and commanding. “Let me taste you.”

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, your body thrumming with a mix of fear and exhilaration as Aemond's dominance asserted itself. Despite your reservations, a traitorous part of you yearned for the promised pleasure, your core clenching in anticipation.

"N-no...I won't...” you stammered, even as your thighs trembled, betraying your resolve. Aemond's grip on your wrists tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he forced you to submit.

“Please...” the word escaped your lips before you could stop it, a plea for mercy that sounded suspiciously like a plea for more, though confusion filled you, ”Why would you wish to taste me?”

Aemond's gaze raked over your trembling form, drinking in every quiver and gasp with sadistic delight. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his words dripping with dark promise.

"Because, my dear cousin," he purred, "I want to devour every inch of you until you forget your own name. Until all you know is my touch, my taste, my possession."

With a wicked grin, he released your wrists, only to grab your waist and throw you down upon your bed. You had no time to react before he settled between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart as he lowered his head, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.

Your heart raced, pounding in your ears as Aemond's words painted a vivid picture of degradation and desire. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at his mercy as he positioned himself between your spread thighs.

“And then, once I've had my fill,” he continued, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your slit, “I'll make you beg for more.”

“No...please...” your protests dissolved into a whimper as his tongue made contact with your aching sex, the wet heat of it sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

Aemond chuckled darkly at your feeble attempts to resist, the vibrations of his laughter sending shivers through your core. He increased the pressure of his tongue, lapping at your slick folds with relish, savoring the taste of your arousal.

“It's too much...I c-can't take it...” even as you spoke, your hips bucked upward, seeking more of that intoxicating sensation. Your hands flew to his head, tangling in his hair as you tried to pull him closer, to grind yourself against his questing mouth.

“You lie, sweet cousin,” he murmured against your flesh, his voice muffled but unmistakable. “You crave this, crave me. Your body sings for me, begs for my touch.”

He sucked gently on your pearl, the suction pulling a sharp cry from your lips. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he feasted on your cunt, his skillful tongue driving you closer to the edge with each passing moment.

“Release for me,” he commanded, his eye locking onto yours, burning with an intense, possessive hunger. “Let go and give me everything.”

Your entire being was consumed by the inferno of pleasure that Aemond ignited within you. His words, his touch, his very presence overwhelmed your senses until nothing existed beyond the coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter in your core.

“Ahh...oh gods...Aemond!” your cries echoed off the stone walls as you said his name for the first time and he pushed you relentlessly towards your peak. Your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his scalp as you held him close, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“Yes...yes! Don't stop...please don't stop...” you babbled incoherently, lost to the maelstrom of sensation. And then, with a final flick of his tongue, you shattered, your release ripping through you with the force of a tidal wave.

As your climax crashed over you, Aemond drank in your essence, reveling in the taste of your release. He lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure until you finally went limp beneath him, panting and dazed.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he gazed up at your flushed face. He crawled up your body, claiming your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to plunder the sweetness of your mouth.

“Now, let us see how well you respond to other pleasures,” he murmured against your lips, his hand sliding down to cup your breast, thumbing your nipple into a stiff peak. “We have only just begun to explore the depths of your devotion.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process the intensity of what had just transpired. Aemond's control over your body was absolute, leaving you weak and pliant in his grasp. Yet even as you trembled with aftershocks of pleasure, a thrill of anticipation coursed through you at his words.

“Other pleasure?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the fear that lingered, a spark of curiosity ignited within you, drawing you deeper into the unknown realm Aemond promised to show you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath as he fondled them. The sensation of his calloused palm against your tender flesh sent jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core, making you ache for more.

Aemond's smile was a wicked curve of his lips as he watched your reaction, delighting in the way your body responded to his touch.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I speak of the exquisite agonies of pleasure, cousin. The kind that make you scream and beg for mercy even as you crave more. The sort that leave you trembling and spent, yet yearning for the next touch, the next thrust...”

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the juncture of your thighs before dipping into your drenched folds. He circled your sensitive pearl, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

“Shall I show you these delights, Beloved? Shall I push you to the very brink of madness and back again, all for my own entertainment?”

A shiver ran down your spine at Aemond's words, a delicious chill that mixed with the heat building inside you. His touch was both gentle and ruthless, coaxing out responses you didn't know you possessed. Your hips bucked involuntarily as he stroked your most intimate places, seeking more friction and relief.

“Y-yes please...” you breathed, the word torn from you on a moan. Your hands came up to tangle in his long silver hair, holding him close as if to anchor yourself against the storm of sensations he unleashed.

Aemond's fingers danced across your sensitive flesh, pushing you higher and higher until you teetered on the edge of another release. Your vision blurred, your lungs burned for air, and still he teased, denying you the release you craved.

“Please...I need more,” you whined.

Aemond chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending vibrations through your quivering form. He released your pearl, his fingers trailing up your inner thigh before gripping your hip possessively.

“More, hmm?”

He leaned back, his piercing gaze drinking in every flush of color on your skin, every hitch of your breath. “Very well, cousin. Let us see how you fare against my cock.”

With a swift motion, he shed his trousers, freeing his rigid length. It stood proud and unyielding, the tip already glistening with pearly wetness. Aemond grasped your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he positioned himself between them.

Your eyes widened as Aemond revealed his manhood, the sight of it making your mouth go dry. The size and shape were intimidating, but a part of you thrilled at the prospect of being stretched so completely. You nodded, unable to find your voice as he spread your legs wider, exposing you fully to his hungry gaze.

“Are you ready to be filled, to be claimed in the most primal way possible?” He asked, his voice a husky growl.

"Yes...” you managed to whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

Aemond's grip on your ankles tightened as he aligned himself with your entrance. The head of his cock pressed against your slick folds, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. You bit your lip, bracing yourself for the intrusion.

“Please don't hurt me,” you whispered, your voice tinged with desperation.

Aemond's expression softened slightly at your plea, though the intent in his eye remained unchanged - a fierce, almost feral hunger. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “I would never harm you, sweetling," he paused, "at least not unless you begged me to."

With that, he surged forward, his thick cock driving into your welcoming heat in one powerful stroke. Your cry echoed through the chamber as you were split open around him, your body stretching to accommodate his impressive girth.

“Fuck, you're tight,” he groaned, pausing for a moment to let her adjust. His hips flexed, pulling nearly all the way out before plunging back in, setting a relentless pace. So fucking perfect...

A sharp cry tore from your throat as Aemond's massive cock impaled you, the sudden invasion sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your core. You arched your back, nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move within you, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last.

"Gods...it's too much..." you panted, struggling to breathe through the intensity of the sensation. “You're so big...”

Despite the discomfort, your body seemed to mold itself to his, craving the stretch and fullness he provided. Your inner walls clenched around him, trying to draw him in even further.

“More...give me more...” you whimpered, your hips rising to meet his punishing rhythm.

Aemond grunted in satisfaction at your wanton pleas, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. The obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by your keening cries.

“That's it, take it all,” he growled, his hand fisting in your hair as he angled your head back. “Scream for me, let everyone hear how thoroughly I'm claiming you.”

His free hand slid between your joined bodies, finding your swollen pearl and rubbing mercilessly. The dual stimulation had you writhing beneath him, your body wound tighter than a bowstring.

"Come for me, Beloved,” Aemond demanded, his voice rough with lust. “Come on my cock like the desperate little maiden you are.”

The words fell from Aemond's lips like honeyed poison, stoking the flames of your desire until they consumed you whole. Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your vision blurring at the edges as ecstasy coursed through your veins.

“Yes! Oh gods, yes!” you screamed, your voice echoing off the stone walls.

Your inner muscles spasmed wildly around Aemond's pistoning cock, milking him for all he was worth. The pressure building at the base of your spine reached a fever pitch before exploding outward in a burst of pure bliss.

“Aemond!” your name was a ragged gasp as you convulsed beneath him, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.

Aemond threw his head back with a triumphant roar as your orgasm triggered his own. His cock pulsed inside you, spilling his hot seed deep into your clencing cunt. Each jet seemed to last an eternity, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

“Take it all,” he snarled, grinding his pelvis against yours to ensure every drop was absorbed by your eager flesh. “You're mine now, forever and always.”

As the final spurts subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily as he savored the aftermath of their coupling.

When Aemond's release flooded your womb, you felt a sense of profound completion wash over you. Your body went limp beneath him, utterly spent yet deeply satisfied.

“Yours...” you echoed softly, the word falling from your kiss-swollen lips in a daze. “Forever and always...”

As exhaustion tugged at you, your limbs grew heavy, and the events of the day settled over you like a warm, thick blanket. Nestled in Aemond’s arms, you felt a strange comfort, a warmth you’d scarcely known, drawing you closer into his embrace as sleep beckoned. The solid strength of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was all that held you tethered as your eyes drifted shut.

“Rest now, my love,” he murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rasp, laced with a possessiveness that left no doubt of his intentions. “We have much to discuss when you’ve recovered.”

Even as you slipped into the gentle embrace of sleep, Aemond remained vigilant, his gaze never leaving you. His mind churned with plans and possibilities, already anticipating the obstacles that lay ahead. He knew that securing his claim upon you—upon both of you—would not come easily.

His arm tightened around you, a silent vow to protect, to possess, to keep you from any force that might try to tear you from him. Whatever it took, no matter the cost, you would remain his. He would allow no other fate.

A faint, triumphant smile touched his lips as he studied your sleeping face, taking in the softness of your features, the way your hair curled against your cheek. Tonight, he would let himself bask in the satisfaction of knowing you were his, that he had claimed your body and heart as surely as he had marked it.

“Sleep well, my queen,” he whispered, reaching out to brush a stray curl from your brow with uncharacteristic gentleness. His thumb lingered a moment, tracing the curve of your cheek, committing every detail to memory.

“Tomorrow, I take you to your new home.”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[megwritesriddles]

Caught Inbetween ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Sebastian (Stardew Valley) x Fem! Reader / You x Sam (Stardew Valley)

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 3 - Threesome. Abigail goes home early from game night, leaving Reader alone with the two boys for the night, only, Sam is acting a little too friendly.

Tags: Threesome F/M/M, P in V, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Oral sex (f and m receiving), Praise kink, Handjob, Pet names, Overstimulation, Multiple orgasms, Munch! Sam AND Seb, Friends to lovers, No action between Sam and Sebastian, PWP, No plot, Mentions of smoking.

Word count: 3.1k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Considered making it a Challengers vibe and having Sam and Seb be a bit gay, but opted to have them focus on the reader!! Also I hope it's not too painfully obvious that I've never had a threesome lol!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“Do you really have to go?” You pouted in the doorway as Abigail pulled her shoes on. She gave you an exasperated smile, deftly tying her laces. “Don’t leave me alone with two boys!” you whine playfully. She stands and nudges you with her elbow.

“It’s Sam and Seb, how bad can it be? I used to hang with them alone all the time before you moved here,” she reaches behind you for her coat on the hook, and you continue pouting.

“Oh come on… you’re sure your dad won’t let you off of opening duty?” you give her your best puppy dog eyes. She just scoffs and playfully slaps your arm.

“Yes, I’m sure, now I– Oh! Hey Seb,” you follow her eyeline to where Sebastian ascends the final stairs from his basement, shaking a box of cigarettes.

“Going for a smoke, I’ll walk you out Abi,” he grunts, slipping on his shoes and yanking his black jacket off of the hook. You step aside as he heads past you to the door. “I’ll be back in ten,” he glances at you over his shoulder before shoving open the door and heading out into the dark misty evening. You wonder if you imagined how his eyes had flicked down your body just then, shaking off the thought. You wave poutily to Abigail as she heads out behind him, she sticks her tongue out and waves back at you. The cool air pushes its way in forcefully through the door making you shiver, you yank it shut with a loud thud, before turning and hopping down the stairs back to Sebastian’s basement room. Sam is lounging on the small couch when you reappear, flicking uninterestedly through one of Sebastian’s computer magazines, the game of Solarion Chronicles from earlier discarded on the table now that Abigail has gone home.

“Oh thank God, I was beginning to think everyone had abandoned me,” Sam jokes, sitting up straight and tossing the magazine to the ground. You chuckle, walking over to sit beside him at his patted invitation. “I can always count on you,” he comments with a grin. You rest your head on the back of the couch, smiling up at him. “You look a little tired,” he frowns. You glare at him for that comment but sigh in defeat.

“Farming isn’t for the weak,” you grumble, rubbing your forehead for a moment. “It’s nice to get away from it for a little while,”

“I bet it is,” he coos, you give him a suspicious glance at his sickly sweet tone. He places a hand on your shoulder and draws you closer. “Here, let me rub your shoulders,” he suggests gently. As suspicious as you are of his actions, you can’t deny that you need a massage. You figure he’s just going to ask you to bake him some maple bars or something, and you don’t mind, considering you’re planning to bake tomorrow anyway. So, you turn around and relax your body as he pushes your hair aside and starts to gently work the muscles of your neck. His hands cup your shoulders, his thumbs digging into your neck, rubbing at the sore stiff muscles. It feels good, so good that you can’t stop your eyes from closing and a few little groans from escaping your lips, which only seem to egg him on. He rubs harder and hums softly. “God, you’re stiff,” he whispers against your ear. His tone gives you pause, your eyes fluttering back open. Had you imagined it or had he said that sort of… seductively? You turn your head slightly, trying to meet his eye, he just smiles lazily at you. “Stay still,” he chastises playfully, turning your head back around with care. He resumes his work, his thumbs slipping under the collar of your sweater to rub your shoulders. You groan again despite yourself, you really were stiff…

The door opening gets your attention, and you flush like you’ve been caught doing something inappropriate, even though nothing untoward is happening. Sebastian raises a brow at the two of you as he walks in. He walks over and sits down in front of you on the couch, smirking at you slightly. He glances behind you to meet Sam’s eye, looking like he knows something you don’t. As if in response to this look, Sam rubs his thumbs into your muscles a little harder, making you choke out a small sound. You feel embarrassed, but the boys just smile knowingly at one another, making you even more flustered.

“Our poor little farmer is all stiff and tired,” Sam coos gently from behind you. Sebastian pouts at you in response, you want to ask questions but the attractiveness of his pout keeps you quiet. Sebastian moves closer to you and you feel your breathing speed up as both boys crowd into your space. Sebastian’s hand comes up, pushing some hair away from your cheek, letting his fingertips linger. Your face twists in confusion for a moment before you break into a disbelieving smirk. They were trying to seduce you, together. This was certainly a change of pace. Sebastian smiles back at you almost shyly as Sam massages you, sensing you’ve figured them out.

“So, what’s all this really about?�� you ask accusingly, glancing between them, but they can hear you’re not really angry. Sam chuckles in your ear.

“You’re too perceptive,” he sighs, gently removing his hands from your shoulders. You turn so you can look between the two of them, they both look a little bashful now. “We never usually get a chance to get you alone without Abi,” he comments.

“And you look so beautiful,” Sebastian adds breathlessly. “We’ve always thought so,” you blush gently.

“Let us help you… destress…” Sam purrs. “We’ll make it so good for you,” he promises, placing his hand on your thigh gently.

“Both of you?” you confirm. When they nod in response, you feel yourself shiver at the thought. You’ve never really considered a threesome before, but now that the opportunity was in front of you, you felt yourself growing wetter by the second. You’d fantasised about both of them separately throughout your time as their friend, but now your brain was supplying you with an enticing mashup of these thoughts. Sebastian carefully wraps his arm around you, pulling you to lean against his chest, sitting between his legs. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, the scent of his cologne and the surprisingly enticing scent of cigarettes engulfing you completely, leaving you almost lightheaded.

“Will you let us?” he asks you quietly, his voice strained like it’s taking him a horrible effort to hold back from you. You breathe heavily as Sam places his hands on your knees, rubbing gently. Your eyes meet his and you see the lust there, the lust you feel mirrored in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll… let you,” you pant slightly. You immediately feel Sebastian's lithe fingers caressing your jaw, turning your head towards his own. He glances over your features for a moment before capturing your lips with his own. You whine softly as he kisses you desperately, his hands sliding up and down your sides. Your eyes shut, leaning back into Sebastian to get closer. His lips taste like mint, suggesting he had some gum after smoking in preparation to kiss you. It makes you smile softly. You feel fingers on your jaw, turning your head again and Sam is suddenly right in front of you, his eyes wide, pupils swallowing his irises. His lips are on yours swiftly, kissing with less control than Sebastian had, one hand cupping your cheek. You wonder in the back of your mind if he can taste the mint from Sebastian’s spit. You hear Sebastian breathing heavily by your ear, watching as Sam kisses you feverishly. His hand sneaks down your body while you’re distracted, sliding into the waistband of your pants and your panties. You gasp shakily as his fingertip trails up and down your wet folds, getting a feel for you. He groans softly as he gathers up some wetness and brings it up so he can more easily tease your sensitive bundle of nerves. You moan into your kiss with Sam at his barely there stimulation.

“She’s so wet Sam,” he exhales. You whine in embarrassment, Sebastian just kisses your neck soothingly in response. Sam withdraws from your lips, taking in how they’re pink and glossy from his kisses.

“Gotta see,” he grunts, leaning back to tug at your pants. You can’t believe what’s happening as you lift your hips, allowing him to bare your most intimate parts. His eyes flutter and he practically chokes at the sight of you as he gently spreads your legs, watching Sebastian’s finger swirl over you, making you twitch. “She’s soaked,” he whimpers. “You must really want us, eh pretty girl? He chuckles slightly, eyes fixed between your legs.

“Shut up,” you mumble weakly, moaning softly as Sebastian applies a little more pressure. Both boys chuckle at you and you find yourself laughing too, or at least trying to through the soothing pleasure.

“Didn’t you say you’d always wanted to eat her out?” Sebastian muses to Sam. You file away the realisation that they’ve talked about this seemingly extensively for later. Sam nods eagerly.

“Good call,” he mumbles, lowering himself so his head is between your legs. You gasp as his breath washes over your core, making you clench around nothing. Sebastian removes his finger, shuffling you back and tighter against his chest so Sam can settle more comfortably between your thighs. Sam begins to pepper kisses on your inner thighs, eyes glued to the glistening prize between your legs. “Please say I can taste you,” he groans. You just whine needily, but he seems to understand it fine, leaning in and licking a thick stripe over you, just to taste you. You both moan in unison as he does it. “Fuck… so perfect,” he dives in, bringing his hand up to spread you open, gently swirling his tongue over you. Sebastian is tugging your sweater over your head, but you barely register it over the sensations between your legs. There’s a soft thud as your sweater hits the floor, quickly followed by your bra, leaving you completely naked. Sebastian's hands roam all over your torso as Sam laps up at you relentlessly, moaning periodically at the taste of you. He holds your thighs open as they keep threatening to close around his head as you writhe and tense from his ministrations. Sebastian’s lips are on yours again, greedily swallowing up your moans and whines as Sam flicks his tongue quickly back and forth over your clit. Sebastian cups your breasts roughly as you arch up into his touch.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbles against your lips. “You look and sound gorgeous baby,” Sam grunts in agreement against you, making you shiver. The room fills with obscene slurping noises as Sam begins to suckle at your clit. You cry out, your whole body tensing and your thighs fighting to close again. “Just let it happen, baby,” Sebastian coaxes, softly circling his thumbs over your hardened nipples. The mixture of sensations is proving a lot to fight off, the rhythmic pattern of sucks and licks Sam is giving you making you feel lightheaded and tightening the knot in your stomach until it finally snaps and you scream. Whatever comes out of your mouth is some sort of odd mix of both of their names, but they seem to thoroughly enjoy it anyway. Sam moans in response, lapping at your release feverishly, savouring every single drop even as you start to shake for slight overstimulation. He finally withdraws, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, standing up. Sebastian shuffles behind you, gently laying you down on the couch as he wordlessly moves to where Sam just was. You look down at him, dazed. “Hope you saved some for me, pretty girl,” he teases, wrapping his arms under your body to hold you in place, placing a few feather-light kisses onto your swollen bud, making you whine and buck. He smiles and chuckles. “You did a good job down here, Sam,”

“Of course, anything for our pretty girl,” he coos, leaning down to kiss your forehead as Sebastian begins teasing you ever so gently with his tongue. Your entire body is flushed and glistening with perspiration by this point, but both boys admire you like you’re some sort of treasure. You kiss Sam slowly for a while, tasting your release on his tongue as Sebastian lavishes you with gentle attention, careful not to overwhelm you, but to still bring you more and more pleasure. One of your hands moves down into Sebastian's hair, gripping gently, you feel him smile against you and the feeling is oddly erotic. Sam takes the wrist of your other hand, kissing your palm a few times as he undoes his jeans and frees himself from his boxers before lowering your hand onto him. You’re momentarily surprised but quickly regain yourself, softly wrapping your hand around his length, and starting to pump gently. He groans erotically, twitching in your hand, already sticky with pre-cum. “You have no idea how much we’ve fantasised about this,” Sam grunts, thrusting up into your hand a little. You just whimper in response, tightening your grip slightly. Sebastian is watching the two of you closely, his tongue still drawing slow patterns against you.

“Every night for weeks,” Sebastian adds, his voice vibrating against you. “Sam was right, you taste heavenly,” he groans. You laugh breathlessly, concentration on your hand movements becoming harder as Sebastian starts to lick more intently now. Sam caresses your hair as your head falls to the side, becoming overwhelmed by the sensations once more. Your hand speeds up on Sam’s cock to make up for what you know is coming. Copying what Sam had done to drive you mad, Sebastian starts to suckle against you, albeit more gently. It has the same effect anyway due to the previous orgasm. You tug at Sam harder and he chokes out a guttural noise, fucking into your fist as you falter, your second orgasm of the night overtaking you. You throw your head back into the couch in a silent scream, your hips stuttering wildly up against Sebastian’s mouth. He pulls away abruptly once you’ve ridden it out, and you think you’re getting a break, but no such luck, not that you’re really complaining. Sebastian sits up on his knees between your legs, gripping your hips and pulling them up. You squeak in surprise as his tip prods against your entrance, sliding inside with minimal resistance, due to the lubrication provided by your orgasm. He meets a little more resistance deeper inside, carefully pushing through it, bottoming out. He takes a deep shaky breath, looking utterly blissful.

“Tell me how she feels,” Sam begs, still softly fucking your hand like a dog in heat. His words remind you of your motionless hand and you start to move it again, twisting gently. Sam whines loudly and you feel Sebastian twitch inside you.

“Oh… she’s perfect… warm and wet and heavenly,” Sebastian gasps. “Everything we ever dreamed,” both you and Sam keen at these words. Sebastian grips your hips and starts to move gently. You’re already over-sensitive from two orgasms, so he’s being careful with you, despite his clear need for more. He grunts and whines as he fucks into you and you’re happy to realise he’s close to falling apart already, not feeling so bad that your third orgasm is already approaching. You focus on Sam for a little while, keeping up the twisting motion he seems to enjoy so much, he stares down at you looking desperate and lost in pleasure. You use one of your hands to shakily prop yourself up, letting yourself reach to gently kitten lick at his tip. He curses breathlessly at this, and Sebastian seems to like the display too, his pace picking up without even meaning to. You moan, your whole body shaking as Sebastian fucks you, trying your best to keep up your licks. His pre-cum coats your tongue and you like the taste more than you ever expected to, moaning softly. Suddenly, he’s pulling away from you hurriedly and you’re momentarily confused until he groans and spills all over your chest. You laugh breathlessly as his cock twitches above you without even being touched. Sebastian's dark eyes lock onto your cum-covered chest and he growls, fucking you faster and deeper. You whine loudly, grabbing at the couch for purchase as he seemingly goes a little feral. Panting, Sam kneels beside you, taking your hands into his own. You squeeze them hard, your eyes rolling back.

“You’re doing perfect pretty girl,” he coos soothingly as your face scrunches up in pleasure. He kisses you, seemingly unphased by his hands being crushed in yours. You kiss back desperately, feeling Sebastian slamming into you more forcefully as he gets closer. “Want my touch on your clit?” Sam asks gently, you nod frantically and he lowers his hand to rub at your swollen clit. You immediately clench around Sebastian's cock and with a few more sloppy thrusts, Sebastian pulls out and spills his seed all over your abdomen with a loud whimper. Sam coaxes you to the finish line again and you sob violently with the sensation, burying your head in his shoulder. Finally, once you’ve all calmed down a little and caught your breath, Sebastian gets up on shaky legs to fetch a rag. Sam embraces you as you wait, kissing all over your face, and whispering various praises. You melt into his arms, nodding along to his sweet words. “You were perfect for us, you must be so tired baby, sweet girl,”

Sebastian reappears, sitting down beside you and gently wiping you clean of both of their releases with the damp warm cloth. He presses a couple of reverential kisses to your stomach once it’s clean, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to your lips as Sam embraces you. Sebastian wraps you in a blanket to keep out the winter chill that is sneaking in now that you’re not so overheated with arousal. You feel incredibly tired and unsure how things will progress from here, what will this do to your friendship? What kind of relationship will this be? But one thought stands out as they settle themselves on the couch with you between them, both holding you close.

“I’m actually glad that Abi went home,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Jeon Jungkook | Part One

Summary: Some of your closest friends betray you and somehow push you into the arms of someone unsuspected. Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 5.7k Warnings: Mentions of cheating resulting in pregnancy and explicit language...I think that's it lol (Barely edited per usual lmao) a/n: You guys seemed really excited for this fic so I'm gonna make it a miniseries since even the poll results were so close so anyways I hope you enjoy! Requested by the lovely @kkusadmirer 💜

"Is everything ready?" I ask my best friend Jina for the hundredth time today. "Yes y/n calm down. This party is going to be perfect don't worry" she says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, making me even more apprehensive but decide it's best to just take her for her word instead of digging deeper. 

"You're right, I should probably just go back upstairs and get ready huh?" I say and start heading upstairs to take the curlers out of my hair and finish up my makeup in her old bedroom. "Let me know if you need help, I'll just be putting the finishing touches on everything in the meantime" she calls after me and I respond with a quick 'okay' before running up the rest of the steps I had been ascending.

I walk down the hallway lost in thought and am stopped in my tracks when I find myself bumping into someone, almost falling over but he luckily catches me before I even have a chance to stumble back more than a few steps. 

"Careful there" he teases and I look up and apologize immediately. "I'm sorry Mr. Jeon I wasn't watching where I was going" I say quickly and he smiles at my flustered state. "It's okay darling don't worry about it" he says in a deep tone that has always gotten to me. I take a quick step back to create some much needed distance and to cover up the awkwardness that had settled in. 

"Thank you again for letting us hold our engagement party in your home. Are you sure you still don't mind?" I ask him as well for the hundredth time as if we had time to change things with mine and my fiancé's relatives already on the way. 

"Y/n if I minded I would've said no a long time ago. Don't worry, I'd do anything for you, since you and Jared have been such amazing friends to my daughter. It truly means more to me than you know" he says placing his hand on my bicep to aide in showing his sincerity. 

"Of course Mr. Jeon. Moving to a new state in the middle of your Sophomore year of  college has gotta be difficult for anyone so I'm just happy we could be there for her" I say smiling up at him. He stares at me for a second, studying my features before breaking out of the slight trace he had caught himself in to continue the conversation. 

"I'm sorry you're probably wanting to finish getting ready and I'm holding you up" he says taking his hand off of me and stepping aside so I can walk down the hallway to my intended destination. 

"Don't worry about it. We've got plenty of time as it is so I'm in no rush. Thanks again Mr Jeon" I say, quickly wrapping up the conversation and walk into Jina's room. Before I'm able to close the door though he makes it a point to remind me of something I've always forgotten.

"Haven't we agreed upon calling me Jungkook? Mr. Jeon makes me feel so old" he teases and we both laugh at his words. "Thank you, Jungkook" I say and he smiles, satisfied with the change. "You're welcome" he replies with an heir of sensuality that leaves my brain buzzing and I close the door before either of us has the chance to say another word. 

He's always made me nervous but why does today feel different? It's not like his playful nature is anything new. He's acted like this since the first day I met him and when I had brought it up to Jina she just said he was being friendly so I never really gave it a second thought. 

There's no denying he's a handsome man and from what I can tell him and his ex wife had Jina when they were quite young so he's not anywhere near old enough to make it seem a bit strange but I tend to just deal with the butterflies by ignoring them as much as I can. 

He makes sure to be respectful when Jared's around and he hasn't crossed any lines to my knowledge so I don't mind it. It makes me feel confident more than anything and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. 

I shake off those thoughts and finish getting ready before I start to panic about being late and end up finishing up a lot sooner than I had planned and as I'm putting on my heels I hear a faint knock at the door. 

"Come in" I call out and my fiancé pops his head in from behind the door. "Aw I thought I would catch you while you were changing" he says with a fake pout leaving me smiling and shaking my head at him. "You'll get to do that plenty of times once we're married you pervert" I tease and he scoffs playfully. 

"You know, now that I think about it I kind of am a pervert aren't I?" he says while stalking towards me, making my breath hitch and my adrenaline start pumping but I have to tell myself to calm down before I do anything stupid. "After the wedding I warn and he backs off like he always does.

I smile and get up from the bed I had been sitting on and give him a quick kiss but he holds onto the back of my neck, keeping me there for a little while longer and deepening the kiss. "You look gorgeous" he whispers against my lips and I smile before giving him a quick peck and pulling back to look at him.

"You don't look half bad yourself" I taunt and he scoffs before granting me a sarcastic 'thank you'. "I'm kidding baby you look handsome as always" I say and he smiles at that and places a quick kiss on my cheek before taking my hand and leading me downstairs to where we're met with a few of our family and friends having already arrived. 

"You should've told me they were here sooner" I whisper to him while I wave at them as we walk downstairs. "I didn't want to rush you" he replies, giving my hand a gentle squeeze leaving my heart fluttering at how thoughtful he had been.

"Thank you love" I say looking at him as if he's the only one I need. "For what?" he chuckles, studying my features almost as if he's committing them to memory. "For wanting to marry me" I say and he laughs at my cute sentiment. "Thank you for saying yes" he replies and at that we start mingling together throughout the crowd and thanking everyone for coming. 

~~~~~

We part ways after a few more groups of people come in and around the time we're going to bring out the champagne I start to look around to see if I can find him so we can both be ready to make a toast once everyone's gotten a glass.

As I look around and ask a few people where he might be they point toward the far end of the house where not many people had wandered to and so I curiously make my way over to the room I had assumed he would be in but before I'm even able to put my hand on the door I hear the voices of not only Jared but Jina as well. 

"We have to tell her" I hear her say and stop short, my heartbeat immediately raising as I hold my breath, waiting for the response. "You told me you were on the pill though. How did this happen?" and at that my heart breaks. "I don't know I guess I forgot to take a couple of them and-" "And so what? You decided that screwing me without protection would work out just fine? Fuck Jina" Jared cuts her off and I hold my hand over my mouth to stop the sobs that I know are sure to come. 

"You were the one that said you wanted to stop using them" she defends. "Oh and so now it's my fault. Jina we both agreed to that and you know it" he says and at that the room falls silent for a moment before he speaks up again.

"What are we gonna do?" he mumbles, leaving the choice in her hands. "We need to tell her because I'm not getting rid of this baby. I don't care if you're going to be in our kid's life or not but either way we're telling her" she says, standing firm on what she thinks is right. 'She should've thought about that before she started fucking my boyfriend' I think to myself and wait for the conversation to continue.

"She deserves to know" she says in a hushed tone and they both agree moments later that they'll tell me after the party to avoid both of our families catching wind of it and at that I walk away as quietly as I can, heading to the bathroom across the house to collect myself before I even try to face anyone. 

'How the fuck could they do this to me? How could they do this to us? Did everything the three of us did together really not matter? All of this love that I gave Jared and he gave me made me feel like we were gonna last forever but I guess my wants and needs weren't enough for him. He wanted what he wanted and found that in my best fucking friend. 

I chuckle dryly at that thought and how ironic it sounds at the moment. The wants to avoid the drama of the rest of the family knowing? Well they don't have that kind of luxury anymore. 

I collect myself a few moments later and make my way out of the bathroom to intermingle again until I happen upon my soon to be ex fiancé in the crowd. 

"Hey honey" I say and I can see him trying to hold back the guilt at my words and I hold back from ripping his head off for the sake of what I'm about to do. "Should we go ahead and bring out the champagne and make a toast?" I ask and he nods his head agreeing wordlessly. 

"Great I'll ask Jina to help us out" I say and I can see how stiff his whole body becomes after I mention her name and he laughs it off and walks closer to me and I hold out my hand for him and guide us both over to where we've placed everything for the toasts. 

~~~~

"Does everyone have a glass?" I call out and everyone says yes and Jina makes her way around, filling everyone's glasses but her own. "Okay great Jina go ahead and grab a glass and then if you guys don't mind we'd like to pose a toast!" I say and everyone places their full attention on both Jared and I who are standing side by side. 

I watch as Jina tentatively fills her glass half full knowing full well that she won't be drinking any of that but I singled her out as a way to make her even more uncomfortable. Serves her right honestly but it's only just begun. 

"Okay everyone, firsts things first I would just like to thank all of you for coming. It is just so wonderful we could all gather here together and the fact that you all made the effort to come and celebrate Jared and I is just something that I won't ever forget so thank you again from the bottom of my heart" I say and hear murmurs of 'You're welcome's and 'Thank you for inviting us' throughout the crowd and I continue on after those die down.

"Another person I would like to thank would be my best friend who I couldn't have any of this without her including being able to host this party in her's and her father's wonderful home so thank you both for that" I continue and I look for Jungkook in the crowd and see him raising his glass to me and I turn my attention to Jina moments later and see the forced smile on her face and I smile back at her and take a deep breath before continuing. 

"You know Jina has been such a great friend to both Jared and I and the countless memories we've made together are something that I'll always hold close to my heart. One memory in particular is one that I think we'll all remember for the rest of our lives is one that I would like to share with you all" I say and I watch as Jared and Jina make nervous glances at each other but I hear the room fill with words mentioning how cute our friendship is and how it's nice to have close friends that get along. Oh boy they're about to know just how well we all get along. 

"This one actually just happened not too long ago, in fact it was just today wasn't it guys?" I say making eye contact with the both of them and I can see as both of them realize that they've been caught. 

"Yeah it's funny I was looking for Jared not too long ago to try to find where he had scurried off to and low and behold I found him and Jina having a cute little chat together just over there" I say and motion to the secluded part of the house where they had been and I see the crowd go from happy to confused. 

"They had been talking about how they had a surprise and they needed to tell me after the party but I figured that I would just give them an opportunity to say it now so all of us can hear it together. Would you guys like to share it with everyone?" I ask the two of them and wait a few moments before Jared tries to shut me down. 

"I think that's probably a conversation we should have in private right Jina?" Jared says, pleading with her to back him up. "Oh are you guys too shy? Don't worry I can say it" I counter, brushing him off. "Y/n I don't really think that's necessary" Jina now tries to reason with me but I'm way too far gone by now.

"Why not? Doesn't everyone deserve to know that you're pregnant" I say, pausing for the rest of the family to smile at the surprise and some of them start to congratulate her but before they can get too far I continue on. 

"Yeah she's pregnant with Jared's baby! Isn't that so sweet?" I say and at that point the room goes so silent you would hear a pin drop and I break it by continuing to rub salt into the wound. 

"I know right? It's so crazy isn't it? It was a surprise to me too. Congratulations to the both of you" I say and down my drink while they stand there speechless as does the rest of the crowd. 

"So yeah anyways thank you all so much for coming and get home safe!" I say and make an exit into the backyard while Jared and Jina chase after me. 

"Y/n, y/n wait. Please" Jina calls after me first, following as I make my way over to the clearing behind the house and away from prying eyes. "Why should I wait huh? It's not like you waited and thought 'Hey maybe it's not the best idea to be raw doggin my best friend's boy friend' or were you guys still fucking by the time you asked me to marry you?" I ask the two of them and they both just stand there in silence. 

"You know what, you guys are perfect for each other. The whore I thought was my best friend and the whore who chased after her because neither of you could keep it in your pants. Thanks a lot, have a nice life" I say and storm off into the small clearing behind Jungkook's house, praying they won't follow me. 

"Oh and another thing" I say before walking too far, "I'm keeping the ring to compensate for emotional damage you bastard" I spit at my ex and his jaw drops, never having heard words like that come out of my mouth ever let alone directed at him. 

"Baby wait I can explain" he says trying a pathetic excuse of trying to get me to get him to hear him out. "Pretty sure I heard everything I needed to hear when you were having your little rendezvous earlier" I say, fully admitting to listening in on their conversation. 

"If I never see either of you again it'll be too soon" I say and continue on into the clearing, walking just far enough to be out of their view. "We really fucked up didn't we?" I hear Jina say and soon hear Jared scoff in return. "We fucked up? No you fucked up! You should've been more responsible" he throws back at her and storms off. "What the fuck Jared don't you dare walk away from me" she yells and chases after him, following him back into the house. 

After taking a few deep breaths and convincing myself over and over again that this is for the best and I'm better off without them I slowly make my way back into the yard and sit on the bench that's furthest away from everything, hoping no one finds me out here. Luckily it does the trick and I'm able to avoid facing anyone from the party and soon hear all of their cars leaving and the place falls silent. 

"They're all gone now if you want to come inside" Jungkook says, walking over to me tentatively, making sure he doesn't do something to make me run off. I look up at him with a tear streaked face and try to smile but ultimately end up hanging my head, hiding what little emotions I've let myself show and he walks over and sits on the far side of the bench I'm on. He doesn't say anything, he just sits with me and lets me ride the wave of emotions I'm feeling but also letting me know he's there if I need him.

I let out a few shaky breath after having let a few more tears fall before collecting myself and drying my eyes. "I'm sorry" I whisper and he turns towards me with a confused look on his face. "Whatever for?" he questions, puzzled as to why I could possibly be apologizing. 

"For the show I put on back there. I was just so mad when I overheard them talking and I don't know, I felt like I wanted to humiliate them since they decided to fuck behind my back like how fucked up can you be to sleep with your best friend's boyfriend?" I spout off and then look over and remember who I'm talking to. 

"I- I didn't mean. I'm sorry Mr. Jeon" I apologize again and hang my head in shame. I'm met with a chuckle as a response and when I look up at him I can see that he's clearly very amused. "What's so funny?" I question and he continues to laugh. 

"I'm sorry darling, just seeing how horrified you looked when you remembered that you were talking shit about Jina to her father was kind of hilarious and honestly adorable" he chuckles and I let out a breath and smile at him, happy he wasn't offended by it. 

"I wasn't thinking straight, I'm sorry" I apologize again, feeling so so guilty for bringing all of this drama to his house. "Hey, you have nothing to apologize for" he says softly, placing his hand on top on mine. The one that happens to be sitting on my thigh and I gulp at the sight of his big hand enveloping the sight of my hand and now has his fingers resting high up on the inside of my thigh. 

"It's not your fault that they're both fucked up and you got caught in the crossfire okay? So please don't apologize about that again" he says and I nod my head mindlessly, my eyes still focused on the hand that is now squeezing my thigh in reassurance but I can't get past the feeling of having his hands on me like this. 

He stands up a second later, taking his hand off of me and I look up at him, almost as if questioning why he stopped and he simply smiles at my cute reaction. "Let's head inside alright? It's gonna start getting cold out here soon" he says and I nod my head, wordlessly following him back into his home. 

"Did you want a drink?" he asks and I jump at the opportunity. "Yeah I'll just take this" I say while grabbing one of the barely opened champagne bottles. "Did you want a glass?" he chuckles, watching as I take a big gulp out of the bottle. "No need, this is fine. Might as well not let it go to waste right?" I say and he hums in acknowledgement while poring himself a drink. 

I walk around his living room and take in everything about it, reminiscing about all the memories and shared laughter there had been here over the last couple of years and find my mind wandering a bit. "I'm really gonna miss this place" I say, meaning to keep it to myself but accidentally voicing it loud enough for Jungkook to hear as well. 

"You're welcome to come back here anytime you'd like" he replies, startling me when I realize he's gotten closer and is now sitting on the couch directly behind where I stand, facing the mantle and looking at the various pictures placed on it. Pictures of Jina, Jared and I over the years, ones that no doubt Jungkook had taken. 

"I always hated this picture" I say mindlessly and I hear him get up off the couch so he can see which one I'm referring to. "Oh the one where I took all of you to the beach house a few years ago for your birthday? Why? Didn't you have fun?" Jungkook questions, genuinely surprised with my reaction to it. 

"No it's not that, I had a great time. I just feel like I look like a wet dog in that picture" I admit and I'm granted with a little chuckle beside me. "Hey" I whine and glance over at him, my breath hitching when I realize just how close he's gotten. 

"You know what? Now that I think about it I don't really like that picture either" he says and I turn my body to fully face him, highly offended and demanding he explain himself. "I didn't like the way that Jared was touching you that day. He couldn't keep his hands off you and I know that it was making you uncomfortable" he says, lowering his voice an octave and causing a shiver to run through my body. 

"How did you-" "When a man really pays attention and cares for you he can tell from the slightest change how their woman is feeling. I guess he just never got the memo" he says, glaring at Jared in the picture and how he unashamedly has his hand placed directly on my ass while I'm wearing a swimsuit that I had already felt uncomfortable in in the first place. 

My mind goes into overdrive with what those words could've possibly meant. 'Was he paying that close of attention to me that he noticed something small like that? Has he been jealous of Jared? Does he care for me?' are just some of the questions that start swirling around in my brain and before I can register what had happened next he's gone and sat on the couch and is suggesting I come sit down as well. 

"You've had a long day don't you think?" he asks and I nod my head and sit on the other side of the couch making sure to keep proper distance between us. "Yeah I guess you could say that" I chuckle dryly and take a drink from the champagne bottle I still have in my hand but end up spilling it on myself. 

"Shit" I say and Jungkook quickly grabs a napkin to help clean up having spilled some on the couch as well. "I'm sorry" I apologize, constantly finding more and more reasons to apologize and he shuts me down again. "A little champagne never hurt anybody don't worry about it" he says, brushing it off and leaving me feeling a little less guilty. 

"Why don't I grab you a glass and give you some of my clothes to wear so if we have another little mishap it won't be as big of a deal" he offers and before I can refuse he's already given me a glass and is halfway up the stairs. Gosh my brain really must be working in slow motion already. 

~~~~~

After Jungkook gives me a big t shirt and sweats I change into them and tie the drawstring tight to aide in keeping the pants up and look in the mirror of the bathroom I had been changing in and realize how much of a mess I look like right now with smudges of mascara under my eyes and my nose all red from all of the crying I had been doing earlier. 

I quickly wash and dry my face and throw my hair up and out of the way since at this point theres no saving this look and just accept defeat, walking out in my now more casual look and find him sporting an almost identical one. 

"Feel better?" he asks and I nod my head and walk towards where he's standing. "Come here" he says holding out his arm and pulling me into a hug. I melt in his embrace and almost start tearing up a bit again, but push back a little and softly break apart from his embrace before the two of us sit down. 

"I don't know how to feel honestly. I feel angry and sad and betrayed and relieved and heart broken and I don't know. I'm just confused" I start and he nods his head, encouraging me to continue and so I do. 

"We've been together since before Jina and I had ever met and things had always been so good between us and then when Jina came along it felt like things had gotten even better if that's makes sense. We had our three amigos group going and whenever we were together it felt like the rest of the world didn't matter. Or I guess at least that's how I felt" I say and take a shaky breath in and out before preparing to say the next part. 

"When Jared and I got together, I told him right off the bat that I wanted to save myself for marriage and he respected that. I will admit that we both had gotten close to breaking that boundary I set  once or twice but he always backed off when I asked him to and I was thankful for that. Guys my age or guys in general don't really respect that sort of outlook anymore so the fact that he was more or less willing to date me after knowing that gave me hope for us" I say, letting everything off my chest.   

I down my glass and pour myself another one before continuing on and I take into account that he's watching my every move. "I figured 'If he had a problem with it and got tired of it then he would've dumped me' or 'He's had really good self control all of these years so that must mean there's something special between us'. So when he asked me to marry him I said yes without thinking twice. I had my knight in shining armor, the one who waited for me and I couldn't be happier" I scoff, taking another gulp of champagne. 

"Looks like he waited to have me but got someone else to fulfill his needs on the side" I mumble and down the rest of my glass before pouring another and I can see the concern in Jungkook's eyes growing but I pay no mind to it. 

"You know after all that I just can't help but wonder 'Was it all worth it? Was saving myself and in the end losing the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with worth it?' At this point my virginity is becoming more of a hassle than anything and honestly I don't want it anymore" I say, finally voicing how I had been feeling about keeping myself pure for a while. 

"I feel like it would be best if I just got it over with and went on with my life you know?" I say, finally looking at Jungkook and I can see how dilated his pupils are and how ragged his breath has gotten, doing a horrible job at concealing it.

"Can I ask you something Mr. Jeon?" I question, leaning towards him, a new gained confidence flowing through me from all the alcohol that I had consumed in such a short time. Downing glass after glass throughout our whole evening. "Jungkook" he rasps and I feel a fluttery feeling building in my stomach. 

"I'm sorry, I always seem to forget. Jungkook, can I ask you something?" I repeat placing my hand on his thigh, feeling the muscle tense up at the contact but he nods nevertheless and waits for me to continue. "How old were you when you lost your virginity?" I question, wondering what his experience might've been like. 

"Um, when I was about eighteen I guess. It was right before I graduated high school" he answers truthfully and I nod my head, mulling over what I plan to say next.

"It seems like a man of your age has had his fair share of sex am I right?" I ask and see him gulp at my assumption. "I guess you could say that" he responds and leans back a bit when I get closer. "Mr. Jeon do you have a girlfriend right now? Someone you might be seeing?" I ask, making sure that in my tipsy state I won't make the same mistake my hopeless excuse of a best friend and ex made. 

"No, I uh I'm not seeing anyone" he says quickly and I nod my head and wait a moment to get my words together. "Do you think you would mind taking my virginity?" I ask and at that his jaw drops, not expecting to be asked something like that straight away but in this state I guess you could say I'm full of surprises. 

"I- What?" he asks, confused and concerned as to if I actually meant what I said and not only that but clarifying to make sure he's heard me right. "I'm asking you if you would take my virginity. You said you'd do anything for me remember?" reminding him of his words from earlier in the day. 

"Y/n I think you might've had a little bit too much to drink" he says scooting back from me to create some distance but I close that distance moments later. "No I'm fine, I haven't even had that much silly" I say, slowly starting to slur my words but still conscious enough to make them coherent. 

"Look I think that's something you should keep until you have a chance to give it to someone special. Someone who you care about and cares about you too" he says, trying to softly reject me but it falls of deff ears.

"I care about you though. Don't you care about me?" I pout and he shakes his head and tries hard to hide a smile but fails. "Of course I care about you darling but I think you're too confused and too drunk to be making this sort of decision" he say holding my shoulders at arms length to keep me from getting any closer to him.

"It's okay Mr. Jeon I know what I'm doing. Oh! I mean Jungkook" I say cutely, leaning in a bit more and his arms give in, letting me get a bit closer so as to not harm either one of us. "Don't worry I won't tell Jina" I say and he clears this throat at the sound of his daughter's name. 

"Y/n I really don't think this is a good idea" he says, watching almost helplessly as I place my hand on his shoulder and use it to anchor myself as I climb onto his lap and although his words have said otherwise, his hands are the ones that guide me by my hips to sit on his lap, giving me a boost of confidence in my decision.

"Can you do this for me?" I ask and his eyes ping pong between mine, seeing how blown out my pupils are and notices how hot my skin has become. He stays silent and just takes in all of my features and waits for my next move. I lean in closer to him and run my fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. 

"Just take it" I say against his lips and without a seconds hesitation he grabs the back of my head and smashes his lips against mine. 

It's a mess of lips and tongue and teeth, accompanied by the sound of him groaning and pulling me closer and me moaning at the feeling of being desired by someone like him. Someone strong and confident and undeniably sexy. Someone who wants me just as much as I want him but before I can fully grasp what's about to happen I feel myself slipping away and lose control of my body. 

"Y/n?" Jungkook questions feeling my body slump against him after I had broken the kiss and rested my head on his shoulder. He smiles at the realization that I had fallen asleep in the midst of it all and wordlessly stands up, carrying me off into the guest bedroom and laying me down to sleep there for the night.

"Goodnight darling" he says, placing a kiss on my forehead before walking out of the room and slowly closing the door behind him.

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[orkbutch]

Rambling about Astarion bc im bored at work. I like Astarion because I think he is a genius take on The Evil RPG Companion, and is an especially great take on The Fixable Bad Guy. I don't think hes evil, but I do think Astarion is a genuinely bad person at the beginning, and I think Astarion is only drawn away from being a bad person - and experiences a great redemption arc - via active intervention from others. Astarion would not redeem himself without guidance; he is absolutely bent toward self destruction and evil at the beginning of the story.

I think comparing him with Shadowheart is what drew me to that conclusion. If you are nice to Shadowheart, as in you talk to her and respect her boundaries and do stuff she generally agrees with, she will choose to free Nightsong all on her own. You don't need to roll to convince her at all, or romance her or even push back on her Shar worship that much. You just leave it up to her, and she chooses that path. (Side note, what brilliant writing.)

Astarion is not like that at all. Even if you were tight as fuck he would not choose the good option, with no input, in Act 2. Astarion, like all the companions, needs help and connection to reach healthy actualization, but I think its great, resonant writing that Astarion needs the most active intervention of all. Because he's had his autonomy so completely taken away from him, he simply doesn't know how to use it anymore. He doesn't know how to connect with other people anymore. He's someone that's learned to enjoy cruelty, to resent the pleasure of others, and to be entirely selfish for survival. It makes sense that he must be dragged back into being capable of trust. He needs to be forced to be part of a community again; caring about things; allowing for vulnerability and optimism.

And like. How fucking smart is it to have THIS guy in THIS game. Because of the tadpole and the existential threat they're up against, he is actually forced to work with you. This kind of character is so hard to do in most RPGs because its like... why wouldn't he just betray you all and leave? Why would he stick with you? The tadpole clears all of that up. Astarion must stick with you or hes lost and dead. Astarion knows that you and the other companions are collectively stronger than him, so he can't betray you. He is forced to rely on you by default.

This is also what makes him SUCH a good version of the "you can fix him" romance; you are almost never the direct target of Astarion's bastardry because he can't fuck with you. The problem with Fix Him's is that usually they are a threat to the romantic lead, and fixing him requires enduring, soothing and forgiving the worst of his badness as some kind of test of loyalty, hopefully proving to him that being bad isn't necessary (toxic shit). But Astarion... can't do that. He is afraid to actually fuck you over because you are directly tied to his survival, and because you quickly show yourself to be more capable than him. He cannot have real power over you. (Until he's ascended, then he becomes the absolute worst version of the fix-it.)

I do think the trade off is that Astarion not directing his bastardry at you makes it easier to Ignore that Astarion is A Bad Guy, but I think that'd happen even if he was more of an asshole to you, so who cares. I think he's got the best written Redeemable Evil RPG Companion arch I've seen honestly. I love that he's so fun while being so tragic, whether redeemed or not.

[asumi2020202]

Midnight Battle

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

Summary: The Kingdom was at peace when a small battle began inside the Red Keep. But.. it was not a normal battle.

Warning: Incest(they are Targaryens, what do you expect?).

A/n: I've been gone for almost 2 weeks. But now I'm back. Hope you all enjoy this. Thank you for reading!

Note: Change in storyline, The Blacks won.

_____________________________ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ____

Night had fallen over King's Landing. The Dance of the Dragon was over. The blacks won. Rhaenyra ascended on the Iron Throne.

The only greens who were alive were your elder sister Helaena, your mother Alicent and niece Jaehaera. Alicent had asked for protection to Rhaenyra for her, her eldest daughter and granddaughter after the death of Rhaenys.

Jacaerys and you had been married before the war. The two of you had two little boys who had their dragons.

You woke up slowly. It was still night. Jacaerys had his hand wrapped around your waist tightly. You took a moment to admire his sleeping face.

You slowly got out of his grasp, reaching for a glass to pour yourself some water to drink. As you were drinking, you heard some whispering in the corridor.

Placing your glass on the bedside table, you slowly went towards the door. You saw two little figures going in the direction of the kitchen.

You slowly closed the door behind to not wake Jacaerys and followed the little figures.

_________________________________________

"No, Aenor. The book says to add sugar next not lemon." Said the oldest, Daenor.

"At this rate we wont be able finish this cake before mother wakes up." The younger, Aenor said, almost at the verge of tears.

"Don't worry little brother, we can do this as long as we follow the book properly." Daenor said, rubbing Aenor's back and reassuring him.

"Ehem.. may I ask what my little princes are doing in the kitchen at this hour?" You came out from behind the kitchen door and asked.

Both princes were startled, clearly not expecting their mother to catch them.

"I- we- mother... Hah... We were baking a cake for you.." Dearon said accepting defeat.

"What for?" You inquired.

"To show our gratitude...." Aenor replied. Both prince had their head low in defeat and disappointment.

Seeing their defeated look your motherly emotions overflowed.

"Well.. why don't we do it together? You both were clearly struggling. I can teach you.." you offered.

As soon as the words left you mouth both of them ran to you legs and started to pull you towards the counters.

_________________________________________

Jacaerys woke up at the lack of warmth beside him. He reached beside him but his eyes opened when he couldn't find his wife.

He got up from bed and got out of the room, searching for his wife.

_________________________________________

Aenor and Dearon were beating eggs and butter together while you were pouring flour in a bowl. All three of yours back was facing the door.

Suddenly... You felt a hand coming to your waist. Startled, you gasped and turned around. The bowl of flour in your hand dumped all the flour over the person.

The children looked back to see what happened.

When you looked, it was your husband. He coughed out flour and blinked his eyes. He tried dusting off the flour on him when an idea came to his mind. His eyes went towards the bag of flour, he was still holding on to you.

He reached for it and took a handful and looked at you. Your eyes could describe only one thing. Fear.

"No- no no... Love it was unintentionally done. Spare me!" You spoke, trying to get away from him. But he was stronger than you.

His hand full of flour met with your head. The children had wide eyes at their parents' behaviour, both staring with an 'o' shaped mouth.

Your face and head was covered with flour. After wiping some from your face, you kept your head low. Jacaerys thought for a second that you were sad but when he reached for you

"My lov-" his sentence got interrupted when you looked at him.

"it's a battle now. My loves.... How about we play a game of tag?" Jacaerys' eyes went wide at the realisation.

The children wasted no minute. They knew when their mother teamed up with them against their father. Each took a handful of flour and climbed down from the chairs.

Jacaerys looked at you in fear but you only smirked. Within the next second, he was running around the kitchen while the kids ran after him with flour.

He took his chance to throw some at you as well which made you join in.

The entire royal kitchen was messed up. Flour and eggs everywhere.

_________________________________________

Rhaenyra was walking towards the servants who seemed to be cooing and talking about something being adorable.

She reached the kitchen and saw servants gathered up, all bowing at the presence of the queen.

When she looked, she could see Alicent and went to stand beside her.

"What has happened here?" Rhaenyra questioned.

Alicent simply motioned her to looked in front. When Rhaenyra looked, what she saw made her giggle.

There laid the Heir to the Iron Throne and his wife cuddle up while being covered in flour and eggs. And their children, who were also covered in such, laid a few inches away from them, coddled up with each other.

"It seems as if a battle happened here..." Rhaenyra spoke to Alicent, referring to the scene in front. To which Alicent replied

"A Midnight Battle at that..."

[yannawayne]

ii. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Mild sexual jokes, Making out AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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“Hey, I’m Jason. Don’t freak out, but I think he’s cheating on you.”

Damian’s protest was immediate and alarmed. “I am not! Todd!”

Jason waved a dismissive hand, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Pretty sure I saw him with some redhead just last week—”

In the background, the distinct clink of Damian’s katanas being unsheathed was audible. The phone jerked violently as the struggle intensified, Tim’s voice cutting in with panic. “Alright, alright! Don’t stab him! Here’s your phone back.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Monday, 11:15 PM - ???, Gotham City.

THE METAL DOOR GROANED as it was forced open, releasing a cloud of dust that sent you into a brief coughing fit. Selina chuckled softly, her figure silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the grime-coated windows. She stepped inside, her movements graceful, each footfall echoing in the vast emptiness of the warehouse.

"One of my safehouses," she explained, the door clanging shut with a heavy thud behind you both. "Secluded, off the grid."

The walls were lined with old crates and rusting metal shelves, their contents long forgotten. Selina flicked a switch, and a single, flickering bulb sputtered to life, casting a dim, yellowish hue over the room.

"We can lay low here for a while. Think of this as your personal hideout," she added, brushing dust off a table. "No one knows about this place—not even Batman."

You hummed in acknowledgment, your eyes scanning the room. The space had clearly fallen into neglect, the floor scattered with debris, and the windows fogged with years of grime. The overhead light flickered intermittently, casting shifting shadows that danced eerily across the walls.

Selina leaned against a stack of crates, her watchful eyes following you as you explored. She gave you a moment to take in the space, the silence between you filled only by the soft creaks of the old warehouse. Eventually, she pushed herself away from the crates, her steps almost silent as they pressed into the thick layer of dust that coated the floor.

Her hand found your shoulder, firm but reassuring, guiding you gently to the side. "Come on," she said. "I want to see something."

You followed her through the cluttered space, weaving between old barrels and rusting equipment until you reached a clearing. Here, the walls were less covered by debris. The area was bathed in a slant of sunlight streaming through a dirty skylight, illuminating the dust motes that floated lazily in the air.

Selina stopped and turned to face you, pointing to a wide stretch of wall. "Show me what you can do. Use those hands again."

"Sure," you replied with a nod, a faint smile attempting to mask your nerves. You shook out your hands, trying to rid yourself of any lingering nerves. "Seems easy enough."

You approached the wall, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You placed your hand on the cold, rough surface, feeling it grip back. With a careful lift, you brought your other hand up and pressed it against the wall, then followed with your feet.

Before long, you were clinging to the surface, limbs spread wide. You began to climb, your start slow and careful, but as you settled into the rhythm, your confidence soared. You ascended effortlessly, and with a final leap, you swung up to hang from the ceiling, a playful grin spreading across your face as you looked down at Selina.

Selina craned her neck to watch you, a glint of pride in her eyes as she applauded slowly. 

"Not bad," she called up, warm and approving. "Now, let’s see if you can get down."

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the jump. Channeling the superhero landing techniques you’d seen on TV, you leapt from the ceiling, aiming for a smooth descent on your knees. But reality had other plans.

SLAM!

You landed with a jarring thud, your knees slamming into the floor with a loud slam. The shock shot up your legs, making you wince as pain flared through your joints. You let out a half-groan, half-laugh, collapsing to the floor in a heap and clutching your knees. 

“Oww, damn it,” you muttered, wincing as you rubbed your knees, trying to ease the sting. “Okay, superhero landings: they look badass, but they sure as hell don’t feel badass.”

Selina stifled a snort, a smirk playing at her lips as she watched you.

"You know," she drawled, "in real life, landing like that is a surefire way to mess yourself up." She arched an eyebrow, raising a finger. "Lesson one: don’t slam all your weight on your knees or legs. Roll with it and spread out the impact. Trust me, your joints will thank you."

With that, Selina moved to demonstrate. She climbed onto a low shelf, her posture perfect as she stood poised on the edge. With a graceful leap, she descended smoothly, her landing controlled. She rolled into a crouch, looking ready to spring into action. 

"See?" she said, brushing off imaginary dust with a smirk. 

You shot her a glare from where you were still hunched on the floor. "Okay, okay. I get it. No superhero landings."

Selina gave you an approving nod. "Exactly. Now let’s see if you can pull it off without turning me into a laughing mess."

"Alright, I'll give it another shot," you said, pushing yourself up. "But if I end up in a heap of broken crates, it's totally your fault."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Training with Selina was a crash course in everything you thought you knew but didn't. 

Parkour was the first hurdle—literally. 

Each day kicked off with stretches and warm-ups before diving headfirst into rolls, jumps, and twists. Selina made it look like an art form, smooth and effortless like she was swimming through the air. You, on the other hand, had a style that was less about grace and more about grit—rough around the edges, but uniquely your own. It wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done. The city started to feel like your playground, and with every jump and scramble, you got better at making it your own.

Once you got a handle on the whole not-falling-on-your-face thing, Selina moved you on to flexibility training. Yoga quickly became your new frenemy. On the one hand, it was the calmest part of your day; on the other, you didn’t know it was possible to sweat so much while standing still. Then came gymnastics. Flips, spins, and handsprings made you feel like you’d signed up for a circus performance. You found yourself attempting gravity-defying moves that left you either soaring through the air or tangled in a heap on the mat.

Web practice was a whole different beast, mostly because Selina didn’t have much advice for swinging around the city like a manic Tarzan. The first few swings had you gripping the sides of buildings like a terrified cat. But after a while, something clicked. You stopped worrying about plummeting to your death and started enjoying the ride. Swinging through the air started to feel natural—like you were born to do it. 

Then there was hand-to-hand combat, where Selina decided bare-knuckle boxing was the way to go. Turns out, punching things with super strength was way harder than it looked. You didn’t just hit things; you obliterated them—cracks in the floor, dents in the walls, and one unfortunate punching bag that went on a one-way trip out the window.

And, of course, there was that time you got a little too cocky, tried to throw a fancy combo, and ended up clocking yourself in the face. That bruise was a harsh reminder that super strength was great—until you’re the one on the receiving end. 

Every one of these skills was drilled into you, over and over, until it was muscle memory.

Of course, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. There were days when you felt like you’d made zero progress and nights when your body ached like you’d been hit by a train.

Selina had a knack for pushing you to your limits—right to the brink, but never over. It was like she had some weird sixth sense for when you were about to break—she'd pull back, giving you just enough room to catch your breath before diving back in.

There was something oddly comforting about it too, like she was slowly molding you into something more, even if she had to drag you kicking and screaming the whole way.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 4:01 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

5 Days Later.

Right now, you were in your bedroom, the soft afternoon light filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow across the room. The clock on the wall ticked towards four, and according to your new training schedule, it was time for yoga.

You found yourself in mid-crow pose, balancing on your hands with your knees resting on your upper arms. A YouTube video played on the floor nearby, the instructor’s calming voice offering a steady stream of tips and encouragement.

“Focus on your breath,” the instructor advised. “Keep your core engaged and your gaze forward.”

You exhaled slowly, settling into the pose with a growing sense of ease.

Just as you were beginning to settle into the routine, your laptop rang with a FaceTime request. With a quick shift of weight to one hand, you reached over and tapped the screen of your phone to answer the call. You nudged the video to full screen with your free hand, giving your full attention to the incoming call.

Damian’s face appeared on the screen, blinking in surprise as he took in the sight of you. His hair was tousled, and he was dressed in a fitted black shirt that accentuated his physique. He was lounging in bed, surrounded by the comfortable chaos of a well-lived-in space: rumpled sheets, a few scattered books, and a delicate, ornate cup of chai karak on the nightstand. 

“Habibti. Are you... doing yoga?” he asked, a slight red tint on his ears

You tried not to grin too widely as you held the pose. “Yeah, believe it or not. It’s part of my new training routine.”

Damian’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised. His eyes briefly traced over the tensed-up muscle of your arms, a hint of admiration flickering in his gaze. “Training? I wasn’t aware you had an interest in such pursuits.”

You hummed softly, stretching out your legs with practiced ease, each movement a dance. Your body, defined and taut, seemed like a sculpted work of art against the soft light filtering through your bedroom. Damian’s gaze followed the elegant curve of your back, lingering over every contour as if he were trying to memorize each detail.

“Well, Selina's been pushing me to get better. Uh... self-defense and all. It’s been intense, but I’m actually enjoying it.”

Damian nodded slowly, his eyes never straying from you. His usually steely gaze softened into something warmer, almost embarrassingly dopey, with hearts practically swimming in those steamy forest greens. He shifted on his bed, fingers drumming absently on the edge as he continued to watch, utterly captivated.

You followed up with a few air push-ups, grunting slightly as you bent your arms down.

The effort seemed to spur Damian more than you’d expected. His cheeks flushed deeply, and he quickly raised his phone's camera to the ceiling, desperately trying to hide his flustered face. He had always admired strength and discipline—traits he prided himself on and valued in others.

After a moment of awkwardly staring at the ceiling, Damian cleared his throat and adjusted his position, attempting to appear nonchalant as he lowered the camera back down. His attempt at casualness failed miserably. He was about as subtle as a brick being thrown into a window when it came to how much he thought you were beautiful.

“Well, I must admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t expect you to exhibit such dedication.”

You completed your set of air push-ups and settled back on your heels, a satisfied grin lighting up your face. “Thank you. It’s been challenging, but I’m making progress. Mom’s a tough coach, but her methods are effective.”

Damian’s gaze softened as he watched you ruffle your damp hair with a towel, the warmth of the setting sun casting a golden halo around you. The light painted your face with a soft, ethereal glow, highlighting the contours of your cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes. He shifted, lying on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, but his emerald eyes peered out with a look of pure adoration.

"You're beautiful."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but you quickly cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice betraying a hint of the fluttering emotions you were trying to hide.

Just as the moment settled, a loud crash shattered the calm. Damian flinched, his phone tumbling sideways, leaving you staring at the ceiling. Incoherent shouting and raucous laughter spilled through the background, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of someone barging in.

“Grayson! You insufferable, blundering imbecile! How many times must I tell you to knock before you manage to comprehend basic manners? You’re a barely tolerable nuisance, a wretched excuse for a brother. Get out before I lose my temper!”

Oh.

You snorted and continued to listen as more voices joined in.

“Oh, Damian’s got himself a little video call buddy. I hope you’re making a fool of my little brother, whoever you are.” A tuft of dark hair with a white streak appeared briefly before the phone was yanked away, giving you a downward view of someone’s face.

Tim’s grinning mug filled the screen next, and he gave you a lazy wave. “It’s his girlfriend.”

Before you could react, Damian’s voice erupted from somewhere off-screen. “Drake, give me my phone back this instant!”

Dick’s head popped into view next, his blue eyes the only part of him visible as he peered at you with a mischievous grin. “Y/N! Give me the phone. I wanna say hi too!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, waving to the two of them. “Hey, guys. Glad you could crash my call.”

Tim shrugged, still holding the phone. “Sorry about this. You know how it is here.”

Damian’s voice grew louder and more insistent, practically vibrating through the phone. “If you don’t give me my phone back right now, I will—”

Before he could finish, the screen shifted again. The phone wobbled as Damian wrestled for it and Tim tried to pull it back. In the background, Jason’s voice cut through with a snarky tone. “No way she’s actually real. I thought she was just a figment of his imagination.”

“Stop! Unhand it! None of you insipid fools have any concept of how to behave with respect!"

Jason managed to snatch the phone away with a triumphant smirk, his eyes narrowing as he took you in. Among Damian's brothers, he was the one you saw the least. You wouldn't be surprised if he didn't remember you. 

“Hey, I’m Jason. Don’t freak out, but I think he’s cheating on you.”

Damian’s protest was immediate and alarmed. “I am not! Todd!”

Jason waved a dismissive hand, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Pretty sure I saw him with some redhead just last week—”

In the background, the distinct clink of Damian’s katanas being unsheathed was audible. The phone jerked violently as the struggle intensified, Tim’s voice cutting in with panic. “Alright, alright! Don’t stab him! Here’s your phone back.”

Just as Tim was about to hand it over, Dick swooped in one last time, his face filling the screen with a very unflattering close-up of his mouth. “Wait! I didn’t get my turn!”

Damian’s screams and the scuffle of feet continued in the background. The phone changed hands again, this time revealing Alfred’s face as he peered down at the screen with a raised eyebrow.

“Say hi, Alfred,” Dick’s face appeared beside him, and the butler gave a warm smile.

“Good afternoon, Young Miss Kyle. I trust you’re well? We were all quite concerned after the incident at prom.”

You managed a small, sheepish smile, running a hand through your damp hair. “Thank you, Alfred. I’m doing much better now.”

Alfred nodded, his expression softening. “I’m glad to hear that. Please take care, and don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything. Master Bruce sends his good wishes as well.”

Dick’s grin widened as he gently nudged Alfred aside and took back the phone. “See, even Alfred wants you to come over. It’s unanimous! Right, Cass?”

The screen shifted again, briefly showing Cass giving a thumbs-up and nodding. You signed a quick "hi," and she responded with a warm smile.

There was a final chaotic burst of shouting, tangled limbs, flying fists, and laughter before the screen spun once more, the sound of a door slamming shut echoing. Damian’s grumbling face reappeared, his expression a mix of frustration and relief.

“Apologies for the disturbance,” he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s fine, Damian. Your family’s just... lively.”

Then, squinting with a playful grin, you added, “Is your shirt... ripped?”

Damian glanced down, noticing the tear in his shirt for the first time. The rip ran diagonally from his shoulder down to his ribs, exposing the defined contours of his muscles beneath. The golden light from the setting sun danced across his form, casting soft shadows that highlighted the ridges of his physique. His cheeks flushed.

“Typical,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Damian set his phone down and moved to his closet. The aftermath of the earlier chaos was evident: a pillow half off the bed, books slightly askew on the shelf, and one of his katanas leaning precariously against the wall.

You whistled as he pulled off his torn shirt, admiring the way his back muscles shifted and flexed with the movement. Damian glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. After a moment, he retrieved a clean black shirt, slipping it on. He picked up the phone again, his face coming back into view. 

“Better?” 

“Much better,” you replied, still smiling. “Though I wouldn’t have minded if you took a little longer.”

Damian rolled his eyes, but his expression was warm. “Idiot.”

He settled back down, setting his phone on his lap, which gave you a perfect view of his arms as he leaned over. The muscles in his forearms flexed slightly as he adjusted the angle, and you couldn’t help but admire how his strength showed through even in such simple movements.

"So... Is it true? Do you really have a secret redhead on the side?" you teased, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

Damian's eyes widened, and he straightened up, instantly defensive. “What? No! Todd’s insufferable, and his only goal in life is to make me suffer. I would never—! I’m completely devoted to you. Their teasing is just a pathetic attempt to rile me up. I’m all in with you, no one else.”

You couldn’t resist, a cheesy grin spreading across your face. “All in, huh?”

“TT.” Damian’s face flushed even more, and he quickly hid his face from the camera, groaning in embarrassment.

You chuckled softly, deciding to shift the mood. “Are you going on patrol tonight?”

Damian’s face reappeared, more composed but still slightly flushed. “Yes, the usual rounds. Gotham never sleeps.”

You nodded, trying to sound casual despite the worry creeping in. “Just... be careful, okay?”

Damian’s expression softened. “I will. And if anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

You smiled, feeling a comforting warmth. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday, 2:20 AM - Catwoman’s Safehouse, Gotham City.

THWIP.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Selina taunted, her voice dripping with mockery as she effortlessly sliced through the webs you cast with a flick of her claws. “I thought you were better than this.”

The dimly lit warehouse echoed with the rapid sounds of your movements as you and Selina sparred. At 2 AM, the night’s calm had long since dissipated, leaving only the two of you engaged in a relentless back-and-forth. 

You grinned, focusing on your next move. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more. Just warming up!” You flicked your wrist, sending another burst of webs toward her, aiming to trap her legs.

Selina nimbly leaped over the webs, landing gracefully. “Warming up? You’re going to need more than that to catch me.” She charged at you, claws extended, slicing through the air.

You flipped away just in time, twisting mid-air to narrowly avoid her claws. You landed lightly on your feet. “You know, for someone who’s supposedly training me, you sure like to make things difficult.”

Selina smirked, turning to face you. “Aren’t you at least a little curious?” She teased. “Training isn’t supposed to be easy. If it were, it wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

You dropped into a boxing stance, fists raised and ready. 

“Easy? Who said anything about easy?” You shot back with a quick jab aimed at her midsection. Selina dodged with a bend. Unfazed, you followed up with a powerful cross, your fist just grazing her cheek.

 “Let’s see if your skills can match that mouth,” she sneered.

Frustration simmered, and you launched into combo of punches—left jab, right cross, left hook—occasionally shooting webs. Selina danced around them with cat-like grace. When you swung a particularly forceful uppercut, you shot a web at her feet. She leaped clear, laughing as she did.

“Getting better,” she admitted, landing a bit rougher than usual. “But still not quite there.”

You readied yourself again, stance firm. “Not yet, but I’m catching on.”

Selina lunged again, her speed almost blurring. You ducked under her swipe, but she adjusted mid-move and closed in with a sudden burst of speed. Her claws grazed your jaw, and you stumbled backward, trying to regain your balance.

“Damn,” you cursed, wiping a trickle of blood from your chin. 

“Learning yet?” she replied with a smirk. 

“Oh, you’ll see.” 

Charging forward, you fired a burst of webs that latched onto Selina’s torso. With a sharp yank, you reeled her in, closing the distance between you. As she was pulled within reach, you shifted your weight and threw a punch. 

JAB!

The force of your punch connected solidly with her chin, knocking Selina backward. She hit the ground with a grunt but was quick to recover. 

Huffing slightly, she sprang to her feet, brushing off the dust and massaging her jaw with a wry smile. “Nice hit.”

“Didn’t hit you too hard, did I, Mom?” you asked, genuine concern in your voice as you started to undo the wraps on your knuckles.

Selina chuckled, brushing off a stray web from her hair with an exaggerated flick. “Hardly. I’ve been hit harder by a wayward cat toy."—An obvious lie, you were a very heavy hitter—"But I appreciate the effort.”

You relaxed your stance, feeling a rush of accomplishment. “Just trying to keep up with you.”

"Is that so?" Selina said, gliding over to a table to grab a handful of ice, which she pressed against her jaw. She then slipped into a sleek, black jacket that accentuated her lithe frame. As she turned to you, her eyes sparkled with mischief, and a playful smile danced on her lips. “Still have some energy left?”

You rolled your shoulders, savoring the satisfying ache of a solid workout. “Yeah, I’m not quite ready to hit the hay yet.”

Selina gave a nod of approval as she bent to lace up her boots. “Good. We’re going out.”

Your eyes lit up, and you couldn’t hide your excitement. It had been days since she’d let you get out and test your new skills, and you were itching for some action. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yep,” Selina said with a sly grin, pulling a stray web from her hair. She tossed the ice pack aside, the cubes clinking as they hit the metal table. “Time to see what you’ve learned. Go get ready.”

You nodded and did as told. 

You slipped on a red varsity jacket—Damian’s from the school’s soccer team. He was the star player, but he never actually wore it, so you decided to "borrow" it for yourself. The jacket was oversized on you, but it offered that familiar warmth and carried the faint scent of his cologne. Underneath, you kept on your training clothes: leggings and a sports bra, still damp from the warehouse workout. On your feet, you pulled on your red, ratty Converse, their worn-out soles feeling oddly comforting.

It wasn’t long before you and Selina were leaping across Gotham's rooftops, the city below a sprawling tapestry of glowing lights and deep shadows. The cool night air rushed past you, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the occasional whoosh of a passing vehicle far below. Each leap sent adrenaline coursing through your veins, the thrill of the city’s pulse beneath your feet.

“Keep up!” Selina’s voice cut through the wind.

On cue, she vaulted off a high ledge, her body twisting mid-air like a dancer in flight. The moonlight glinted off her jewelry and caught the sharp focus in her eyes as she executed a flawless landing atop a streetlamp. The lamp swayed slightly under her weight, but she held her position with poise, a smirk playing on her lips.

With a grin, you shot a web at the streetlight, using it to swing in a wide arc around the pole. The momentum propelled you into a series of rapid spins, your laughter blending with the whistling wind as you twirled through the air. Releasing the web, you pulled yourself up and off the lamp, flipping effortlessly before landing in a smooth roll on the adjacent rooftop.

“Nice moves,” Selina called out. She leaped from the lamp with a fluid dive, twisting gracefully mid-air before she landed beside you, her boots barely making a sound on the rooftop.

Both of you continued moving, the exhilaration of the chase fueling your every step. The city lights streaked past in a blur of neon and shadow, each leap and swing a burst of adrenaline. As you bounded across another rooftop, something caught your eye—a large billboard, its bright screen flickering with the latest headlines. 

The text burned across the display. 

“Gotham High Senior Prom Interrupted by Villain Connected to Sionis Crime Family: Chaos Erupts.”

You came to an abrupt halt, your shoes skidding against the gravel roof. Breathing heavily, you tilted your head slightly and turned to face the billboard, your gaze fixed on the glaring headlines. The screen flickered to a live feed of a stern-looking news anchor. 

“Last Saturday, prom at Gotham High was disrupted by a violent attack. Eyewitnesses reported a scene of utter chaos where a villain equipped with mechanical arms infiltrated the event, resulting in a brief but intense altercation. Several students sustained injuries. The assailant, identified as Octavius Burton, was apprehended by Batman and his partner, Robin.”

Tucking your hands into the pockets of your jacket, you turned as Selina began to make her way to you, your brow furrowing with concern. You could see her fingers flexing at her sides, a telltale sign of her mounting frustration. She pulled her sleek, black jacket tighter around her, the fabric rustling softly. 

“Burton, a former professor at the academy, was terminated following inquiries into his activities connected with the Sionis Crime Family, an organization with known affiliations to the criminal figure known as Black Mask. Authorities are continuing to investigate the motives behind this incident.”

Black Mask was a touchy subject between the two of you, subtly pulling at threads of pain that neither of you fully addressed. His name seemed to drift into conversations like a ghost, stirring up the quiet ache of past losses—the kind that felt like a fresh wound, reopening old scars that neither of you had fully healed from.

“Have you seen anything strange lately?” you asked, trying to gauge her reaction.

Selina gave you a sideways glance, her expression thoughtful. “Funny you should ask. I’ve picked up on some strange shifts. The gang’s movements have been off—more frantic, almost like they’re gearing up for something.”

“And what do you think it means?” you asked carefully, trying to avoid pushing too hard.

Selina shrugged. “It’s hard to say. They’re usually pretty secretive, but something feels different this time. Like there’s a bigger play going on.”

You chewed on your inner cheek, feeling a familiar tightness in your chest. This was the most you’d managed to get her to talk about Black Mask or any of the darker aspects of her other life. It wasn’t often Selina opened up about such things, and the rare glimpses she offered were often fleeting, like shadows slipping through your fingers.

“Have you picked up any solid leads?” you asked, tugging at the sleeves of Damian's jacket. “Anything that might give us a clue about what’s coming?”

Selina’s expression grew more guarded. “Not much. Just fragments and whispers. But whatever’s brewing, it’s got those boys on edge. And when they’re on edge, you know something big is about to go down.”

You nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety in your chest. You shut your eyes for a brief moment, gathering the courage to voice your thoughts. When you opened them again, your gaze was steady. 

“I want to check this out,” you tell her. 

Selina froze. “I’m sorry, what?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s connected. There’s too much coincidence here to ignore.”

Selina’s eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening as she took a step back. “What are you getting at?”

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to keep your voice steady despite the knot in your throat. “Look, think about it. My parents died because of Black Mask. Then, this villain linked to him shows up at the prom. The next day, I wake up with spider powers, and my dad was working on spider-human DNA stuff. All these pieces—”

Selina cut you off. “You’re not seriously suggesting you want to dive into this mess yourself, are you?”

“I have to! It’s all connected somehow. I need to find out what really happened with my father. I need to piece it together myself,” you sputter.

Selina’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a disbelieving laugh, her hand coming up to her forehead as if to steady herself. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Kid, don’t get ahead of yourself. Just because I trained you for a week doesn’t mean I’m about to let you go and get yourself tangled up with the Sionis Family.”

You bristled at her dismissive tone, stepping closer, you waved your hands around in desperation. “But you don’t get it. I can’t just sit back and ignore this!”

Selina’s expression hardened, her protective instincts flaring. “You think I don’t get that? I lost your mother—my sister—too. I know how hard it is. But rushing into danger without understanding everything is risky. The Sionis Family isn’t just a petty gang; they’re dangerous, with connections and resources that could put you in serious danger.”

You took a step back, feeling the sting of her words. “You think I’m too weak to handle it, don’t you? That I’ll just fall apart like everyone else you’ve seen?”

Selina’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant—”

“But that’s exactly what you’re implying!” you shot back. “You’re treating me like I’m still a kid like I can’t make my own choices.”

“You’re my daughter,” Selina said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “You are a child whose whole world was turned upside down with no explanation. You were left there all alone, on my doorstep. And I took you in because I couldn’t stand to see you lost and alone. Now, you’re asking me to let you dive headfirst into a world that killed everyone I loved and nearly destroyed me.”

You shook your head, trying to protest, but she silenced you with a raise of her hand.

“I know you're confused. I know you're angry. So angry about your mother's death. And, baby, I am too,” she whispered. “But you have so much ahead of you, and I don’t want this world to consume you before you’ve even had a chance to truly live. This life, it’s... it’s not what I want for you.”

“But what if this is what I want?” you asked quietly, looking back up at her. 

“You’ll regret it,” she croaked. Her eyes were clouded with something you couldn't quite place—fear, maybe, or sorrow. As she pulled you into a tight embrace, her shoulders sagged, the tension seeping out of her in a slow, painful release. “I see myself in you, in all the ways I wished I could have been something different, something better. It scares me because I know all too well what this life can do.”

The news report had long since faded, replaced by a garish commercial that blared across the billboard. The vivid reds and yellows bathed both of you in an almost surreal glow, distorting the moment into something dreamlike and distant.

The relentless noise and flashing lights felt like they belonged to another world, far removed from the quiet tension between you. You simply nodded, your throat tight, and clung to Selina, the weight of her words settling into your chest as you hugged her back, holding on just a little tighter.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sunday,  3:43 AM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City.

The newly bought alarm clock, a hasty replacement after the old one met its demise the night after prom, glared at you with its green-tinted screen. Its bright blue neon numbers cut through the darkness, each digit pulsing with impatience:

3:43 AM.

You were seated at your desk, robin-themed socks snug on your feet and a green blanket draped around you for warmth. The soft glow of your laptop screen illuminated your face as you pored over a labyrinth of links and tabs, your eyes scanning for any scrap of information related to Octavius Burton. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the computer and the occasional click of your mouse.

Both you and Selina had returned from the run just an hour ago, the air between you still charged with unspoken words. Selina, visibly exhausted, had offered you a final, goodnight kiss on the cheek before retreating to her bed. The weight of your conversation had clearly worn her out, but you remained restless.

CLICK.

You clicked through a few more links on your laptop, but the information was frustratingly sparse—just fragmented reports and vague mentions that led nowhere. Restlessness gnawed at you, making the room feel too small, too stifling as if the walls were inching closer with each passing second.

Your gaze flicked to the window, where the city lights barely penetrated the thick curtains. The cool night air called to you, a whisper of freedom. An idea began to take shape, stirring a familiar itch beneath your skin—the urge to move, to escape, to find answers.

You grabbed your laptop and closed it with a decisive snap. The screen went dark, but the soft green light from your alarm clock still bathed the room in an eerie glow. You slid your feet into your shoes and approached the window.

Opening the window quietly, you peered out into the night, the cool air splashing against your face like a cold, refreshing wave. Using your spider powers, you crawled effortlessly up the side of the building. Once you reached the rooftop, you settled onto the edge, your legs dangling over the side. 

Cool and refreshing, a welcome change from the stuffy room. You pulled out your laptop.

As you continued your search for information, the quiet of the night enveloped you, broken only by the occasional distant sound of the city below. It felt like the world had opened up just a little bit more.

With a click, you redirected your search to something more personal. You began scrolling through the company pages of Oscorp Industries, the old company where your father had worked. 

You skimmed through employee directories, old press releases, and archived news articles. You paused at a page detailing the company’s history. Among the names and dates, you spotted a familiar one: Octavius Burton.

The text described him as a former lead researcher who worked at Oscorp Industries for a brief three years before his abrupt departure. Huh. 

Shaking off your unease, you shifted your focus to a research site where your father had published his work. Searching for his name, you navigated to his profile. 

Scrolling through his list of publications, you examined the coauthors and acknowledgments. Your heart skipped a beat when you came across a paper that mentioned Burton in its acknowledgments section. It read:

“Special thanks to Dr. Octavius Burton for his invaluable insights and technical expertise during the development of this project.”

A knot formed in your stomach as you closed the laptop, your head beginning to throb. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together, but the edges were still blurred, the full picture just out of reach. 

Scowling, you rubbed your temples, trying to soothe the growing tension that had built up behind your eyes. But before you could find any relief, the unsettling tingle of your spider-sense flared to life. It started as a faint prickle at the back of your neck, quickly escalating into a sharp, insistent warning that sent your heartbeat into overdrive.

!!!

Your body reacted before your mind fully processed the danger. You snapped your head around, every nerve on high alert. A shadow moved in the corner of your vision, and in the next instant, a figure dropped down from above, landing with a nearly imperceptible thud just a few feet in front of you.

Without thinking, you sprang into action. Your laptop tumbled from your lap as you lunged forward, your fist arcing toward the intruder's face. The impact was solid, your knuckles meeting the side of their jaw with a satisfying crack. The figure staggered, but quickly recovered, straightening.

"What? Looking for some more?!” you growled, swinging another punch aimed at the intruder. But before you could connect, a gloved hand shot up, catching your fist with surprising ease.

"Beloved?" The familiar voice cut through the adrenaline-fueled haze, laced with both surprise and a hint of irritation.

You blinked and looked up to see Damian, clad in his Robin suit. His jaw was already showing a deepening bruise, a mottled patch of red and purple swelling rapidly.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, mortified. The realization of who you had just struck hit you like a wave, your cheeks burning with heat. "I—I'm so sorry! I didn’t mean to—"

Damian adjusted his stance, wincing slightly as he gingerly touched the sore spot on his jaw. “Really? Is this how you greet everyone who drops by? I’m both impressed and deeply insulted.”

He gave you a scrutinizing look, the white slits of his mask narrowing. “That punch—while forceful—was a bit too eager. A more controlled approach would be better. Precision and control usually work better than raw power.”

You stared at him, taken aback. “Are you... judging my punch?”

Damian’s lips curled into a smirk as he went on, clearly enjoying the moment. “And your balance was off. You need to keep your center of gravity more stable. Alignment and posture are key to effective strikes and maintaining stability.”

You rolled your eyes. “Brat.”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” Damian said with a self-satisfied smirk, adjusting his gloves with a flourish. “It’s only fair that I offer some guidance. A bit more finesse and you might have neutralized me more efficiently.”

Your eye twitched. Men and their egos, you thought, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Oh, sorry for not meeting your high standards,” you shot back, sarcasm lacing your words. “Maybe next time, I’ll make sure not to punch the person who’s here to give me tips.”

Damian chuckled, crossing his arms with a grin. “It was a decent hit. You’ve managed to impress me. Think of it as a compliment. Most people don’t even get the chance to lay a hand on me.”

“I hate you,” you grumbled, but the words lacked any real bite. Despite your irritation, you found yourself stepping closer, wrapping your arms around his torso, and burying your face into his chest.

Damian simply huffed, amused, and placed his arms over your shoulders, the warmth of his embrace comforting in its familiarity. Even when he was being insufferable, there was something about him that made it impossible to stay mad for long. 

“Why did you drop by anyway?” you asked, lifting your head to look up at him.

Damian’s arms tightened around you as he responded, “I was in the neighborhood. Curiosity got the better of me. And it seems I was right to investigate,” his gaze flickered toward your laptop, still lying on the rooftop.

You narrowed your eyes, not buying it. “Really? You just happened to be passing by? You know this is Catwoman’s territory, right? Seems a bit out of your way.”

“Tt,” Damian scowled, looking away as a faint blush crept up his neck. The tips of his ears turned a telling shade of red. “It’s not like I was actively searching for you,” he added, trying to sound indifferent. “Just a fortunate coincidence, I suppose.”

“Mhm. Sure, babe,” you murmured, reaching up to gently touch Damian's face. Your fingers traced a scar near his jaw with a tenderness that made him pause, his breath hitching ever so slightly.

“Idiot,” you said affectionately, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“Hardly,” he replied, a subtle warmth breaking through his tone. Before you could react, he scooped you up into his arms with ease.

“Put me down,” you groaned, half-heartedly resisting. “I’m heavy.”

Damian’s lips curled into a smug grin, his breath warm against your skin as he scoffed, “Beloved, my bench press warm-ups weigh more than you.” The gravel in his voice took on a teasing edge, smugness bleeding into your ear. “Watch.”

Before you could react, Damian’s arms tightened around you, and with a quick, effortless motion, he tossed you into the air.

A startled scream escaped your lips as you flailed, instinctively shooting out a web. The sticky thread hissed as it latched onto the rooftop edge, pulling tight and catching Damian’s attention. His head whipped around, confusion clouding his features as he tried to make sense of the sudden blur of movement.

In the split-second of panic, you plummeted back toward him, landing safely in his arms.

Shit. 

Without missing a beat, before he could fully look back, you grabbed his jaw and pulled him into a kiss. Damian’s eyes widened in shock, but as you deepened the kiss, his surprise gave way to something else. His arms wrapped around you, and he kissed you back with a fervor that matched your own. 

After a few minutes, Damian tried to pull away, his curiosity still evident in his eyes. But you weren’t having any of it. With a soft, pleading whine, you drew him back in, your hands sliding over the contours of his armor. You whispered his name against his lips, the warmth of your breath mingling with his.

Beneath the hardened exterior and the carefully constructed armor, Damian was achingly soft. The mere thought of kissing you, of feeling your lips against his, had managed to distract him so thoroughly that the facade he worked so hard to project fell away like fragile shards of glass.

Damian’s attempt to pull away was fleeting as if he were tethered by an invisible thread pulling him back to you. His hands tightened around you, one sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, the other pressing firmly against your lower back, drawing you closer. He swallowed the honeyed sounds slipping from your lips, savoring every breath and murmur.

Your hands roamed across the edges of his mask, fingertips tracing the ridges and contours, teasingly attempting to slip it off.

Damian’s groan of your name was a low, throaty rumble that vibrated through your chest. His lips followed a fiery path down to your neck, each kiss a heated brand that made your breath catch, as if he were etching his mark on you with every touch. 

Suddenly, the sharp crackle of Damian’s earpiece sliced through the intimate moment. His body tensed, and with a swift, almost robotic motion, he leaped several feet away from you, landing with a heavy thud. He straightened up, his posture rigid as he fiddled with the earpiece.

“Dam—Robin,” came Tim’s voice through the earpiece. “Eugh. What the hell is that noise? I thought you were on patrol. Are you seriously making out on the job? Redhood and I are getting an earful of... whatever that is.”

“Yeah, thanks for the front-row seat to the romance, demon brat. I’ll be sure to add that to my list of things I didn’t need to hear tonight. Next time, maybe give us a warning before you make me want to shoot myself.”

“TT,” Damian’s face turned a deep crimson as he yanked the earpiece from his ear with a grimace. In a burst of frustration, he slammed the device down, reducing it to a pile of broken plastic.

“Oh,” you said with an amused grin as he spun on his heel with a sharp, almost frantic movement and leaped off the rooftop in a swift, disappearing dive.

“Next time, maybe keep the earpiece off!” you called after him, the grin still playing on your lips. Damian responded with a speedier exit, vanishing into the night.

As the echoes of his departure faded, you let out a deep sigh, your grin slipping away. Turning around, you saw the web you had shot still clinging to the rooftop, its glistening strands catching the moonlight with an almost ethereal shimmer. Panic bubbled up inside you as you approached it, your hands trembling slightly.

Fuck. That was too close.

Taking a steadying breath, you carefully picked up the web, its sticky texture making your fingers feel oddly weighed down. With a swift motion, you tossed it off the roof, watching as it drifted into the darkness below. The night seemed to grow eerily quiet in the aftermath, each distant siren or rustle of leaves making your heart race with an anxious thrum.

You scanned the rooftop one final time, making sure no trace of the night’s events remained. Grabbing your laptop, you felt its reassuring weight as you turned and headed back to your room.

"I have got to be a lot more careful," you sighed to yourself, the words barely more than a whisper. 

 ༻⊰───⋅

Monday, 2:19 PM - Chemistry Lab, Gotham Academy.

“...and as you can see, the rate of reaction increases with temperature, which in turn affects the activation energy required. Remember, it’s crucial to maintain consistent variables to ensure accurate results. Any questions?”

The room buzzed with the soft rustle of papers and the occasional murmur as students exchanged glances and half-heartedly raised their hands. A question from one of the students prompted Dr. Foster to shift to a new segment of the lecture.

You slouched over your desk, trying to focus on the textbook despite the monotonous drone of the lecture. The room felt stifling, the endless rows of lab benches and flickering fluorescent lights adding to the sense of tedium. Your pen drifted absently across the paper in your notebook, sketching spiders—each more intricate than the last. It was the third-to-last class of the day, and you found yourself counting down the minutes until freedom.

This was one of the only classes you didn’t share with Damian, and his absence made the wait for dismissal feel even longer.

With a sigh, you sketched a detailed spider, giving it a little mask and cape for amusement. The classroom’s buzz of activity continued around you, blending into a dull hum as you lost yourself in your sketches.

“You like spiders?” came a voice, interrupting your idle doodling.

You turned to find your seatmate, Morgan, looking at you with a curious expression.

Morgan Stark—her full name rolling off the tongue like something out of a high-fashion magazine—was your lab partner in Chemistry class and a standout at Gotham Academy. Top student, robotics prodigy, and the heiress to Stark Industries

You blinked, slightly taken aback. “Oh, um... yeah. I guess so. Just an interest.”

Morgan leaned closer, her chestnut hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. “Really? Most people find spiders creepy. What got you into them?”

You glanced at your notebook, where intricate doodles of spiders and webs sprawled across the page. 

“I don’t know,” you began, pausing as you searched for the right words. “They’re just… fascinating. I like their webs.”

Morgan nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing on her lips. "That's pretty cool.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit more at ease. As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, students began to gather their belongings with a collective sense of relief. The clatter of backpacks and the rustling of papers filled the room.

Morgan leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms with a small smile. She tilted her head, studying you with a curious gaze. 

“What’s your name again?” she asked, her hand moving to adjust the glasses perched on her nose.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question. After months of sitting next to her, you'd assumed she’d have gotten it by now. Hell, you two did tablework assignments together, shared notes, and even collaborated on that tough group project last semester. 

“You... don’t know my name?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Her eyes widened slightly, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. The blush deepened, contrasting with the freckles dusting her skin.

“Oh, I know your name,” she lied horribly, her voice faltering just a bit. “I… just want to know if you know it.”

A smile crept up your cheeks as you gathered your notebook and packed it away, your movements slower and more deliberate.

“I’m Y/N Kyle,” you said, offering a gentle smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Morgan said with a smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe next time we can trade more than just doodles and spider talk.”

“Sounds good,” you replied, sliding your backpack over one shoulder and standing up.

As students filed out of the classroom, you and Morgan exchanged a final look. She gave you a quick, playful wink before turning to join her friends, who were already waiting by the door.

Walking out of the classroom, the hallway was alive with the usual end-of-day hustle. Students rushed to their lockers, chatted animatedly, or headed to their clubs. The walls were lined with lockers, some ajar and spilling over with books and personal items. Conversations and occasional bursts of laughter echoed off the walls.

As you pushed through the crowd, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was a message from Damian:

SUGAR DAMI:

Beloved, I'm afraid I can't drive you home today.

I have soccer training that will extend until 5 o'clock.

You sighed, a touch of disappointment creeping in. Selina was out on a heist for the whole day, leaving you to your own devices. The thought of spending the rest of the afternoon cooped up in your apartment didn't exactly thrill you.

With a quick huff, you typed a response:

YOU:

No worries, I'll figure something out. Good luck with training!

You hit send and slipped your phone back into your pocket. Adjusting the strap of your backpack, you made your way toward the back entrance of the school. As you pushed open the heavy double doors, the crisp afternoon air greeted you with a refreshing coolness.

Stepping outside, you were met with a clear blue sky, dotted with only a few wispy clouds drifting lazily. The sun bathed the school grounds in a warm, golden glow, while the distant hum of traffic blended with the cheerful chirping of birds. 

You made your way to a secluded corner of the school grounds, checking over your shoulder to make sure no one was around. With a nimble leap, you cleared the fence and landed lightly on the other side. Slipping into the narrow alleyway, your footsteps echoed softly off the brick walls as you made your way to the fire escape.

You scaled the metal steps with practiced ease, pulling yourself up to the rooftop. Once there, you rolled your shoulders, loosening up before taking in the expansive view. Your apartment was visible in the distance, but that wasn't your destination today.

With a final glance back at the school, you took off across the rooftops.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Monday, 3:25 PM - Catwoman’s Safehouse, Gotham City.

The journey to the safehouse was quick, the cityscape blurring by as you made your way. As you pushed open the heavy doors of the safehouse, the familiar scent of old wood and metal greeted you, a stark contrast to the crisp afternoon air outside.

With a tap on your phone, you opened Spotify and selected a playlist, the tunes soon filling the room from the speakers resting on a nearby table.

Don't wanna be an American idiot One nation controlled by the media Information age of hysteria It's calling out to idiot America

Still in your school uniform, you took off your blazer and tossed it somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your shirt and tie, slightly rumpled from the day's wear. The warehouse felt cooler without the extra layer, and the air against your skin was refreshing.

Using your shooters, you spun a hammock between a few panels of the wall. You jumped onto it, the webbed fabric creaking slightly as it adjusted to your weight. The hammock swayed gently as you settled in, the rhythmic motion easing the tension from your muscles.

As the music played on, you bobbed your head to the beat, letting the lyrics wash over you.

Welcome to a new kind of tension All across the alienation Where everything isn't meant to be okay Television dreams of tomorrow We're not the ones who're meant to follow For that's enough to argue

Settling deeper into the hammock, you pulled out your phone and began scrolling idly through the latest news reports. The headlines were grim, detailing the latest string of crimes committed by Black Mask. As a Gotham native, you were used to the constant stream of bad news, but it still made your stomach churn slightly.

One headline caught your eye.

"Multiple Tech Industries Robbed: Black Mask Suspected in High-Tech Heist Spree"

You click on the article, your eyes scanning the details.

"In the past week, several leading tech companies have reported break-ins and thefts, resulting in the loss of millions in high-tech equipment and proprietary technology."

The article detailed the affected companies and the nature of the thefts. Wayne Enterprises had reported missing nanotechnology components. LexCorp was missing cutting-edge encryption devices, while Queen Consolidated had reported the disappearance of prototype energy sources.

Your brow furrowed as you took in the list. Black Mask was stepping up his game. He was gutsy, you'd say that, targeting Wayne Enterprises when Gotham was practically owned by the company. Maybe you could ask Damian for info. He might have some insights that could help you in your personal little mission.

!!!

Then there was a tingling sensation, a familiar prickle at the back of your neck, like tiny electric currents dancing along your spine. It heightened your senses, sharpening your focus as if the world slowed down for a brief moment. You turned just in time to see Selina swinging in with her bullwhip, landing on the ground with a graceful yet forceful thud.

Smirking, you raised a hand in greeting. “You didn’t roll. You know that’s really bad for your knees.”

“Oh, please, honey. Turning my own words against me? I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you,” she said, rolling her eyes. She straightened up, her black leather suit catching the dim light that filtered through the dusty windows.

"Why so early?" you hummed. "Thought you were out for the whole day. Got caught by Batman again?"

"Caught? Please, I never get caught. I just let him think he has a chance," she scoffed, sauntering over to you, her boots clicking against the concrete.

She held a small, black bag in her hand and, with a casual flick of her wrist, tossed it your way. The bag flew smoothly through the air, landing with a soft thud against your stomach. You grunted slightly and caught it in your arms.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just a little something I picked up on my way back,” she replied, leaning casually against a nearby crate. “Figured you could use a bit of excitement.”

As you opened the bag, you discovered a sleek, black suit inside. The material felt smooth and durable—definitely Kevlar. It was similar to Selina’s suit, but when you turned it around, a spider symbol was stitched onto the back.

“A suit?” you marveled, pulling it out for a closer look.

Selina smiled, lifting her goggles and moving to sit beside you. “I made it myself. Took a while to get everything just right, but I think it’ll suit you perfectly.”

You traced the spider emblem with your fingers. “I thought... you didn’t want me to go out into that world?”

Selina sighed softly, her expression softening as she watched you. “I was hesitant at first. You know how dangerous it can be out there. The streets of Gotham aren’t forgiving, and I’ve seen too many people get hurt—or worse—because they weren’t prepared. But I also understand why you feel the need to do this. It’s in your blood, just like it’s in mine. We’ve both got that itch.”

She paused, her gaze distant for a moment before focusing back on you. “When I first started, I was headstrong, eager to prove myself. I took risks, some stupid, some necessary, but I learned. This is my way of making sure you can learn the ropes without getting in over your head.”

"You're going to let me patrol?" you gasped out, a grin so wide it spread across the ends of your cheeks.

Selina’s tone sharpened. “Don’t think for a second this means I’m giving you free rein. I’ll be watching. One wrong move, and I’ll be right there to pull your little spider-butt back. But for now, consider this my way of making sure you’re ready.”

“Fuck yes,” you cheered, smiling as you hopped off the hammock.

She smirked, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, get suited up. Let’s see how you look in action.”

You took the suit and headed to a makeshift changing area in the corner of the warehouse. The material felt surprisingly light and flexible, molding perfectly to your body. You glanced at yourself in a cracked mirror propped against the wall. The sleek, black suit clung like a second skin, with the spider emblem standing out against the dark fabric.

Stepping out of the changing area, you caught Selina’s eye. She circled you once, then twice, before nodding in approval.

“Not bad,” she said with a smirk. “You look like you mean business.”

You smirked cockily, crossing your arms over your chest. “I do mean business.”

Selina raised a clawed finger, her tone turning serious. “Now, before anything, let’s set some rules. First, no killing—under any circumstances. That’s non-negotiable.”

You nodded solemnly.

“Second, stay away from gangs. That means no getting tangled up with Black Mask or his crew. They’re trouble.”

You deflated a bit but agreed.

“Third, avoid the Bats. Don’t go near their patrol routes or get involved with them. No crossing paths.”

“No patrolling on school nights – your education is your priority..”

“No associating with Catwoman – you can’t be seen with me in costume. It raises too many eyebrows and could lead Batman or others to figure out who you are.”

“So... I get to go solo?” you grinned.

Selina rolled her eyes. “Yes, but I’ll be tracking your every move. Stick to small, street-level threats like muggings, burglaries, and assaults. No big jobs or anything that could draw too much attention.”

“After patrols, come to the warehouse first – don’t go straight to the apartment.It’s safer to lay low here.”

“And no mixing with civilians—keep your crime-fighting life separate from your personal life.”

You nodded, committing the rules to memory. “Got it. No killing, no gangs, no Bats, no school-night patrols, no Catwoman, warehouse first, and no civilians.”

“Good. Stick to those rules, and we might just keep you out of trouble. Any small slip-up or any inkling of suspicion from the Bats, and you're out. Got that?”

Her eyes bore into yours, glaring into your soul. You gulped and nodded again, more firmly this time. "Got it. No room for mistakes."

Selina gave a satisfied nod and tossed you a mask. You caught it and inspected it closely. The mask was sleek and full-faced, featuring large, white mesh eye covers bordered in black. Subtle, almost invisible web patterns were etched into the surface.

"You know, for someone who doesn't follow the rules, you sure do have a lot for me," you snorted, running your fingers over the webbing, appreciating the craftsmanship before slipping it onto your face.

“That’s because I’m Catwoman and you’re not. I know when to break the rules and play. You’re still learning.”

“Do I at least get a cool name?” you asked, adjusting the mask to fit snugly.

“The press usually decides that, honey. How do you like the sound of Spider-Girl?”

“Spider-Woman,” you corrected with a huff.

“Spidey might be cuter,” she teased.

“Spidey,” you hummed, rolling the name around in your head. “That has a nice ring to it.”

“Spidey it is, then.”

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

dududun there's a stark

surely putting this child into vigilante work is a good idea

i am very sure spidey will be responsible and not at all destructive like every other peter parker ever

also! you fight like spider noir because both of you use bare-knuckle boxing

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Paula Abdul - Straight Up 1988

Forever Your Girl is the debut studio album by American singer Paula Abdul. The 1988 album was Abdul's breakthrough into the music industry after being a choreographer for high-profile clients including Kate Bush, The California Raisins, George Michael, ZZ Top, Duran Duran and most notably Janet Jackson. At the time of the album's release it was the most successful debut album of all time and was the first time an artist scored four US Billboard Hot 100 number-one singles from a debut album.

"Straight Up" was written and produced entirely by Elliot Wolff, and was released as the album's third single. It became Abdul's first top-40 hit in the US, eventually topping the Billboard Hot 100 in February 1989. The single brought Abdul widespread public attention and remains her biggest international hit to date, reaching the top 10 in at least 16 countries.

It also earned Abdul several award nominations in the US, most notably including her first Grammy nomination in the category of Best Female Pop Vocal Performance in 1990.

The song became so popular that it ascended up the charts before a music video had even been shot for the song. The black and white video, directed by David Fincher and choreographed by Abdul herself in mid-January 1989, won four 1989 MTV Video Music Awards for Best Female Video, Best Editing, Best Choreography, and the first Best Dance Video. The video features an appearance by her friend, comedian Arsenio Hall, whose popular talk show had premiered a few weeks prior to the video shoot. Djimon Hounsou also appears.

"Straight Up" received a total of 73,6% yes votes!

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken IV (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) FINALE

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: traumatic childbirth, blood, semi-suicidal thoughts, Aemond is fantasizing about murder again, all the angst

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: I don't understand why, but thanks so much for all the support I've gotten from this horribly angsty fic! This is my first go at angst so I really appreciate it. I'm gonna work on two happy-ish fic chapters before I get started on When It Breaks, but it's coming...

And a huge, enourmous thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ripdragonbeans for being my betas for this! I was so anxious about getting this absolutely right and they were so kind and encouraging. Love yall forever 💜💜💜

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

She was so light, his ābrazȳrītsos.

Even while carrying their children – their sons – Aemond swore she was lighter than when he left. He held her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder and her legs draped over his forearm. With every step, he could feel more of the liquid that had spilled from her womb - now mixed with small, hateful tendrils of blood -  dampening his sleeve.

Gods, how much blood had he seen in the past year? How much had he spilled himself? There had even been times when he reveled in its metallic tang. But the sight of her blood was nothing less than abhorrent.

He ran faster, until he could not make out the faces of those he passed, shouting for a Maester to be sent to their chambers immediately. One of them must be a servant. With luck, the Maester would already be there when they arrived.

She cried out as he began to ascend the stairs, wincing with each step, her weak grip on him tightening. “It hurts, Aemond.”

“I know, my love.” He slowed down, though his pounding heart urged him to do just the opposite. “I’m so sorry. The maester will be here soon, and he’ll help you feel better, hmm?”

“He has to stop it. It’s too early,” her voice cracked, and Aemond’s heart with it. “They’re not ready!”

But it couldn’t be stopped, not by man or gods. Their children would be born today. The only question was whether they would survive. If their mother would survive. Her poor body was so weak, and her heart… he had broken that, too.

If any of them died today, that blood would be on his hands, and he would gladly accept his damnation to the worst of the seven hells.

“Come now,” he chided gently as they reached the corridor to their chambers. “Our sons are dragons – they will be strong. And so will you, ābrazȳrītsos.”

“Sons?” She lifted her head, her entire body trembling with the effort it took. Her eyes – those beautiful eyes now gilded by the setting sun outside the windows – locked with his. “How… you sound so sure.”

Just one more lie. One more, and then he would never lie to her again.

Besides, this lie was small, nearly inconsequential. Many fathers insisted that their children would be sons until the child itself proved them wrong. It would be so easy for her to believe. The truth would hurt her – perhaps weaken her further. Aemond did not want her to hear Alys’ name. She should never have to even think of that witch ever again.

But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not sully the birth of his sons with yet another lie. He pushed their door open with a shoulder, never breaking her gaze. “Alys told me after you left. Before… she had a vision of us holding our sons. I’m so sorry, love.”

She slumped again, her face dropping into the curve of his neck. Once, she kissed him there, slept with her head tucked there. Now, it was simply where her head lolled. “I’m glad it’s sons. You’ll have two heirs…”

Her words were cut short by a gasp of pain, but Aemond heard it clearly. It echoed in his very bones. So if I live, you’ll have no more need of me. The gods had just crumbled the ground beneath him, his heart and soul with it. He was falling, falling, falling…

“I am glad, too.” He set her down gently in the bed, brushing away several tangles of hair stuck to her sweaty brow before arranging the pillows around her, hoping he was adequately managing to hide his devastation. For he could not bear to be without her, could not bear to love her only from a distance. He would go mad. Yet he would happily accept that horrible fate if it meant he would not lose her to the Stranger. “Mother will be, as well.”

“Mother!” She tried to rise, but he held her softly to the bed. “I can’t do this without Mother, Aemond. We must return home immediately!”

“I am afraid that is not an option, Princess.” Maester Artos stood just within the doorway, maids and Septas streaming in behind him. He was a mountain of a man, better suited to the battlefield than the birthing bed. But he was good at what he did – very good. Aemond had seen him work miracles on men who should have never survived their injuries.

The moment the women began attending to his wife, he approached the Maester, speaking quietly so as not to frighten her. “Something is wrong, Artos, she is bleeding. And she’s very weak.”

Artos hardly acknowledged him, looking only at the princess lying in the bed. “The blood is not the problem. She is distressed and too thin.” He stated, as cold and clinical as all other Maesters.

“Yes, I know that already.” Aemond took a shaky, calming breath. He did not like the way Artos observed her, as if she was a thing to be studied rather than a woman – a princess. Perhaps when it was all over, he’d kill the man for it. “I fear she is not strong enough to survive this.”

She cried out behind them. Two maids were pressing damp cloths to her forehead. Another was hastily braiding her hair back. A Septa had begun cutting away her dress, leaving her only in her chemise as two more maids removed her slippers and stockings. Two other Septas knelt by the windows, praying, while one woman who seemed to be neither maid nor Septa laid metal and wood instruments atop a tall, thin table.

It took every ounce of Aemond’s self-control not to go to her. To shove away each woman because it should be him – and him alone – to touch his wife while she was so vulnerable. He should be the one to protect her, but he couldn’t. He could only hurt her, it seemed.

“Artos!” Aemond hissed.

“Is her spirit weak as well?” There was suspicion in his dark eyes. The same he’d shown when he confirmed Alys was carrying a child. If he hadn’t been so proficient a healer, Aemond might have killed him then.

But for now, Aemond was glad Artos was alive. He swallowed, avoiding looking back at the bed as his wife continued to whimper and moan. “Yes.” The maester just hummed before approaching the bed. Aemond followed, kneeling at the bedside, the maids immediately clearing away.

“This is Maester Artos, ābrazȳrītsos.” She stared wide-eyed at the hulking mass of the man who now knelt between her legs. Aemond tugged on her hand, her gaze snapping back to him. “I know him well. He’s going to take very good care of you, I promise.”

She shuddered, her eyes closed tight as she squeezed Aemond’s hand so hard he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He delighted in it. She was not as weak as he thought, thank the gods. If she needed to break every bone in his hand – in his body – to live through this, he would let her do so without complaint.

“Are you going to stay with me?” she asked, her voice already ravaged by screaming.

Aemond blinked. When they first learned they were to have a child, he swore he would. But now, it seemed impossible for her to want him there. Not after what he’d done. “Do you… want me to stay?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but another moan of pain. Her eyes darted all over his face. The longer she stayed silent, the further Aemond’s stomach dropped, and his heart ached.

“I believe it wise to have the prince wait outside,” Artos said decisively.

Aemond felt her hand slide out of his, the sensation the same as if he were falling from Vhagar’s back—her answer.

He nodded, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead, trailing a hand down her cheek. “I love you.”

As he walked to the door, he still held a little shred of hope in his heart, waiting to hear her say it back.

It never came.

The moment the door shut behind Aemond, she regretted sending him away. She wanted to call him back so she wouldn’t be alone with so many strangers. But panic began to set in as the maids pulled her gently down the bed, and her voice failed her.

“It won’t be long now, princess,” the maester said, but she found no comfort in it. She couldn’t even remember his name. Alton? Alyn? Amos? Aemond had said he trusted him, but…

But that meant he had been here when Aemond was with Alys. And that glint of pity in his eyes, not just for her conditions, but for what he knew. He knew. Seven Hells, he’d probably been the one to care for Alys and her pregnancy.

Alys. Alys, Alys, fucking Alys!

She did not know what to think of the woman who had stolen so much from her. Had she stolen it, or had Aemond given it? She could hardly make sense of what she’d learned in that dreary little room.

Alys was not the evil, scheming witch she had first imagined. But neither was she innocent in the affair, not wholly. She was not remorseful for her actions, but she apologized for hurting her. She had been kind.

Blinding pain shot through her, and she screamed. Wordless and desperate, her only outlet for release. She needed to scream, needed to roar, needed to breathe fire. Anything to distract from this. Gods, she even wished for a moment for Alys to be there, holding her hand. At least then, she could return some of that pain.

“Princess,” the maester said, though he sounded far away. Though it was more likely that her shouting was drowning him out. “Very soon, I will ask that you push. Do you know how, your highness?”

Push. That’s what the septas had instructed Helaena to do at the birth of her twins and for Maelor. She even had vague memories of the word from when she peeked through the open door to her mother’s chambers when Daeron was born. But what it meant and how to do it?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for the maester continued. His voice was frustratingly calm and steady. “It is fine if you do not, princess. You must simply follow your instincts. When you feel the urge, push the child outward with all your might.”

“I have no might.” She heard herself laughing through tears and only then realized she was crying. Someone took her hand – she didn’t know who. But the feeling of another’s skin on hers was heavenly.

“You have carried these babes for months,” the maester – Artos! that was his name – said gently, “while your husband and the realm were at war. In my estimation, you are the mightiest woman in Westeros.”

She felt nearly every muscle she had tense, turning her answering grateful smile into a grimace. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have weathered her pregnancy as well as a paper boat in a storm. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not still love her husband after he betrayed her. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have let her emotions weaken her or put her children’s lives in danger.

She was far from the mightiest woman in Westeros, and she could not do this. She wasn’t strong enough. She was only a weak and broken little girl.

A maid approached, a fresh cool, damp cloth in her hands. The princess had not looked at any of their faces, too absorbed in her pain and panic. But now, she caught the eyes of this girl—deep, rich brown, so similar to her own – to her mother’s.

“I want my mother,” she whispered to the maid, even knowing it was impossible. “I can’t do this without her.”

The maid gaped at her as if she could not fathom a princess ever speaking to her. She looked to her companions for guidance, but the princess only looked into the maid’s eyes and thought of her mother—the scent of the rosemary oil she used in her hair, the warmth of her embrace, and the soothing tones of her voice.

“Please, I want my mother,” she begged. A new surge of pain gripped her, radiating into her legs. They were coming faster now; she barely had time to breathe between each wave. “Please.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” The maid’s voice was high and breathy, nothing like her mother’s. “The queen is not here.”

She cried, turning away from those false eyes. She was alone – entirely and utterly alone.

“Princess, I need you to be strong now.” Artos’ sweaty brow was furrowed with half a dozen creases, his eyes wide and mouth a firm line. He looked more like a commander on a battlefield than a maester. The Grand Maester would have smiled at her, but he was not here, either. “Your labors are progressing quickly. It is nearly time to push.”

“I don’t know how,” she cried. She refused to open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could almost imagine she was home.

Artos wrapped his hands around her ankles, pushing them upwards and further apart. “You do, princess. The Mother wove the knowledge into your body. Listen to it, and all will be well.”

“I – ”

Her next scream rattled the room, the keep, the entirety of the Riverlands.

Fire, ice, steel, and claw seemed to rake down her spine to her thighs. But Artos was right; her body reacted to the pain, her muscles moving near-unconsciously to force the babe out of her womb. She followed the instinct, pushing it harder, harder, harder.

“Very good, princess!” Was that Artos or Orwyle? She couldn’t tell anymore.

It was never-ending.

Pain, pushing, and a brief moment of reprieve.

Again.

Again.

Again.

It lasted hours, days, perhaps even years.

Was a child – a son – even worth this pain? How could she love someone who had tortured her so? Would she ever be able to look at him without remembering how she suffered?

Pain.

Pain.

PAIN.

Then –

“Stop, princess!”

She went limp, vaguely beginning to feel other sensations creep in: the coolness of the water on her forehead, the slight scratching of the sheets beneath her, and the hushed whispers of the maids and midwives.

The pain was still there, but softer. Less insistent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice nearly unrecognizable, even to her.

Artos emerged from between her legs, relief painted over his harsh face. “Nothing is wrong, princess. It is simply time to be gentle and allow your body to do its work.” He smiled, chuckling under his breath. “I can see your babe’s white hair – quite a bit of it.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Deep, joyous laughter. Another slight wave of pain passed through her, but she didn’t care at all. She was thinking about her niece and nephew, how Jaehaerys was born with nearly a full mane of silver frizz while Jaehaera had not a single hair on her head until she was over a year old. “He has hair?”

“Yes, although I do not know yet whether it is a boy, princess.”

“It is. He is.”

There was one more brief surge of pain, and then she heard her son cry.

It was torture to wait outside while his ābrazȳrītsos screamed with pain. At first, Aemond stood leaning against the wall, as Aegon did when Helaena began her labors, but his knees failed him when he heard a scream that rattled the world.

He’d been on the floor since, resisting the urge to cover his ears. But he had caused her this pain, so he must listen.

He would be in that room with her if he hadn’t been a weak, damnable fool. He would have held her hand, letting her release her pain onto him. She had only squeezed his hand once, yet he still felt the ghost of her touch on his skin. He would savor that pain for the rest of his life.

It seemed to be never-ending, the torture his son was inflicting upon her. How could he ever forgive the child for doing this to his own mother?

Then, it stopped.

Aemond leaped to his feet, panic infecting his blood like a disease. Why had she gone quiet? What was wrong? Was she dead? He couldn’t face –

A babe cried—his first cry, with his first breath.

Their son.

He tried to push the door open, but it was locked.

“Let me in!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door. “Artos, let me in!”

There was no answer, but he could hear soft voices inside. None sounded like hers. Oh gods, had she brought their son into the world at the cost of her own life?

Aemond slammed himself against the door again and again, not caring for the damage he was doing to his own body. “Open the door now, Artos!”

He threw himself against the wood again and again. At some point, it had to yield. Either it would, or his body would.

It opened just before he launched himself at it again—not all the way, but it was open. Then, Artos stared at him through the gap with his hateful, disapproving gaze.

“Let me in,” he growled. Trying to force the door open was useless, as the maester was practically a giant and, apparently, throwing all his strength into holding it closed. “If you don’t let me see my wife, I swear I’ll – ”

“Your wife has not finished her labors yet, my prince.” Damn him, the mountainous bastard. “But I am pleased to inform you that she has borne you a son.”

Though he knew it was to be a son, the words still shot through him. A son. His son. Their son.

“Is he healthy? Is she?” There was no more fight in his voice. The warrior prince had vanished, replaced only by the husband and father. By all the gods, he was a father.

Artos nodded. “The boy is small but healthy. Your maester may have miscalculated the date of conception. He is remarkably healthy for being born so early.”

“And my wife?”

“She is tired, but well. The second babe is not quite ready to emerge, so she is resting.”

The weight of all the world was lifted from his shoulders. He felt like the little boy he had once been on Driftmark, wanting nothing more than to see his zaldrīzītsos and take comfort in her embrace. “May I see her? Please.”

“I’m afraid not, my prince.” Artos at least had the decency to sound genuinely apologetic. “She needs this rest. With the first birth, she was wonderfully strong, more than I could have ever imagined. But I fear she has depleted her strength. She fell asleep the moment it was done.”

“Is… is it bad that she fell asleep?”

Artos sighed, his eyes turning to the floor. “Ordinarily, no, but with how thin she is, how weak… it worries me.”

No. No, no, no. “Is there anything you can do? To help strengthen her?”

“I am afraid not, my prince.”

“Well, do something. Do whatever you can.”

A soft moan came from behind the door. Ābrazȳrītsos. Aemond pushed against the door, opening it as far as he could to try and catch the barest glimpse of her.

Her eyes were nearly closed, her reddened cheeks making them appear as dark as night. Her chemise was soaked through with sweat and whatever other fluids came out with their child. But no blood beyond what he already knew to be there.

“Ābrazȳrītsos! I’m here!” He shouted. It took a moment for her to look his way. He could have sworn she smiled. “I’m with you! You must be strong, my love. I know you can be. I love you! I love you so much, ñuha zaldrīzītsos!”

Artos pushed against the door, forcing Aemond back. “That is enough, my prince. Upsetting her will only drain her strength.”

Aemond knew it was true, that his presence would likely upset her rather than comfort her. So, he stopped resisting and allowed the maester to close the door. Just before it closed, he whispered one final command, “Take care of her, Artos. She is my world.”

The pain returned, worse than before. The lightning crept down her spine again, but it was now accompanied by a great force set on tearing her body apart at the seams. Pushing brought no relief, nor did it seem to move her son any closer to the world.

Artos came to her bedside, resting the back of his hand against her brow.

 “It’s worse this time,” she confided in the maester when it finally ebbed. “It’s so much worse. Why?”

He sighed and sat on the bedside, his massive hand nearly eclipsing her head as he stroked her hair. It made her feel remarkably like a kitten. “I cannot say, princess. There are many possibilities. This child could be larger, in a slightly different position, or…” He hesitated. “As I said, there are too many possibilities for me to be sure.”

His pause unsettled her, but it soon faded away when another wave went through her. “Is he nearly ready? I can’t do this much longer.” At least she knew what to do this time, so surely it would be better.

“Ah, another son, is it?” Artos stood from the bed to examine her spread legs. Several maids gently moved her to replace the sheets beneath her. “Not yet, but soon. Your motherly instincts will tell you when.”

Motherly instincts. Gods, she was a mother now. There was a child on the other side of the room that she had given birth to, that she had grown within her. A son who would depend on her for his entire life. Her, and his father.

Aemond would be a good father, she knew, even if he were decidedly lacking as a husband. But as a father, he would be attentive, kind, and loving. He would give their sons all the love he was denied by their own father.

They would not repeat the mistakes of the past. They would love their sons. They would not ignore them, speaking to them only to scold them. They would teach them the language of their ancestors themselves instead of relying on tutors. As soon as they were old enough, they would teach them how to be compassionate and fair rulers. They would not force them to marry for political advantage or the continuation of the bloodline but let them fall in love, as they had.

She could see them now. Both with white hair and unruly curls. Bright lilac eyes. The elder would take after her, but with Aemond’s determination. The younger would take after their father but with her gentle temperament.

As if the vision was summoning her second son, she felt her body constricting, muscles tightening. Without fear, she began to push.

“Princess, stop!”

Artos screamed as if someone was holding a sword to his throat, desperate and panicked. His eyes were wide and bulging as he looked from her face to where her second son should be emerging. “You mustn’t push now, princess. Not once. I…”

He stood, pulling one of the Septas aside. Others followed, and their frantic, poorly hushed whispers grew louder. She knew the sight should frighten her, but she forced herself to remain calm. Aemond said he trusted this man and had seen him work miracles. Whatever was wrong, Artos would fix it.

She was sure.

Artos burst out of the door without warning. Aemond pushed away from the wall. “Is it over?”

The maester sighed.

Shit. Seven Hells and all the Gods.

“Your wife is strong, my prince,” he began. Holy gods, he sounded as if he would cry. “Enough so that I would have little doubt that she could deliver your second child, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Aemond felt his heart race, his blood surge, his finger twitching for his sword. He was going into battle, but this was not a battle he could fight with steel or fire. This was not a battle he could fight at all. “Artos?”

“The babe is not in the right position.” He moved his hands as if it would somehow make Aemond understand what he was saying.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the babe cannot be born, your highness.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything she had suffered and survived.

“If she were to continue her labors, neither she nor the child would live.” Artos put a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort. “I can save only one. Who survives… that is your decision, my prince.”

The gods were cruel to force this upon him – the very choice that had damned their family decades ago when Viserys chose to sacrifice his wife and queen for the chance at a son. That was where the seeds of destruction had been sown.

Aemond could not repeat the mistakes of the past. He would not be like his father. He had his son and heir. A second would be preferred, but not at the cost of his ābrazȳrītsos.

His ābrazȳrītsos, whose heart would break to lose her son. Who would never forgive him if he decided to –

He couldn’t choose. He couldn’t let her die, and he couldn’t let their son die.

He couldn't live without her, and he couldn’t take away her will to live.

He tore himself out of Artos’ grasp and stormed into the room.

Aemond threw open the door, his eyes wide and wet, and suddenly, she was not so sure that Maester Artos would fix whatever was wrong.

He ran to the bed, not sparing a glance at their new son. She burst into sobs the moment he took her in his arms. “Oh, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her temples. She entwined her fingers with his, desperately squeezing. “I’m here now. Everything is going to be fine.”

Liar. Sweet Liar. Beloved Liar.

“I want Mother. I want Helaena.” Her voice crackled with tears and exhaustion. Everything hurt. Someone – most likely her – was crying, though it sounded distant. And if Aemond was here, not waiting outside…

If Aemond was here, holding her hand and stroking her hair, it meant something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“Mother is not here right now,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. “And Helaena… she can’t be here. I’m so sorry.”

“She told me she would hold my hand like I did for her. She promised!”

“I know. I know, my love, but it is not possible.”

Because Helaena was dead. So were Daeron, and Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera, and Maelor, and Otto, and Ser Criston, and nearly every other person she loved. Aegon would be dead soon, too, then she would only have her mother and her husband.

Her mother, who had begged her to forgive the husband who betrayed her and broken her heart.

“I can’t do this alone, Aemond. I can’t.”

“You can, I know it. You are so strong, dearest.” Yet there was no confidence in his voice.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear his hair out just to make him hurt, too. “I can’t! I’ll die if you make me, Aemond, I know it. I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. “My love, I…” his voice faded, leaving them in total silence, save for that distant crying.

Then, he kissed her—not the soft kisses on the temple or head of the past fortnight, but the way he had kissed her when he said goodbye all those months ago. His lips slotted against hers perfectly, and she opened for him on instinct. She knew she should stop, push him away, and scold him, but she couldn’t.

Everything felt wrong—her entire body felt wrong. But this, kissing Aemond, felt right. Her desperation for comfort far overpowered her anger and resentment. Her trembling hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers bunching in his shirt. She pulled him closer, wanting more—more rightness, more connection, more feeling.

More Aemond.

But he pulled away, resting his brow against hers as she chased his lips again. He placed a hand on either side of her face, holding her still. “I’m going to fix this,” he rasped, his voice shredded by fear and desperation. “I will fix this, I swear.”

Then, he let go.

He stood from the bed and turned away from his wife.

He was leaving. He was fucking leaving her.

She screamed his name, cursed him, begged him to come back, hurled insults, and cried for him. He couldn’t do this to her, not after everything he’d already done.

This was not love. The heat that burned in her chest was not love.

It was hate.

For the first time in her life, she truly hated Aemond.

“Alys!” Aemond bellowed as he descended the stairs to the servant’s quarters, taking the steps two, three at a time. No one dared approach him. Not even Artos had tried to stop him as he ran away from his ābrazȳrītsos.

She may hate him forever for this, for leaving her when she was so weak and scared.

Fine. It would be worth it.

“ALYS!” The door snapped from its upper hinge as he tore it open. The witch was precisely where she’d been when Aemond left, her hand on her chin as she looked into the fire. What vile hell did she see in her visions now? “Alys!”

“I heard you, Aemond.” She did not look at him, only staring at the flames, those green eyes flitting around as if she were reading a book. “The entire continent heard you.” There was no humor in her voice, no hint of a smile on her face.

He swallowed, panting. He was crying – weeping like a little boy. That didn’t matter now. Very little mattered now.

Aemond fell to his knees before the witch with whom he had destroyed his life. He would do whatever she asked, destroy what little was left of his pride if necessary. “I need your help, Alys. Please.”

“She’s dying?”

“Yes. The maester said I had to… that I had to choose who to save.”

“And you can’t choose between her and the child.”

 “No, I – ” he swallowed as his voice shattered. He was going to vomit. “I can’t, Alys. I can’t. Please.”

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?” She was colder than the Wall, than the entirety of the lands beyond it.

“Save them, both of them.”

Alys’ eyes narrowed. Her face was painted with an expression he had never seen. He had no clue what it meant. “What would you sacrifice,” she asked flatly, “to ensure your wife and her children – your true heirs – live?”

“Anything,” Aemond croaked, “Everything.”

One corner of her sinful mouth lifted in a way that did not bring him comfort. She sighed as if taking the time to thoroughly consider his plea. The wicked bitch was gleefully stalling when the lives of his wife and child could end at any moment.

“Please, Alys,” he begged again, desperation crawling through his veins like spreading ice. “I cannot live without her, and she will never recover from her grief if she loses the babe.”

Something passed over her face, and she smiled fully. “You have always been a man of loyalty and nobility, Aemond.” Her grin sharpened as she laid one delicate hand upon her belly. “Almost always, at least.”

“Alys,” he growled in warning.

“Oh, don’t be a beast about it,” she scoffed. “I will do it – save them. If only in memory of our time together.”

Aemond sagged as relief swept through him, but it did not last long. She was still dying. The babe was still dying. Whatever Alys would do, she needed to do it now. He opened his mouth to command her to start, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I promise it will be done.” She flung her hand to the door in dismissal. “You should be there for her. She is still so very frightened.”

He needed nothing more to run back to his wife.

She was alone. Even with Maester Artos and the dozen women hovering around her, even with her son cooing softly from the cradle by the window, she had never felt so alone.

Aemond was gone.

He’d left her. Without even a goodbye, he’d left her. He had not even stopped to meet his son.

Artos murmured something to one of the Septas, who quickly gathered the other women on the far side of the room. He approached the bed, again seating himself upon the edge, and pressed the back of his fingers to her brow briefly before petting her hair. “How are you feeling, princess?”

“Am I going to die?”

He hesitated in answering. “I cannot say for certain…”

“I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.” Her heart constricted as his fingers brushed against a spot where Aemond had kissed her. “You told him, now tell me.”

“Very well,” he sighed. His harsh face fell, and she swore she could see his eyes glistening. “The babe is breech. It should emerge head-first, but it is not. It’s… the way it is attempting to come out is nearly impossible. Should I not intervene, one or both of you will die.”

No. No, no, no, it wasn’t fair. To suffer for this long, to endure what she endured, only for her child to enter the world wrong? In a way that would kill them? She had always been good and devout. She prayed and studied holy texts, listened to her Septas and the Maesters, and avoided sin at all costs. Then why was she being punished?

Unless… the gods had not sent this to punish her.

Aemond had abandoned her and their marriage – their holy union – when he slept with Alys. It would be fitting, and very like the gods, for him to lose that which he had forsaken. She and her second son were merely instruments of punishment. But it wasn’t fair.

“There is nothing you can do?” She felt hollow as Artos continued to look at her in pity.

The warrior-maester looked as if he were about to cry, as well. “In these situations, it is usually asked of the father whom he would rather save.”

So that was why Artos left the room – to ask Aemond whether to save her or the child.

“Who did he choose?” Either answer would devastate her. He would either prove the fragility of his love for her, or he would willingly break her heart by killing their son. Whatever he chose, he would become a kinslayer thrice over.

“He… he did not, your highness.”

“What?”

“I explained the situation, and he stormed in here – to you. When he left, he said nothing. He just ran. I presumed he had…” But he hadn’t. Had not said a word about the peril she and their son were now in.

A coward. Too frightened to maintain his vows of marriage. Too weak to admit his wrongdoing. Too cowardly to even make this most crucial of decisions. The gods damn him.

If they hadn’t already.

“So… what will you do?” If she had to be the one to make the decision, so be it.

“There are three options.” None of them were very good, she knew, simply by looking at his forlorn face. She had thought him a grave man when she first saw him. Now, he looked mournful – a reluctant harbinger of death. “I can forcibly remove the child, more than likely killing it in the process. I can attempt to save it and, in so doing, certainly kill you. Or we can proceed with the birth, risking killing both of you and pray that the gods may be merciful.”

Such a choice – a decision of life and death – should be difficult. It should tear away at the soul to condemn another. It should be far beyond the limits of the heart or mind.

But it was easy.

“Save him,” she whispered. “Let me die.”

Artos frowned deeply, shook his head, and said something in return, but she did not listen – she could not and would not hear his words. She only vaguely saw him move to the end bed, ripping away the sleeve of his robes as he barked orders at the maid and midwives. Perhaps the gods were merciful to dull her senses now so she could pass peacefully.

What did it matter if she died now?

She will have fulfilled her duty and given her husband his heirs. Finding a new wife would be easy – what woman would not want to marry him? Even if news of Alys spread beyond the walls of Harrenhal, surely it was nothing in exchange for a crown. Aemond would have everything he needed to be king.

If she lived, what sort of life would it be? To raise one son while constantly mourning the other. To be the wife of a man she could no longer trust. To remain empty, a shell of her former self. She would be alive, but she would still be a ghost.

“Save him,” she said again, her voice fading.

It was easier this way. Hadn’t she already learned that it was easier not to fight? Letting Aemond take care of her was easier than fighting him. Perhaps it would be easier to let him care for the children, too. He would love them enough that they would not feel her absence.

Distantly, she felt pressure between her legs, then heard her firstborn son cry out to echo her own screams.

Her son.

Oh, he had no name.

She couldn’t leave him motherless and without a name.

Months ago, she had decided on names, but they were hard to remember now. What was it? She could grant him this one last gift. She just needed to remember…

“Daeron.”

Yes. It had been her brother’s name. Her kind, brave, daring brother. He died some months ago. There had been a battle. Why was her little brother fighting? He was too young for that.

Tendrils of pale mist crept into the edges of her vision, playfully willing her to sleep.

Once she was gone, Daeron—her Daeron—would have a little brother, too. He would need a name as well—a strong name, a courageous name. When she was dead, he would need courage.

“Aenar.”

A strong name. With courage enough to forge a new beginning.

There. Names for her sons, the little princes.

With that last parting gift, she could close her eyes at last.

Goodbye, she tried to say.

I love you, my children.

Be kind to each other.

Love each other always.

Goodbye.

The mist filled her vision, illuminated by a distant light. It was cool, like a late spring morning. She did not hurt anymore. Did not feel anything but an overwhelming sense of peace.

The distant light faded.

The mist darkened.

Through it, she swore she could see grass-green eyes and hear the faraway cry of a babe.

She was still screaming. Good.

Screaming meant she was still alive. Screaming meant Alys was fulfilling her promise. Screaming meant that Aemond was racing back to his wife – his living, breathing, beloved wife – and not her corpse.

The door was still locked when he arrived—one final obstacle between him and his family.

No, not final. Far from it. The door was the only tangible thing keeping him from his wife and children, yes, but there was far more beyond it. The pain he caused her, the hatred his ābrazȳrītsos now surely felt for him, and the third child that would soon be born still kept them as far apart as the earth and stars.

They would get past it. They had to. They were siblings, husband and wife, now destined to become King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They were meant for each other. The gods or fate or whatever else had made her for him and him for her.

They were two parts of the same whole, cleaved.

“Prince Aemond.”

Cregan Stark, the man who humiliated him and his wife mere hours ago, stood behind him. Aemond snarled. “Leave. Now.”

Stark stood strong and still. “You have been my enemy. You may be still, I have not decided. I have no admiration nor respect for you, my prince. In short, I do not like you.”

“Do you want me to kill you?” Aemond asked. He did not wish to greet his sons with blood-soaked hands, but if Stark didn’t close his fucking mouth –

“To lose the woman you love so dearly in this way… it is a pain I know all too well and one I would not wish on anyone. I have instructed all my men to pray for the Princess and the child, and I will join them soon. Negotiations will be postponed indefinitely.”

“I…” Perhaps Aemond had underestimated the brute, if he was a brute at all. And though he knew the prayers were unnecessary, gratitude still dulled his rage. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

He simply inclined his head and walked away, leaving Aemond leaning against that godsdamned door, listening to nothing but the sound of his own panting breath.

Oh gods.

He froze.

The screaming was gone.

It was silent.

Was she dead?

Had Alys betrayed him?

He would kill her. He would tear her apart with his own hands and –

A child cried.

Then…

Oh, thank each and every god a thousand times over.

For then, Aemond heard his wife laughing.

“Princess?”

She always expected that the voice of the Father would be deep and smooth, but shouldn’t it be the Mother to greet her, given how she died? And shouldn’t the gods greet her by name, not her title?

“Princess, it is time to wake up,” the voice said again. “Open your eyes for me.”

Oh, her eyes were closed. She should open them.

The Heavens were not as bright as she imagined, nor as golden. They were dark and sparsely decorated and looked very much like –

“I am not dead?”

Maester Artos looked down at her and smiled. It reminded her of the few times she had seen her father smile at her, sparking a warmth in her chest she had not felt for years. She had not known she still remembered those smiles. “I am very happy to say you are not, your highness.”

“But, my son – ”

“He lives, too.”

It couldn’t be. After all the suffering of the past year, she could not believe it could be true. Loss had become a certainty, as sure as the sun rising each morning.

A babe cried, and she turned toward the sound. A young maid was wrapping an infant boy with a shock of white curls in a cobalt blue blanket. Daeron.

A different, softer cry came from the other end of the room. There, another boy with only a smattering of silver wisps atop his head was being gently cleaned by a Septa. Aenar.

Her sons – alive and well and here.

She threw her head back against the pillows and laughed.

She laughed with joy and relief, with eight months of eager waiting and sickness. She laughed with a body nearly dead, saved only by some miracle she did not understand. And she laughed with a heart that was both shattered and overflowing.

This was the moment she had dreamed of since she learned she was pregnant, since the moment she married Aemond. She had dreamed of this all her life. It was her destiny, even if it was vastly different from how she had dreamed it. For she was not at home in the Red Keep but within the cursed stones of Harrenhal. Her mother was not by her side but miles away. The family that was supposed to crowd around her and coo over the children were nearly all dead. And her husband…

“Let me in!” he shouted through the door, the wood pounding against stone as he threw himself against it. He had been doing that before, but she did not notice until now. It was so like him, the impatience and need to act, that she laughed again. “Ābrazȳrītsos! Is that you? Tell me you are safe!”

Taking her laughter as permission, Artos opened the door. It was mere heartbeats later that Aemond was upon the bed, his eye flitting over every inch of her, his hands roaming to try and locate something wrong, to stem blood that did not flow or relieve pain that did not exist.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “I did it, lēkia, and I’m fine.”

“You did it?” He looked down at her in utter disbelief and joy before his eye drifted to the Maester. Tears slipped from his eye and caught the light of the setting sun. “She did it…”

Her gaze went to the maid that held her firstborn – the girl with eyes like her mother’s. Fitting, for her to be the one to hold him. But it was her turn. “Bring Daeron to me,” she ordered,” some strength at last returning to her voice. “I want to hold him.”

Aemond stared at her. “Daeron?”

Was he angry that she named their sons without him? She couldn’t quite tell. Her mind was still fuzzy, like the mist she had seen still lay over her, casting everything in a sweet, happy light. She shrugged. “There are already too many Aegons, so…”

He laughed. She had missed that sound – she loved it so dearly. He settled into the bed next to her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, like two halves of a broken plate. So many familiar feelings – the warmth of his arm around her, the rhythm of his heart, his lips kissing her temple in the gentle way that always sent shivers down her spine. Hadn’t her spine hurt not long ago? “Daeron is perfect.”

Indeed, he was absolutely perfect. So tiny and precious as he was put in her arms, looking up at his parents with wide lilac eyes. Neither she nor Aemond said anything as they beheld him, taking in each tiny, perfect detail. The wild curls of his silver hair. Each and every eyelash framing his bright eyes. The pink of his lips. Fingers and toes so wonderfully soft and small. A toothless smile that lit the world.

“He’s going to be king someday,” she realized aloud. How could someone so tiny rule an entire kingdom? He had a lot of growing to do before the Conqueror’s Crown would fit.

“A great king, I think,” Aemond mused. He held out a finger, and Daeron instinctively wrapped his hand around it. “Wise and strong. Daring, like his namesake.”

“He must be kind, too.”

“He will be,” Aemond assured, brushing out her damp, tangled hair with his fingers. The feeling was so familiar, but each touch had her flinching slightly. “We will raise him to be kind. His brother, too.”

“Aenar.”

Aemond stiffened. Had he forgotten they had another son, or did he not like the name she gave him? He pulled his finger back from his son’s fist to touch the babe’s hair. “The Exile?”

“I just thought…” Perhaps it had been a foolish name. But it had felt right when it came to her, when she was on the brink of death. “Our family needs a new beginning.”

“Yes… I suppose it does.” He kissed her again with slightly too much pressure. “Another fine name.”

She looked at the Septa that had been cleaning him. Maester Artos stood with her now, along with several other women, crowding so much she could not see the babe. “I want to hold him, too. Bring him to me.”

None of them moved. The room fell silent.

“Allow me just a moment longer, princess,” Artos said. His voice shook, and he would not look at her or Aemond. “I am still finishing my assessment of the boy.”

He’s dead, her mind insisted. They saved your life at the cost of his. He died because of you.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Daeron began fussing in her arms, disturbed by how she began to tremble. She failed one son by killing him, and now she was already failing as a mother to the one who survived. Aemond tightened his arm on her shoulders, pulling her closer as his free arm gently lifted their son into his own grasp.

He hushed her, ducking his head to press his cheek to hers. “Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos. Izūgō daor īlo bēvili gō.” Calm, little wife. Do not panic before we have reason to.

“Kostan daor,” she whimpered. If Aenar was dead…

“Is he alive?” Aemond’s hand moved to shelter Daeron’s head as if to shield him from whatever danger or heartbreak lurked. She turned to press herself into him – into the safety of his arms.

Brother. Husband. Protector.

Why did the feel and scent of him no longer make her feel safe?

“Yes, my prince,” Artos answered.

“Will he remain that way?”

“Yes…”

“You could tell me he’s green-skinned and winged for all I care.” His arm curled protectively around her, but it did not comfort her. Rather, she bristled against it, the possessiveness of it. He did not notice. “He’s alive, and that’s enough. Bring him.”

Artos hesitated but obeyed, hastily wrapping the babe in a dark blanket.

He looked whole – unbroken. Aenar’s eyes were closed as the Maester placed him in her arms, but she could feel his warmth, his little heart beating, and the faint rise and fall of his chest. He only woke when a tear fell from her cheek onto his.

Even then, he did not cry. He only looked at his mother with bright eyes – the same shade of violet as his father's and brother’s. “Ñuha trēso,” she whispered, and he smiled. My son.

“Taobosa sylvȳse,” Aemond added. “He already recognizes the language of his ancestors. He will serve his brother well. Dārys sepār Ondoso zȳhon.” Wise boy. The King and his Hand.

They had two perfect sons. So why did Artos still look like that?

The Maester’s frown deepened. “I am afraid…” he cleared his throat. “It appears that the younger prince was injured during the birth.”

She examined him again but could find nothing wrong. He was perfect. Surely, Artos was mistaken.

“May I?” His large hand hovered over the edge of the blanket.

Her instinct was to pull away, to not let this man touch her son. Yes, he had saved both their lives, but he must be wrong now. Why should she let him make a problem where there was none?

She suppressed that instinct and allowed him to uncover Aenar’s right arm. Artos’ demeanor had made it seem as though something was horribly wrong – that the arm would be missing or deformed. But it was just an arm, small and plump and pale, with a splotch of reddish-purple covering the shoulder like a pauldron.

“It… is it a birthmark?” She brushed a thumb over it, the skin smooth but slightly raised. A birthmark wasn’t an injury, nor was it exceedingly unusual. There were several families where such a mark appeared on nearly every child born.

“Explain yourself, Artos,” Aemond hissed. He looked ready to tear the man to pieces. If he did, he would likely do so without even setting Daeron down.

With a sigh, Artos ran a finger down the length of Aenar’s arm. “Note how he gives no reaction.”

“So he is calm,” Aemond spat. “I fail to see the injury.”

“Do the same to the elder.” He repeated the touch. “Gently, my prince.”

Aemond obeyed with a scowl. The moment he touched the babe, Daeron squirmed and flailed his arm.

“But he looks fine.” She looked down at her second son, her wise boy, and held out a finger, as Aemond had with Daeron. Aenar’s left arm squirmed within its wrappings, but the right was still. She touched the arm, silently pleading with the gods for it to move, for that tiny hand to reach for her.

It remained still. A desperate noise escaped her. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond and Artos said in unison. Her husband attempted to pull her into his chest, but she pushed him away. An embrace could not fix this. Nothing could. He did not pursue her again.

“It is not uncommon among children born breech.” the Maester explained. “I have seen many such injuries and many even worse.”

Artos offered no sympathy or apologies, and she was thankful for it. There was nothing he could say to ease the pain of knowing that her son would never be whole, just like his father. But unlike Aemond, he was never even given the chance, wounded from his first breath. What would the people call him? ‘Prince Aenar One-Arm, son of King Aemond One-Eye?’

“What do we do?” She asked her husband, the Maester, the gods. Anyone who may have an answer.

Aemond’s face was drawn with grief – for his son and for himself. “He will adapt, as I did. I will ensure it. He will be stronger for this. I promise.”

I cannot trust your promises.

The thought was a sudden gale of icy wind scattering the lovely mist coating her mind into oblivion, leaving her with only stark, wicked reality and the faint memory of green eyes.

“How did I survive?”

Too quickly, Aemond turned to her, taking hold of her chin and pulling her close to him. “It does not matter, ābrazȳrītsos. All that does is that you are still with me. You and Aenar.”

If he wasn’t holding her firstborn, she would have shoved him from the bed.Liar. Liar. Liar.

I will fix this. he’d said before he left her. The pure, unrelenting anger she felt as she watched him leave had prevented her from considering what those words meant. Now, she could think of nothing else. What could he do? He was no midwife nor Maester. He had no knowledge of childbirth, beyond the few questions he’d asked of Orwyle months ago. What could he have done for her and Aenar except beg the help of another?

Of Alys.

Alys, who had eyes the color of fresh grass and possessed a dark magic that allowed her visions of the future. Was she also able to influence that future?

How?

At what cost?

What had Aemond promised her in exchange for their lives?

“No Maester wants to admit to ignorance,” Artos smiled sadly as Aenar continued to try to wriggle his left arm free of his blanket, “but I cannot explain it. All I can think is that the gods are kind to you, princess, and for that, I am glad.”

She could not look at him or any of the others in the room who watched her as if they could see the Mother’s hand upon her shoulder.

The gods weren’t kind. They were cruel to allow her to now owe her very life, and that of her son’s, to the two people who had destroyed her. Would she ever be able to look upon Aenar and not remember? To not feel her soul torn between unyielding hatred and infinite gratitude?

Yet, she had her life – and her sons. Surely anything was worth that.

Wasn’t it?

“I’m tired,” she said. The day had seemed to last a year, and the sun had not even set. “I want to rest now.”

After what she endured, no one argued.

His ābrazȳrītsos fell asleep mere moments after Daeron and Aenar were settled into their cradles. She did not even wake when Aemond lifted her so the servants could replace the soiled bedding. Just as she had so many times before, she tucked her face into his neck as they sat in the window, sighing contentedly. Now, he lay beside her in the bed, trying to memorize how it felt to have her in his arms.

When she woke, he knew she would never allow him to hold her like this again.

She knew. Somehow, his wife knew what he had done to ensure she and Aenar survived, and she would never forgive him for it for as long as she lived.

But she would live.

Aenar would live. Though he would bear the wounds of his father’s sins forever.

After his wife had fallen asleep, Maester Artos had told him that it would likely be necessary to amputate Aenar’s arm. The purple mark on his shoulder had grown, apparently indicating further bleeding within the limb. If it grew much more before morning, the arm would be removed before midday.

It was his fault, Aemond knew.

Alys had told him that in her visions, both boys had been healthy. But that was before his ābrazȳrītsos knew that he betrayed her. Before he brought her to this cursed place. Before he failed to stop her from meeting Alys and learning the full extent of his sins.

He only hoped Aenar would not grow to hate him for it.

For now, the boy slept in his crib, limp arm hidden beneath the dark blanket he was swaddled in. Aemond rose from the bed, moving closer to his son.

How peaceful he looked now, with the redness of his skin finally faded. He did not have as much hair as his older brother, but his was wilder - more reminiscent of his mother’s curls than his father’s straight locks. At least he had that part of her, if not the warm brown eyes Aemond had hoped for.

In the other cradle, Daeron fussed slightly, though he did not wake. It seemed he resented being confined within the tight swaddle of his blanket. The thought made Aemond smile, remembering how his younger brother once did the same. It faded quickly.

He had to go to Alys. To thank her for giving him his family - a kindness he did not deserve. To say goodbye to the child he would never meet. Another cost he would force himself to pay.

He had to go now, while his ābrazȳrītsos slept.

“Before our wedding,” he whispered, careful not to wake her as he approached, “I promised to hold you every night I could, that I would do anything to return to you when I was away. I have failed to uphold that promise, and for that, I am so sorry.”

When he stroked her cheek, she turned into his touch, a small smile upon her lips. Seeing that some unconscious part of her still reacted to him with love warmed his heart, even as the knowledge that her conscious mind would never allow her to do so felt like a dagger buried in his gut.

Aemond knelt at her side, basking in her beauty, memorizing her peaceful face. “Now, I swear my devotion again. I know you no longer wish for me to hold you, and I promise I will not try to persuade you otherwise. But I swear I will always be with you, to love and protect you, even if I must do it from a distance. I will never fail you again.”

It did not matter that she could not hear his vow. Even if she did, she would not believe him. But he made it anyway, for his own sake, and so the gods, wherever they may be, would hear him. It was to them he spoke next.

“Should I ever harm you again, I pray that the gods will strike me down where I stand. And if they do not, I shall do so myself.” He kissed her brow - the sealing of a promise and a farewell - and left.

A maid shrunk away as she passed Aemond in a corridor deep beneath Harrenhal, cradling the bundle of cloth she carried closer to her chest. It was one of the same maids who had tended to his wife—the young girl with deep brown eyes. She did not wear the clothing of a midwife, but the colors of her linen dress were similar. Perhaps a midwife in training.

Strange, then, for her to be here. Stranger still for her to be seemingly performing the duties of a laundress.

He glanced down at the bundle of cloth she carried and froze.

There was blood. Too much blood.

A young midwife, carrying bedlinens soaked with blood.

What would you sacrifice? Alys had asked.

Aemond ran.

He knew what he would find. There was no other explanation. Yet he still hoped and prayed he was wrong. Loss had followed him like a loyal dog for so long, but today it was banished. It must be.

Alys stood in front of her fire. One hand rested on a stomach that was not as distended as it had been only hours ago.

His wife’s stomach now looked very much the same.

“What did you do?” His voice shook with fear and guilt and shame. Gods, he felt so weak.

Her eyes, cold and distant, slid to his. “What you asked.”

“I didn’t ask you to…” This blood was on his hands - the blood of his child.

The word that had haunted him for more than a year - the word that had nearly led to the death of every person he ever loved - echoed in his mind.

Kinslayer.

Killer of his nephew. His uncle. His child.

Aemond looked back into the corridor, hoping to see the young midwife again. Had he not looked closely enough? Had she been carrying the body of his child within those bloody linens?

“I only wanted you to save my wife and son.” His words were a justification, a plea. It fell on the deaf ears of the gods and the dead child’s mother.

“And you thought there would be no cost?” Alys laughed, cruel and cackling. “No god in the world is so generous as to save a life and ask for nothing in exchange, boy.”

“I didn’t think – ”

“You never do.”

Grief morphed into anger. Reckless, aimless, dangerous rage. “You should have told me!”

“What would you have done?” She faced him fully now, her hand falling to her side. There was no trace of the woman who had once comforted and reassured him - who had kept him sane amidst the insanity of war. There was only annoyance and derision. It reminded Aemond of his dead half-sister and her bastard sons. “If I had told you?”

“I –”

“Would you have left your wife to die? Let her son die?” Alys’ lip curled in a hateful sneer. “You could not choose between wife and son, yet you believe you could have chosen between two sons?”

The world stopped. Only Alys’ flickering fire and burning eyes remained.

“I… it was a boy?” Aemond leaned against the wall, sliding down to his knees, savoring the scrape of the rough stone against his back. He deserved every bit of pain. More.

Alys let a single hint of sorrow slip through her cold façade. “It was. Three sons within a year. What your father would have given to have had the same.”

The last thing Aemond wanted to do was to think about his father. The king who had nearly destroyed his throne by choosing one child over another.

Gods, was he any better?

Did his ignorance of his son’s sacrifice absolve him of blame? The guilt?

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Alys sighed. “Better for his death to mean something than for his life to be spent destitute and fatherless.”

“I would not have allowed that to happen,” Aemond said. It was a reflex, a reassurance he’d grown used to giving since he learned he seeded a bastard.

“Wouldn’t you? Perhaps if my visions had not changed. But now…” She shook her head, more exasperated than sorrowful. Did she mourn the child at all? “No. You’d have wanted us as far away as possible and done anything you could to not think of us.”

“I would have ensured your comfort.” The words felt as hollow as his chest.

“Your wife would, yes.” Alys smiled fondly, just as she had when his ābrazȳrītsos sat across from her earlier that very day. She had never smiled that way for Aemond. Never truly cared for him. He should have known. “She is kind-hearted. But not you. Your resentment of me, of us, would have festered until you found some way to be rid of us.”

He wanted to deny it. To say that there was nothing that could drive him to do what she insinuated. Once, it would have been true. But now, with the man he’d become in the war and how close he’d come to losing his heart itself, it would be a lie.

If he had killed Alys along with the rest of her cursed family, would he have become this man? Would he have learned to cherish the metallic tang of blood and its warmth as it coated his hands? Would he have become so proficient a liar that false words rolled off his tongue like a Valyrian lullaby? Would he have grown so accustomed to violence that it now came as naturally to him as loving his wife?

Would he have broken his ābrazȳrītsos’s heart?

He’d trusted her visions. It had been a mistake.

One mistake that led to thousands more, and it was all her fault.

Alys was the one who lied, who deceived him. Who had pulled his strings as if he were no more than a puppet, knowing that he was married and his wife was lonely and infirm.

His failure as a husband. His wife’s pain. The death of his third son.

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Aemond’s heart slowed, his breathing becoming deep and steady. No longer the heart of a broken boy or a desperate husband. Now, it was the blackened heart that had carried him through countless battles and raging rivers of blood.

“I will be rid of you now,” he hissed as he stood. “And I will be rid of you forever.”

The bitch had enough sense to look scared.

“In memory of the son you killed, I will allow you to live. But no more than that.” She didn’t even deserve that, this woman who did not mourn her own child. Perhaps it was good that the babe was gone, for surely he would have suffered with a witch as his mother.

He approached Alys, sneering down at her and the false bravery on her wicked face. “As Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I banish you from these lands forever. You have ten days to leave Westeros. After that, if you are ever seen here again…” He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, holding just tight enough to steal a bit of her breath - just enough to make her fight for it.

“I will kill you myself,” he promised. “Without hesitation or remorse, I will kill you. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, for it will bring me far greater pleasure than that withered cunt of yours ever did.”

She fell to her knees when he released her, clutching at her throat as she coughed and gulped for air. He didn’t care. He only turned on his heel and left, not sparing a single glance at the woman who had only hours ago been carrying his bastard child.

Only one woman mattered now, had ever truly mattered to him.

His ābrazȳrītsos was still asleep when he returned to their chamber, as were their sons. They had no idea where he had gone - that he had even left at all. No inkling of the fact that a moment ago, he had again become the man who wiped an entire bloodline from the earth, slaughtered tens of thousands, and delighted in the suffering he had wrought.

Now, as he leaned down to gently kiss his sons’ brows and muss their soft hair, he was a mere man of twenty, his heart bursting with love and affection for his family. How could a heart overflow with such love at the same moment it was fracturing with grief and regret?

It was a question far beyond him at that moment. Perhaps forever beyond his reach.

He was so tired. Too tired to consider the heartbreak that would come when he woke in the morning and his wife pulled out of his grasp. He could face that pain when it came. But now, he needed to feel whole, if only for a few hours.

So, Aemond climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her into his chest. He remained awake only long enough to kiss the top of her head and whisper, “Jāla tetan, ābrazȳrītsos. Īlon lentot selagon kosti.” It is over, ābrazȳrītsos. We can go home.

She woke to the sound of Daeron fussing. Strange how quickly she was able to tell them apart, even just by their little noises of discontentment. Although, considering she had been with them every moment of the last seven - near eight - months, it may not be strange at all. Perhaps that was why she felt so sure that it had been Daeron who occupied the top of her belly, constantly pestering her with his tiny fists pounding against her at the most inopportune times.

“Hush, little prince,” a soft voice said. “You’ll wake up your mother, and after what you and your brother put her through, I dare say she needs her rest.” A maid was speaking to him, a slight, old woman leaning over his crib. She had not seen the maid before, and somehow, it comforted her.

Daeron continued to grumble. She moved to stand but found Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist. Thankfully, he was still asleep. Quite deeply asleep, apparently, for when she untangled herself from him, he did not wake.

The maid curtsied when she saw the princess approaching and stepped away from Daeron’s cradle. His fussing had now roused Aenar, but the younger prince made no sound, only glaring at his brother in what seemed to be intense displeasure at his sleep being interrupted.

“Is something wrong with him?” she asked the old maid. Daeron quieted slightly upon seeing his mother but still fussed.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, princess.” The old maid had a kind, soothing voice - that of a wise grandmother. She looked at the babes with fondness and a hint of apology. “They are simply hungry.”

“Where is the wetnurse?” She immediately regretted asking. In her sleepy haze, she had forgotten that Alys was the wetnurse at Harrenhal. Why wasn’t she here? Did she even want Alys here? No, of course she didn’t. Had Aemond requested another be found so she would not have to see Alys again?

The old maid looked away, sighing. “I’m afraid she’s left us. No wonder why, poor thing lost her babe again. Such a shame. We all thought she’d had a miracle with this one. But not to worry, Maester Artos sent some men to find another girl from the closest village.” She shook her head and again leaned over Daeron’s crib. “You’ll be fed soon, darling prince, don’t you worry.”

Alys’ child - Aemond’s child - was dead?

It was a good thing, wasn’t it? There would be no bastard son of the new king, no living reminder of what he’d done. This was good news. She should be happy, shouldn’t she?

But she wanted to cry.

“Mother, forgive me,” the old maid looked horrified as she clutched her pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star. “I should not have said that, princess. Not when you’ve only just finished your own labors. Please, forgive me.”

She glanced at Aenar, now peacefully asleep once more. How close she had come to losing him. It had devastated her. Made her willing to forfeit her own life if only he could live. If she had lost him and had to live with that loss… it would have driven her mad.

“How…” she licked her lips. “How many children has she lost?”

The old maid dropped her pendant. “I do not know, exactly. Enough that we all stopped counting.”

Oh gods. She blinked to clear her eyes, wiping away an errant tear with her thumb. “You said she’s gone?”

“Yes, princess. She left in the night. Didn’t say where she was going, to my knowledge.”

It made no sense. If Aemond had struck a bargain with Alys to save her and Aenar’s lives, why would she leave? Had whatever he offered her not been enough to keep her in the place where she’d lost so many children?

Daeron cried again, his face reddened and wrinkled. He was so hungry, she could nearly feel it herself. She… she could feel it. When she looked down at herself, she saw two dark stains on her chemise right above her breasts. Her milk had finally come in, which meant -

“I can feed them.”

The old maid looked aghast. “Princess, there is no need - ”

“I want to do it.” She was their mother, why shouldn’t she be the one to feed them? It was her body that made them, that brought them into the world. It made sense that it would continue to care for them even now. “Can you show me how?”

It took a moment for the maid to close her mouth before she smiled gently. “I’ve raised nine children myself, princess. I think I know a few tricks.”

The maid had gone by the time Aemond woke.

Daeron was still suckling at her left breast while Aenar had fallen asleep using the right as his pillow. She had not realized how heavy and uncomfortable they had felt until the boys had drunk from her, easing the pressure that she’d become accustomed to.

“You should not be doing that yourself,” Aemond muttered as he raised himself on an elbow. His eye darted from son to son, only ever glancing over her exposed breasts. Once, he loved to worship them, quite similarly to how his sons fed from her now. “Where is the wetnurse?”

Did he not know that Alys had left? Had no one told him of the death of his child?

No. Those were the faint remnants of tear tracks lining his cheeks, and there was a deep sadness in his eye that was not there when he held his sons for the first time. He knew. He knew, and he was grieving, though he was fighting to hide it. She still saw it.

Perhaps that was the real reason he never returned to King’s Landing during the war - he knew she would be able to see the guilt on his face.

“There is no other wetnurse,” she explained gently. “Alys left. They’re looking for another woman now.”

Aemond froze, his gaze growing distant. She could not decipher his expression. Rage? Guilt? Sorrow? Grief?

“I’m sorry, Aemond.” He frowned and shook his head, but she continued. “Truly, I am.”

“It’s better this way,” he whispered. He didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

He reached out to her. No, not to her, but to Aenar, gently stroking his hair. She allowed him to take the babe and hold him against his own chest.

Aenar opened his eyes and looked up at his father. Then, he smiled.

Aemond took in a deep breath. “That boy should never have existed,” he said, letting Aenar take hold of his thumb and mouth at it. “I already had what I needed. And wanted.”

So it was a boy. Another son. A brother for her own. Would he have had his father’s nose, as Daeron did? Or his stern brow, like Aenar? Gods, why did she care?

“You are allowed to mourn him. He was innocent. I bear him no ill will.” Bastard or no, a babe was a babe, blameless of his parents’ sins. Deep in her heart, she mourned him, as well.

Again, Aemond shook his head. “I cannot mourn what never should have been.” He turned his head to face her, face open and pleading. “And I am mourning too much already.”

“I am alive. Aenar is alive. There is nothing to mourn.”

“You know that is not what I mean, ābrazȳrītsos.”

She did. He mourned not for the loss of a life, but for the loss of their life. The life they should have shared, and would have, had Aemond not strayed. In truth, she mourned for it, too.

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Daeron finally finished feeding, stretching his little arms to push her breast away. She pulled her robe closed again to combat the chill.

Aemond raised a hand to help her. She flinched away. He winced in response.

“Ābrazȳrītsos, please.” His voice was already breaking, his eye watering. The sight should have tugged at her heart. His begging should have fanned the flames of her anger. But looking at him, she felt very little of anything, save a small seed of pity. “Alys is gone. My… the bastard is gone. Can we not return to the way we were? Pretend none of this ever happened? Can’t you forgive me at last?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“No, Aemond.”

Within her, there was no longer a grassland, barren with loneliness and despair. The never-ending field of raging fire had also vanished. In its place was a small, lush garden, safely contained within tall stone walls draped with flowers and a polished iron gate – locked firmly, but perhaps not sealed forever.

“I shall always be your sister, your blood, and the mother of your children.” Daeron cooed, as if he knew she was talking about him, and she could not help but smile down at him. “I will remain your wife in the eyes of gods and men. And when Aegon dies, I will be your faithful queen.”

Aemond shook as his breath quickened, failing to keep the heartbreak. “You will be a wonderful queen, ābrazȳrītsos. I know it.”

She pulled away, taking Aenar from him and into her empty arm. “But I will never again be your ābrazȳrītsos.” She forced herself to ignore the whimpering, broken cry that escaped him, the breath that carried it echoing like a death rattle. “I will not share your bed. And I will no longer allow you to hold my heart.”

Between desperate sobs, Aemond raised his head to face her. Utter devastation lay in his eye, but so too did acceptance. Anguished surrender. “My heart is and always shall be yours.”

I don’t want it, her mind told her, even as her heart cried, I will cherish it forever.

But her decision was made. In all but name, their marriage – their once legendary romance – was finished. A few fragments of love remained but would never be repaired. Could never be.

Slowly, she rose from the bed, her sons still in her arms. Aemond began to reach for her, but when she did not even acknowledge him, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Though it tugged at her heart, it was the same she would feel for any man weeping so, no longer the instinctive pull of a wife. She did not comfort him.

The soft, pitiful sounds of Aemond’s grief faded as she walked toward the eastern window, settling herself in the cushioned seat just beneath it.

Daeron smiled, watching the trembling branches of an oak tree dotted with the first tight green buds of the season. Aenar angled his head just so, until the sun warmed every bit of his fat, pink face, then promptly fell asleep. She sighed, taking in the sweet scent of spring on the wind, and realized she had not breathed so easily in months.

It was a lovely morning in Harrenhal.

[lemoncrushh]

I Miss You

Summary: You've grown frustrated and lonely because Harry is always busy.

Warnings: angst, light masturbation, oral - 18+ ONLY!

Word Count: 1949

A/N: Another old blurb from my 2016 collection. Similar to Too Long. Famous Harry x reader.

He was late. Again. Harry had missed dinner. Again.

It was the third time this week, and though he'd called to tell you so, you were tired of sitting alone at the dining room table, or resolving to bringing your plate to the sofa with the TV just so you'd have some company. A couple weeks ago when he'd had to work late, you were already asleep when he'd come home, climbing into bed behind you and pulling you flush against his body while he whispered his apologies in your ear. That time you'd forgiven him, as you'd rolled over onto your back, getting a glimpse of his face in the moonlight through the curtains. He'd made love to you then, every resentment you'd felt stripping away.

That was the last time you'd had sex. And now the resentments were flooding back.

He was a celebrity, you got that. And you weren't angry at him for that really. His work demanded a lot from him, and you were proud of him. But you had to admit you wanted your own time with him too. Time that was yours and yours alone, where you didn't have to share him.

You'd just finished cleaning up in the kitchen, had turned off the lights and were headed upstairs when you heard the front door unlock. You stopped on the middle step, clutching the banister so hard that your knuckles were white.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice low, shutting the door behind him. "Good, you're still up."

"I've already eaten, sorry," you muttered. "Dinner's in the kitchen."

"That's okay, love," he replied, crossing the room to stand at the bottom of the stairs. "I didn't expect you to wait for me."

"Didn't figure," you said with a frown.

When you turned around and continued to ascend the stairs, Harry called your name. You reached the landing before you turned to glare down at him. He could certainly sense that you were perturbed.

"Something wrong?" he inquired.

"Nope," you shook your head. "Just tired. Think I'll get ready for bed."

"Oh," Harry mouthed. "Alright then. I'd say I'd be joining you soon, but I still have some things to work on and phone calls to make after I eat."

You ran your fingers through your hair, your frustration rising with every breath you took. Dropping your hands by your side, you were about to say something, but held your tongue. Turning on your heels, you headed for the bedroom.

"Y/N," you heard Harry call after you.

You ignored him, but taking two steps at a time, Harry caught up to you as soon as you entered the room. You walked over to the bureau, placing your hands on it with a sigh.

"You need to talk about something, baby?" Harry asked from the doorway.

You didn't turn around, and although he used a term of endearment, you could tell he was less than sympathetic. He knew you'd been aggravated about your time together being stolen.

"Not really," you said.

Finally turning to face him, you saw that his brows were furrowed, his eyes squinted to slits. You knew what he was doing. He was trying to pry it out of you, to confess how angry you were. But you weren't about to convey your feelings. It would only cause problems, telling him you were unhappy. You'd end up feeling guilty and have to apologize. So, you bit your lip and walked around the bed toward the bathroom.

"You're angry," Harry pointed out, stepping further into the room.

"I'm fine," you argued.

"Clearly you're not. Talk to me."

Continuing your silent treatment you pulled your hair back into a ponytail, prepared to wash off your makeup.

"Please," you heard Harry add.

Slamming your hands against the vanity, you let out a breath, followed by a frustrated growl.

"Okay, fine, I'm pissed off!"

"About tonight," he said.

"About every night!" you yelled. "Every fucking night you have something to do, or some place to be."

"Babe, I told you I'd be busy for the next month-"

"I know you did!" you glared at him. "But I didn't know it would make me feel this way."

Harry blew a breath through his nose, leaning against the door frame.

"I'm lonely, Harry," you whined. "So fucking lonely. And I hate it. I hate feeling like this."

Harry pursed his lips. "Come downstairs with me. We'll watch a bit of TV while I eat this delicious meal you made."

"I'm not in the mood," you scoffed.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked. "I've got a lot going on right now."

"I know," you held up your hands. "And it's not really your fault. It's me. It's always me."

Your last sentence was said in a near whisper as you turned on the faucet and splashed water on your face. Your resistance to talk was understood, and Harry shook his head before leaving the room.

You scrubbed your face hard, making sure every trace of of makeup was removed. When you splashed water on it again, you noticed the tears. You leaned over the sink crying, your shoulders shaking. You silently wished you'd hear Harry's footsteps, returning to the bedroom. But when you heard noise of the television downstairs, you knew he wasn't coming.

Clearing your throat, you crossed the bedroom again to the dresser. Pulling open a drawer, you grabbed your swimsuit and put it on.

When you came down the stairs, Harry was stretched out on the sofa, his legs propped up on the ottoman, a plate of food in his lap. He pulled his gaze from the television long enough to see you walk behind him, heading for the glass doors that led to the patio.

"I thought you were going to bed," he said, muting the TV.

"Changed my mind," you muttered. "Going for a swim."

You gave him no chance to retort before you flipped on the switch and shut the door behind you. The lights outside illuminated the deck, giving it a warm glow. The pool lights shown under the water, making it look inviting and serene.

Dipping your toe in, you tested the temperature. It was warm, but not too warm. You stepped into the pool, sinking down until the water covered your shoulders. Then dunking your head under, you swam to the other side, not lifting your head until you'd reached it.

Back and forth you swam, the tension in your body releasing with every stroke. Taking a rest, you bobbed in the water, turning your head to see Harry standing on the other side of the glass doors. He was watching you, his forearm pressed against the glass above his head. If you weren't so mad at him, you would have found it erotic. Licking your lips, you were prepared to smile at him, but instead he backed away from the glass, turning back toward the living room.

Your frustration returning, you swam a few more laps until you were nearly out of breath, stopping at one of the jets near the steps at the side of the pool. You ran your hand in front of it, allowing the pressure to push it away. Then moving your body next to it, you let the jet blow against your chest before rising up so that it hit your pubic bone. With one gentle movement, it hit you between the legs and you bit your lip, your eyelids fluttering closed.

Gripping the edge of the pool, you lifted your knees, allowing them to balance you against the side of the pool. Bouncing gently, the jet stream hit you in just the rhythm you wanted. Leaning your head back, the water wetting the back of your hair, you began to move faster, small gasps of air rising up from your throat.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, the sensation building in your core.

Wanting to feel the friction raw, you pushed your bikini bottom to the side, letting the water hit your clit.

"Oh...Harry..." you moaned. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you too, baby," you heard a voice say.

Alarmed and embarrassed, you adjusted yourself, lowering your legs. Harry stood in the door frame, his swim trunks on, his chest bare.

"Wh-what?" you stammered. "You were watching me?"

"Yeah," Harry licked his bottom lip before closing the door behind him and stepping to the side of the pool. "Don't stop. That was really sexy."

You shook your head, grateful that the semi-darkness hid the color on your cheeks. You pulled yourself out of the water, dripping wet.

"Shit, I forgot a towel," you muttered, trying your best to squeeze your hair dry.

"C'mere," Harry insisted in a low tone.

You blinked, looking up at him. When you didn't budge, he raised his eyebrows and gestured for you to come to him. Standing a few inches from him, he grabbed your hands pulling you closer.

"Baby, I'm sorry," he declared, looking into your eyes.

You lowered your head. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. You're not okay. I've been so busy, I've forgotten how important it is that we spend time alone."

"I don't want you mad at me, Harry," you whispered. "I just miss-"

Harry stopped you, pressing a finger to your lips. "Shh. I know."

Sliding his hands under your ears and drying a drop of water from your cheek with his thumb, he kissed you tenderly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your wet body getting his damp, though he didn't seem to mind in the least. Melting into the kiss, you pressed into him, dipping your tongue inside his mouth to meet his. His fingers finding the ties of your bikini bottoms, he tugged gently. You giggled against his lips before pulling back to look at him.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

"Thought I'd finish what you started," he remarked with a smirk.

"Here?"

"Why not?"

Biting your lip, you shrugged. Harry took your hand, guiding you back to the pool. You stopped at the top of the steps, watching him dive in. When he came back up, he swam to you, circling his arms around your legs.

"Sit down, my love," he insisted.

With a hesitant grin, you sat at the edge of the pool. Harry gingerly opened your legs, completing his task of untying your bathing suit. It fell loose beneath you on the concrete, exposing you completely. Looking up at you once more, Harry lowered his body into the pool, threading his arms around your thighs and pulling you against his mouth.

You cried out as soon as his tongue met your clit, still aroused from your solo activity. You tried to catch your breath, grabbing hold of his hair. He moved in circles and other various shapes, up and down, side to side. You moaned his name several times under your breath, not wanting to come just yet, but equally wanting to come so badly it hurt.

Capturing your clit between his lips, Harry hummed against you, making your entire body quiver. Then ever so gently tapping you with his tongue, you began to feel the tremble in your stomach. With one more lick up your slit, you couldn't take it any longer.

"Holy shit!" you cried, grasping at his curls.

Harry didn't lift his head until your orgasm had completely ripped through you and you were left shaking. Licking his lips, he smiled at you, releasing your thighs and running his hands down your legs.

"Still miss me, baby?" he asked.

You nodded, your breaths slowly evening out. "More than ever."

Harry chuckled, lightly kissing the insides of your thighs. "Good."

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[martian-astro10]

Arudha lagna in signs (sidereal chart, whole signs)- Part 2

- part 1 is here

AL in LIBRA - like Leo, people may see you as someone who has many secret admirers. You may also be the mediator in your friend group. People may see you as someone who is very social and charming but also clever and cunning. You guys may want to maintain a good bond with everyone and this is why your stance on a lot of things is neutral. With this, people definitely think you are beautiful. You guys can come across as really manipulative though and this may cause many people to hate you. People can perceive you as a superficial person, they might think that you care more about appearances. You may victimise yourself a lot, like, having everything that a person could ask for but still whining about little things. I have noticed that these people end up making a lot of enemies, and most of the times it's unintentional. I really don't know why though. You know those politicians who are just as bad as the others but people think they're nice because they're good looking and "sweet", (Justin Trudeau 👀) that would be you guys. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in SCORPIO - my mom and my mom's younger brother who stole all the inheritance, both have this placement 😭. I feel like I've seen both the best and the worst parts of this one. People definitely see you as cunning and strategic, they may think that you'll go to any lengths to be successful. Many people don't actually know what to perceive you as, they think that your personality constantly changes, depending on who you are with. You can also be seen as a great business person, despite having many failed ventures. People may want to be your close friend so they can benefit from the power that you have. You may have trouble opening up to people and that's why you come across as secretive, but I feel like you guys actually just don't know how to be expressive, it's not intentional. You guys may have a lot of broken relationships because of your trust issues and controlling nature, but also because you have such high standards which no human being can reach because nobody is perfect. I feel like men with this placement can't keep it in their pants 😭. You can also be destructive leaders. You are also extremely adventurous, more than Aries or Sagittarius, you'll do ANYTHING as long as you think that the reward is worth it. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in SAGITTARIUS - love these people tbh, you can be seen as the epitome of the "chill guy" meme. But you can also be serious when the situation calls for it. My mom's older brother has this, he's a Libra ascendant but has all the traits of a Sagittarius. People may love spending time with you because of how funny and playful you are. You come across as a very charming person but unlike leo and Libra, it's your personality rather than your face. You can be seen as kind of impulsive though, like, you know those guys who do stupid stuff like standing on a bike while riding it but still come out alive, that's you. Since it's ruled by Jupiter, you are very much seen as someone philosophical, the type of person who constantly acts like a preacher (can be annoying sometimes). You can be seen as someone who holds a grudge for a LOOONG time, a person might have said something to you when you were 10 and you'll still refuse to talk to them or let them know what they did whenever you see them. You also hate it when people call you out on your shit because in your mind, you're the most intelligent and only your views matter. People view you as extremely childish. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in CAPRICORN - (I HAVE THIS), you are seen as someone who is mature for their age. People may think that you're very disciplined, responsible and like to follow a set routine. So many of my classmates have told me that they think I'm all of the above because I live alone. You can also be seen as ambitious and hardworking. People may think that you are very much focused on materialistic things and you may come across as someone who is not good at making emotional connections. Also, i don't know if it's just me but people have told me that I look sad all the time....i remember this one time a guy said "why do you always have a rainy cloud on top of your head"...yeah. You can be intolerant of others opinions and can be overly critical of others. People may also think that you are condescending (which you are not btw, everyone around you is just stupid). I feel like you may be more into tough love, and want people to be more practical and this can make them not like you because a lot of times, all that people want is a hug. You hate slow people and want everything to be done ASAP. You look annoyed all the time. People may also think that you're intimidating. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in AQUARIUS - I have many friends with this and if there's one thing that I can say with complete confidence, it's that, people definitely see you as a progressive person. Everyone i know with this is so outspoken about LGBTQ, feminist, and wars and issues like these. People may think that you have a strong sense of justice and want to make this world a better place for everyone. Your actions are guided by compassion. People may love your ideas as they're always so unique and easy to implement. Similar to Capricorn, you guys can be condescending as well, and may have a "my way or the highway" attitude. It's like, you believe in things so strongly that it pisses you off when others don't do the same. You guys can be unreliable friends, you expect people to be there for you but won't do the same for others. You are also be prone to ghosting people. People may not like how overconfident you are, you think you know everything, you have certain opinions and you'll not change them no matter what happens. It's like, all your knowledge comes from books and not real life experience, so you can come across as naive, kind of like, keyboard warriors. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

AL in PISCES - I know a few people with this and they all look like pushovers, I'm sorry 😭. People see them as a creative person and then they think of ways to take advantage of that creativity. You may be perceived as someone who is always "lost", you just have this aloof expression on your face. I feel like these people need a good, strong companion so that their more positive traits come out. They look like they won't be able to function alone. Unlike Aquarius, your compassion comes from real life experiences. I honestly see these people going to dangerous areas and helping people. As much as I love them, I wouldn't want to be very close to them. People may think that you're very moody and can react in a sort of dangerous way if someone rejects you, it's like when pearl says "NO! WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME IF I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG, I DON'T UNDERSTAND, I THOUGHT YOU LIKED ME!" You may be prone to overthinking as well, and then become very clingy which turns people off. You might be bad at communication and not tell people what's wrong which again leads them to see you as closed off. If it's more positively aspected then people will see the positives of the sign in you and vice versa.

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2024

[auraxins]

notes: sunday x gn!reader, angst, post-penacony story (inc. spoilers)

vomited this out at 4am with no edits and no attention to coherency you're welcome goodnight

When you're granted access to visit Sunday, a part of you wishes that The Family had told you no.

His cell is imposing, far larger than he has any need for, with elaborate chains keeping his arms shackled above his head. There is something about the droop to his frame, the aversion of his gaze, his closed eyes, that tightens your chest.

He looks small.

He looks lonely.

(You're hurt, you remind yourself. In his endeavours to rid his world of the ardors of survival, Sunday had hurt you. He had hurt so many of the people you cared about.)

And yet there is a pain etched deep into his face when he finally looks up at you. Those golden eyes are tarnished, tired, but most importantly they are surprised. (Whether it's because he sees you, or that he's been warranted a visitor in the first place, you remain unsure.)

You take a tentative step forward. The guards outside move back into formation as the cell door falls shut.

Sunday doesn't speak. You don't think you want him to. He simply watches, with those pained eyes, as you decide what to do.

"I haven't forgiven you," you speak at last, choking down your nerves. "You know that, don't you?"

Dry lips part, then close. He opts instead to nod.

You take another step, and another, til a mere stretch of your arm separates you from the silken feathers around his head. (A distant, echoing voice at the back of your mind lists off all you might be capable of from this distance. Another cries out to flee.)

"I trusted you." Though you try to stifle it, your voice cracks. "You broke my trust, Sunday."

He can't seem to find the words to answer you today. It's a palpable change from how talkative you're used to him. (You wonder briefly whether it would be easier for him to speak back, or if you prefer it this way. At least you've the freedom to say what's on your mind.)

"You know, at first they wanted to arrest me too." A dry, bitter laugh escapes you. "The Family thought I was working with you. I wouldn't be surprised if they still did. Maybe that's the only reason I've been allowed to see you, so they can figure it out for themselves."

You move to sit, cross-legged on the floor at Sunday's feet. Looking up at him like this feels uncomfortable, strange, but it also gives you the perfect angle to get a better look at him.

Despite the dishevelled clothes and hair that are so clearly a result of the aftermath of his incarceration, he maintains a faint air of elegance. It is settled into the fine curve of his jaw, the delicate long lashes that frame those tarnished eyes- which continue to watch you with an amalgam of pain and surprise- and in the sweeping arc of his body as he leans forwards in his chair.

He's beautiful, as he always has been.

And yet it remains difficult to separate him from the image of that ascended monster you'd observed the Express engage in battle. The looming figure, the stark brightness of its porcelain form, had haunted you for days. Almost weeks.

(But Sunday himself has haunted you for far longer.

He continues to now, with his silence, with his gaze. Akin to a ghost, the man you have allowed to obscure your mind lingers fleeting and restless.)

When he speaks at last, after so many year-long minutes, you fear you've succumbed to a hallucination.

"I've missed you," he says. It comes out rasped, strained, accompanied with a heaving cough, but it rings out clear as day in the silence of his cell.

A soft jingling, then a harsh clank, draws your attention to the chains above his head. He'd tried to move his arm, you surmise, and failed miserably. You can't decide if you're glad he can't reach out to touch you like he seems to want. (Your fingers twitch at your sides, echoing the sentiment.)

Sunday once longed for freedom. In the sanctity of his office, he had told you as much. The metal that bites against his wrists and ankles now feels so terribly far removed from such a vision. (If he had the chance, would he have taken it back and spread his wings? Or has he always been fated to remain caged?)

Your chest heaves as you feel a tear well up in the corner of your eye.

(You can't cry here, not now. Not in front of him.)

One of the guards knocks on the door. One more minute. A sigh of relief falls past your lips.

"You're leaving already?" Sunday asks. If you didn't know better, you'd think those dulled eyes of his mirrored your own right now.

You don't speak as you walk to the door, waiting patiently for the guards to let you leave.

Through the final stretch of light that paints his cell, you take one more glance to him. You try not to catch what he mouths, but the sight is seared in your mind within an instant.

"Is everything okay?" A guard asks, arm outstretched to escort you from the prison.

"I suppose it'll have to be," you say.