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[oceandolores]

ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | chapter I

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

Chapter I

masterlist!

next | chapter II

The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.

Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.

You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and power—legends you’ve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.

You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.

The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.

You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruit—gleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.

Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.

“Have you checked the wine?” she asks, her tone soft but urgent.

You nod. “It’s ready, Mother,” you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.

She is not your mother—you know this much—but she is all you have.

The story of how you came to be here is one you’ve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.

Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.

Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.

The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselves—or so it seemed.

The servants’ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.

You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.

Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.

Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.

The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.

“Are the platters for the atrium ready?” Livia’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“They are,” you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.

“Good.” Livia’s sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. “Take the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.

As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.

“Go with her,” Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.

Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.

“She can’t let me rest for a moment,” she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.

You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like this—bold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.

She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.

As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The Princess will be here tonight.”

You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. “Of course, she will. She is the Princess after all.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her in years,” Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. “Not since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.”

You don’t reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years, and she hasn’t had a child? Not one with him,” Alexandra muses.

“Maybe it’s their choice,” you say quietly. “It’s not our place to wonder.”

Alexandra scoffs lightly. “I’m just saying, after her son—what was his name? Lucius?—after he was taken and killed by her brother, Commodus…” She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.

You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.

You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.

“It’s not good to talk about the great emperors like that,” you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.

The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. “Make way for their majesties,” one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.

You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.

Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.

Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creature’s name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its master’s unpredictable moods.

You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Geta’s lips curl into a smile—or is it a smirk?—as his eyes linger on Alexandra.

There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.

Caracalla’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.

When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.

“Your Majesties,” Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.

She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.

To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.

Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.

“Alexandra,” he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. “Why do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?”

You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.

But Alexandra, bold as always, doesn’t flinch.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. “The final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.”

Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. “Unforeseen,” he repeats, as though savoring the word.

“I wonder, Alexandra, if you’ve grown too accustomed to... distractions.”

You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.

The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.

Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.

Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.

Caracalla’s gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glances—a shared knowledge of solitude.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.

Geta’s eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake.

But then he laughs—a low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“Ah,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “The little dove finds her voice. How curious.”

You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.

“You’re the youngest servant here, aren’t you?” Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.

“A curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yet…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.

The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.

The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servant—that you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Rome’s bloody past.

You’ve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.

But in moments like this, when Geta’s piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.

Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Rome’s cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.

Geta doesn’t believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.

If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.

Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.

The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.

Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.

The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedent—it is rooted in the hearts of the people.

And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.

“You wear the palace well,” Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. “A little too well, perhaps.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.

Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.

“Leave her, brother,” he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. “You scare the child.”

Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. “Finish the table,” he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.

Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.

The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipping from your lips.

The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressive—a prison of marble and ambition.

Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.

You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servants’ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the night’s debauchery.

Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.

“Are you all right?” You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.

Livia’s sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. “Stay away from them tonight,” she warns. “There will be soldiers, senators, politicians—men who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.”

“I understand,” you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.

"Go to your chamber and stay there.” You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.

But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.

***

The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.

The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.

Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.

You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.

This is your sanctuary, a place you’ve tended with your own hands.

The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant color—crimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.

The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.

Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.

The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.

To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.

You stare at the words you’ve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empire’s endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.

It isn’t rebellion that drives you—at least, not yet—but a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.

You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.

Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. You’ve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.

Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.

Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.

Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.

These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the garden’s beauty unable to shield you from the world’s harsh truths.

You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isn’t one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.

This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.

The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.

You know who he is. How could you not?

General Marcus Acacius.

Rome’s shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.

You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.

But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Rome’s protector.

Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.

The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empire’s conquests.

His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.

Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicality—beauty tempered by utility.

And his face—by Jupiter, his beautiful face.

It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.

His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.

His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.

But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.

They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.

Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.

He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fire—unyielding yet reflective.

His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.

Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.

“Not many choose the gardens for their thoughts,” he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.

It is a soldier’s voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.

You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. “General,” you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. “At ease,” he says, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossing his face. “You are Livia's daughter?"

His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the garden’s leaves.

Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. “A poet?”

You hesitate, “I... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.

“Thoughts on Rome, perhaps?” he asks.

His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.

Your throat tightens. To speak of the empire’s flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.

Yet something in his bearing—a quiet patience, a restrained curiosity—compels you to answer honestly.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “About Rome. And its people.”

Acacius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.

“The people,” he repeats, almost to himself. “The heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.”

The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.

You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.

Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.

He turns to you, his eyes—sharp as a polished gladius—softening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.

“Belief,” he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, “is a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Rome’s strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.”

The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.

It is not what you expected from a man like him—a hero to some, a sword-arm to the empire—but here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hope—fragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.

“Do you believe in Rome, little one?” His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.

“I—” Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.

But then, something inside you stirs—something that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.

“I believe in what Rome could be,” you reply, your voice steadier now.

“I believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its people—the ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see now…” Your throat tightens, but you press on.

“...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?”

Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expression—respect, perhaps, or surprise—that you remember who stands before you.

The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing they’ve overstepped in the arena.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmur, lowering your gaze. “I forgot myself.”

But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Do not apologize,” he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.

“You are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

“You remind me,” he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, “of someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Rome’s people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.”

Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.

The way Marcus looks at you—as though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneath—makes you feel for a fleeting moment.

“I am no philosopher,” you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. “But it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.”

“A Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empire’s failings,” he says, stepping closer now.

“Do not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Rome—not to the men who rule it."

You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.

The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.

You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.

There is something about him that draws you—not merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.

The man behind the titles and statues.

You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.

And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.

Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, but shouldn’t you be inside?” you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. “The palace is bustling with your celebration—wishing you fortune for your campaign, for Rome’s glory.”

He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rome’s glory,” he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.

He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. “Let them feast. Let them toast. I’ve no appetite for gilded words tonight.”

You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imagined—not the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is… more human than that.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.

Princess Lucilla.

The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Rome’s Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. You’ve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.

“She was delayed,” he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.

Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.

Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.

Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. “She carries Rome on her shoulders,” your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “The weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.”

Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.

“Your mother,” Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, “she’s a loyal servant to our household, isn’t she?”

You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. “She is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.”

At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if he’s allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.

“Livia is wise, then. Lucilla is… more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aurelius’ daughter, but to me—” He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.

“She is a woman of strength, far greater than any man I’ve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people… it humbles me.”

For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.

A man bound not just by duty but by love.

His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.

“I’ve never met her,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Lucilla?”

You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. “I’ve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But we’ve never crossed paths.”

Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. “She would like you,” he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.

“Are you coming to the feast tonight?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. “Servants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,” you say, lowering your gaze. “I am only a servant after all,"

His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. “Rome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.”

You blink, unsure of how to respond. There’s a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.

Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.

“My lord,” she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.

The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.

Men respect him, but women… they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “Your mother is looking for you,"

Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.

"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.

His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surface—a map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.

There is something about you, his expression seems to say—something unspoken but undeniable.

You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.

There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.

Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightly—a gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgment—before turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.

You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.

Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.

“Was that… the general?” she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.

“Yes,” you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“By the gods,” she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. “He’s… he’s even more handsome up close.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Ale,” you chide gently, though there’s no malice in your words.

“I’ve heard so much about him,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“About his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridius—the late general—and how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.”

You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “You know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.”

She grins, unrepentant. “The laundry is where all the palace’s secrets come to dry.”

You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.

You’ve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucilla’s love affair with Maximus, and Marcus’s steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.

A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, there’s something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.

As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.

To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselves—deep enough to drown in, and yet you couldn’t look away.

You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you can’t quite name. It isn’t admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.

Marcus is unlike anyone you’ve ever known—unlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.

He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something… human.

And perhaps that’s what unsettles you most.

You’ve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palace’s labyrinthine halls.

Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, you’ve only heard about in stories—abstract concepts, not flesh and blood.

But Marcus is no abstraction.

He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.

To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world you’ve never known—a world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.

You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. “It’s nothing,” you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.

“Nothing at all,” you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.

[celestemona]

no because imagine their reactions when genshin dads felt their baby kick for the first time, i'd be crying imagine the 'i made this' or 'omgomgomgomg' reactions

no because i had to write it. thanks anon ♡♡

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

and they feel their babies kicks for the first time.

pairing: dad & husband! alhaitham, cyno, kaveh, kaedehara kazuha, lyney, neuvillette, wriothesley + heizou x fem! reader

cw: original characters, slightly ooc to fit the plot, domesticity, fluff. pregnant reader. use of endearment names; arabic, japanese, farsi & french terms. approximately 4.1k words. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Alhaitham

The first time you and your husband felt your baby moving was in the comfort of your home. The soft glow radiating from the fireplace cast swirling shadows on the walls, highlighting the warm and inviting space. You and Alhaitham were snuggled comfortably in your favorite reading nook—an old leather armchair adorned with pillows and a thick-knitted blanket. You made yourself comfortable in his lap, with your back resting against his chest, while one of your husband's muscular arms cradled you tenderly. 

As reading was a crucial part in your married life, every night you and Alhaitham found yourselves sharing stories. This time, you narrated aloud an ancient legend to Alhaitham and the baby in your womb. The tale’s language, despite being dead and little known, was not foreign to him. In fact, the scribe delighted in the tales whispered in your serene and melodic voice. 

“According to the desert dwellers, the world was once ruled by a king named Al-Ahmar,” you began, your tone carrying a sense of mystery, “a king of warriors, horticulturists, and sages. He controlled the winds that whistled through the desert, the dunes turned bright silver by the moonlight, and the thousand and one Jinn that hid in the night and the calls of owls.”

Although he already knew the story very well, Alhaitham listened to you attentively—the subtle glow of affection in his eyes watching you lovingly as his thumb traced circles on your waist in a comforting gesture.

As your voice continued to flow, a subtle yet distinct vibration occurred within your being, making you pause reading for a moment. Your eyes widened in surprise as the realization hit you, drawing a loud sigh from you. 

“‘Haitham,” you said, voice shaking slightly with emotion, “I think… I think the baby just moved.”

Your husband's eyes widened briefly before a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He placed a hand on your belly and his baby's little feet stretching your skin were felt under his palm. It was a feeling that filled him with warmth, love, and joy.

“It's the first time?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper and his warm hand still under your belly. 

You nodded, your eyes shining in pure happiness. “Yes, it is.”

Alhaitham's smile widened, and he gently stroked your belly with a reverent touch. “It’s extraordinary,” he said softly. “Our little one is already making his presence known.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, and together, you savored the intimate moment. The book remained forgotten for now, overshadowed by the miraculous reality you were experiencing. 

In the peaceful comfort of your home, surrounded by the warmth of love and the promise of the future, you shared a precious moment of connection that would be treasured forever.

Cyno 

The soft, golden light of twilight filtered through the trees of the Avidya Forest as Cyno and you walked back home after a visit to Tighnari. 

Although the forest guard was against the idea of ​​seeing his very pregnant friend moving excessively and unnecessarily across the Sumerian plains, Tighnari knew that going against your stubbornness was a losing battle. Therefore, he ended up welcoming both you and your husband warmly into his dwelling. 

When you finally said goodbye after a day full of conversations and delicacies cooked by Collei, the birds were already back in their nests, and the serene environment of the forest was a welcome backdrop—although Cyno could see the exhaustion etched into your face. The weight of your growing babies seemed to be taking an increasing toll.

Cyno supported you as you walked, his arm around your waist. “You look tired. Let’s take it slow,” he said gently.

You nodded, your hand resting on your stomach. “It's just... The twins' weight is a little overwhelming today. I’m more fatigued than I expected.”

You walked slowly for a few more minutes until you arrived at an abandoned cabin nestled in the heart of the forest. Cyno helped you inside, guiding you to a comfortable seat by the window, where the soft light of the setting sun bathed the empty room in a warm glow.

As you settled into the chair, you shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a more relaxing position, although all you got in response was a dull pain shooting down your spine. A resigned sigh left your lips as you just accepted the situation you were in and waited for the discomfort to pass.

It was when your husband left the room to get something that could help with your relief that you felt a strange, soft vibration in your belly. It was as if butterflies were swirling inside you, bringing you a feeling of strangeness but delight. When you realized what it was really about, your eyes widened in surprise.

“What's the matter? Something wrong?” Cyno asks with concern visible in his expression. 

“I think the babies are moving.”

Cyno’s face immediately lit up in excitement, and he approached you, kneeling in your front. His hands were hesitant to touch your stomach and he looked at you. “Can I...?” he asked softly.

You smiled widely and nodded, placing his hand on the spot where you felt the movement. “Of course you can, hayati. You should be able to feel them now.”

Cyno closed his eyes briefly as he felt the small kicks and rhythmic changes beneath his palm. His expression softened into one of admiration and tenderness. “This is incredible,” he murmured. “They are already so active.”

“Tell me about it,” you say with a slight chuckle, “Now it is explained why I’ve been going to the toilet so much the last few days. These little jackals have been squeezing my poor bladder.” 

Cyno laughs along with you. However, his eyes were still mesmerized by your belly, his hands lovingly following his children's movements. 

At that moment, the world around Cyno didn't seem to exist. It was just him, you, and your babies. You shared a quiet, intimate moment, your connection with your unborn children deepening. The forest outside was peaceful, but inside the cabin, the air was filled with a palpable sense of joy and anticipation.

Kaedehara Kazuha

The sun shone high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the peaceful meadow where Kazuha and his family were enjoying the day. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the surrounding trees, their whispers blending harmoniously with the gentle melody of nature. Kazuha sat against a large oak tree with you resting your head in his lap, eyes closed in contentment.

Kazuha's fingers skillfully traced patterns on a windblown leaf, his serene expression a testament to his deep connection to the natural world. Your three-year-old son, Kazumi, ran around the field happily, his laughter mixing with the rustling of the grass as he played with a small wooden toy.

You, with your belly softly rounded with your second child, sighed softly—contentment evident in your relaxed posture. You placed your hands gently on your stomach, stroking it absently.

“I think she’s finally awake,” you murmured.

Kazuha's eyes softened as he looked at you. Until that day Kazuha had never witnessed his unborn daughter moving in your womb. The baby always seemed to be too sleepy to recognize her father's constant presence. “Is that so?”

Before you could nod, a precise kick hit the area above your navel. Your eyes widened at the force of the action, but an ironic laugh soon followed. “Absolutely. Looks like someone woke up to say hi to Papa.”

Kazuha's heart filled with an abundance of emotions. He carefully moved his hand to your belly feeling his little girl's rhythmic kicks. To him, the sensation was delicate, like the wings of a butterfly brushing his palm.

Kazumi, noticing that his parents seemed to be engrossed in something else, staggered towards you with wide curious eyes. He climbed into your thighs and his small hands also rested on your rounded belly. “What is it, ‘Kaa-chan?”

You smile gently, extending your hand to guide the boy's little ones to where the baby is moving. “It’s your little sister, Zumi. She’s saying hello.”

Kazumi's face lit up with wonder as he laid his head on his mother's belly, his little ears pressed against the gentle movements inside. His eyes widened in fascination as he felt the gentle, rhythmic kicks. “I can feel it! Kiki is saying hi!”

Kazuha watched the scene unfold with a soft smile, his heart full at seeing the pure excitement on Kazumi's face and the deep love in his wife's eyes. The night air was filled with peaceful harmony, his family united in this simple yet profound moment of connection and anticipation.

The sun continued to rise, bathing them in a warm, golden light that seemed to celebrate the new life they were eagerly awaiting. As Kazumi continued to listen to his sister's small movements, Kazuha gently brushed away his wife's hair, his pale fingers lingering on your cheek with a tender caress.

“I love you more than anything in this world. Thank you for making me the happiest and most complete man, my love.”

Kaveh

Kaveh stood in the middle of the room that would soon belong to his daughter, his eyes scanning every corner with a mix of determination and excitement. Samples of wallpaper, fabrics, and paint were scattered around him, along with sketches of various design ideas.

“I was thinking about using pastel colors,” he began, turning to you who was sitting in the only armchair in the empty room. “Soft tones of pink, yellow, and green. They are calming and will create a serene and peaceful environment for her. And look at this,” he took out a sample of fabric, holding it up for you to see and touch. It felt smooth against your fingers. “This is perfect for the curtains. It’s light and airy, and will let in just the right amount of sunlight.”

You watched him with a warm smile, allowing your husband to express his desires and thoughts openly, feeling your heart swell with love. “That sounds wonderful, azizam,” you add softly.

Kaveh continued, now walking a little and gesturing as he spoke. “I also want to incorporate some interactive elements. Maybe a mobile above her crib with small animals that move gently. Ah! And we could have a wall with different textures for her to explore as she grows. It’s important to stimulate her senses from an early age.”

As he spoke, you couldn't help but be amused by his reactions, also enjoying seeing this more relaxed yet excited side coming from him. Even though Kaveh considered your opinion as important as his ideas, you loved seeing the dedication the architect put into his designs—and when it came to something as intimate as creating his daughter's nursery, it was to be expected that his passion displayed twice as much. 

As he spoke happily, you listened to him in tender silence, but there was a strange feeling bubbling up inside you that left you momentarily intrigued. You attributed it to tiredness, or even hunger, but you ignored it, not wanting to worry Kaveh for nothing, much less interrupting his monologue. 

However, the vibration continued as constant, gentle but persistent movements below your navel, bringing you a slight feeling of alarm and surprise. When realization finally hit you, your breathing stopped and your hands immediately rested above your belly, feeling the movements more precisely.

“Kaveh,” you called him, your voice full of wonder.

He stopped mid-sentence and ran to your side seeing your static expression. “What? What’s happening? Are you feeling unwell?”

You shake your head, biting your lip in a futile attempt to contain your laughter. “I think she's moving. Our baby girl is moving!”

Kaveh's look went from worried to shocked in an instant, a wide smile opening soon after. He knelt down in front of you and gently placed his hands on your stomach. A light kick hit the area where his warm palm rested. 

“Hello, little one,” he whispered. “Guess you’re as excited about your room as I am, huh?”

You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “She can already feel how much love you’re putting into this.”

Kaveh looked at you, his expression full of love and devotion. “I want her to know how much she means to us, from this moment until the very second she enters this world. Every detail in this room will be a reminder of that.”

You looked him in the eyes and smiled warmly. With some difficulty, you lean over and press a kiss to his lips to which he happily returns. “She's lucky to have a dad like you, Kaveh. And I am so grateful to have you by my side.”

He stood up and helped you do the same, quickly wrapping his arms around you right after. His head leaned against yours and you found yourself cradled in a hug filled with affection. 

“We will be the best parents we can be, azizam. I promise.”

Lyney

The soft glow of the night lanterns filled the room with a warm, golden light. The living room was filled with a pleasant mix of the smell of burning incense and the faint scent of fresh wool. Lyney was sitting at a small, ornate table, focused intently on a new magic trick involving his pyro vision. Flames danced gracefully around his hands as he wove them into intricate shapes, their flickering light casting playful shadows on the walls.

Opposite him, you made yourself comfortable on the couch, your pregnant belly prominent under your loose robe. You were diligently knitting a pair of socks, each stitch coming together with the precision of a well-trained hand. The rhythmic clicking of your needles provided a calming counterpoint to Lyney's fiery display.

Lyney's latest trick involved sending a small burst of flame through a series of arches suspended in the air. He was so absorbed in perfecting his performance that he barely noticed the absence of the knitting needles and the change in your expression.

Suddenly, you let out a loud sigh—a sigh filled with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. Your hand instinctively rested on your belly, the intricate strands of wool quickly forgotten.

Lyney's concentration broke and he turned towards you with a start, dropping all his tools and heading towards your way. “Everything is fine, sweetheart? Did you get hurt? I knew I shouldn’t train at home!” he blurted out the words in a frenzy, his voice tinged with worry.

You looked at him with your eyes shining with emotion. Your husband became more and more exasperated. 

“No no. That's not it. Quite the opposite actually,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I can feel them moving!”

Lyney's eyes widened, a huge smile spreading across his face as he realized what you meant. His expression was excited, and he sit next to you. “For real? This is incredible, chérie!”

You nodded, your hand gently stroking your belly and Lyney's just above yours. “It’s such a strange and wonderful feeling. It's so subtle that it almost doesn't seem to be there. I never imagined it would be like this.”

As if they knew they now had the full attention of both parents, the babies lightly kicked the area above your navel, eliciting another excited smile from you and a look of admiration from your husband for being able to be part of such a beautiful and intimate moment for the first time. He would never admit it, but his purple irises sparkled with happy tears for a few seconds. 

With a tender smile, you shared this serene feeling in silence. The room seemed to glow a little brighter as you sat together, your bond deepened by this new shared experience. Lyney leaned over, resting his head on yours, hands still resting on your belly feeling the slight vibrations there. 

“How about we take a break from magic and knitting? Let’s just enjoy this moment together.”

You giggled softly, your heart warmed by his loving gesture. “That sounds perfect.”

Neuvillette 

In the calmness of Neuvillette's office, the dusk in the sky cast a warm light over all of Fontaine. Its golden and orange rays crossed through the windows of the room, creating a serene atmosphere. 

Neuvillette sat behind his desk, his usual composed expression softening into one of gentle contentment as he leaned back in his chair. Opposite him, you sat comfortably in the armchair, one delicate hand resting on your growing belly and a cup of tea in the other.

The afternoon was calm, with only the faint hum of the city beyond the window in the background. Neuvillette looked at you with a warm smile touching his lips as he observed your relaxed posture. You were talking about your day, your voice carrying a gentle melody. Neuvillette listened intently, his eyes never straying too far from your face, enjoying the simple joy of your shared moments.

As you spoke, a subtle change occurred in your expression that didn’t go unnoticed by his sharp eyes. Your eyes widened slightly, and you placed a hand on your stomach, your fingers gently tracing its curve. Neuvillette immediately noticed the action and looked at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Is everything alright, mon amour?” he asked, his voice carrying a slight hint of alarm.

Your eyes glowed with a mixture of surprise and joy. “I think… I think Éveline just moved,” you respond, your voice shaking with emotion. 

Neuvillette's eyes widened as well, and he quickly moved to your side, his hesitant but gentle hand covering yours on your belly. “May I?” he asked softly, his usual formality melting in the heat of the moment.

You nodded, your smile growing as you guided his hand to the right place. For a few seconds, you both just sat, your breaths mingling in the silent space. Then, Neuvillette felt it—a gentle vibration beneath his palm, a small movement that was both fleeting and profound. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear.

“She’s already so active.”

A giggle escaped your lips. “Apparently yes. She’s letting us know she’ll be here as soon as we expect.”

Neuvillette took a deep breath, trying to savor the moment as his hand intertwined with yours. “I suppose this is one of those rare moments when words fail to capture the full depth of our feelings.”

“I couldn’t agree more, darling.”

Wriothesley

Wriothesley stood at the bedroom window, admiring the marine life outside, which was enjoying the sunlight reflected in the crystal-clear waters of the Fontaine's sea. He was already dressed in his usual attire, mentally preparing himself for another day of responsibilities at the Fortress or Meropide. Despite the weight of his duties, a small smile played on his lips as he listened to the sound of water running from the shower in the adjacent bathroom.

“Are you done, love?” he shouted, looking at the clock on the wall. “We have a council meeting in half an hour.”

Your voice floated back, warm and cheerful. “Give me two minutes, Wrio. I'm almost finishing.”

He shook his head, amused by your nonchalance. Even pregnant with your first child, you continued to be a pillar of strength and efficiency, working alongside him to keep the prison running smoothly. The thought of his unborn child brought a gentle warmth to his heart, a feeling he was still getting used to.

He began to organize some papers on his desk, mentally preparing himself for the upcoming meeting, when an abrupt, piercing scream crossed the air. Wriothesley's heart leaped into his throat, and he ran toward the door.

“Sweetheart, what happened? Did you get hurt?” his voice was full of panic as he walked in, expecting the worst.

Standing there in the shower, allowing the water to cascade over your naked body, your hands cradled your belly. Though your eyes were wide, there was no fear in them—just astonished joy.

“Everything is fine. I’m fine,” you reassured him, your voice shaking with emotion. “He kicked. The baby kicked for the first time.”

Relief washed over him, quickly replaced by a wave of wonder and joy. He helped you out of the shower and then pulled you into his embrace, not caring that he was getting wet due to your body that just came out of the shower. Gently, he placed his hand on your belly and waited a few seconds before he too could feel the slight movement under the curving skin.

“There he is,” he whispered, his expression melting in pure devotion. “Our son.”

You nodded, happy tears blurring your eyes. “Sigewinne said it was normal for some babies not to move in their mothers’ wombs, but I think he’s finally trying to say that he’s as eager to meet us as we are to meet him.”

Wriothesley leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to meet him too,” he said softly. “This is the best way to start a day.” 

Your husband held you for a while longer, just reveling in your presence and the magical feeling of your unborn baby being present under the palm of his hand before he reluctantly pulled away. 

“Although I'd like nothing else than stay here forever, we must dry and dress you. We have a meeting to attend and I want our little one to see how his mom looks like when she's doing what she does best.”

You waved in contagious joy. “Of course, Duke. As you wish.”

After a few more exchanges of caresses, you prepared for the day, your hearts excited for the new life growing. Fortitude may take a lot out of you, but moments like these remind you of the joy and love that made each challenge worth it.

BONUS

Heizou

Moonlight streamed in through the bedroom window, casting a soft, silvery glow over it. Heizou was lying comfortably behind his pregnant wife, his hand resting gently on your rounded belly. The room was quiet except for your steady breathing and the occasional rustling of the sheets.

Suddenly, the detective felt a slight movement under his hand. It was no wonder he was such a light sleeper given his job and all. And then, because he thought it was you constantly moving in your sleep, he chuckled softly, bringing you closer to his embrace. “Can't stay still, huh?”, he murmured playfully.

Feeling the same movement, you opened your eyes slightly and lightly pinched his thigh. “Stop poking my belly,” you mumble, still sleepy, “You know it tickles.”

Heizou smiled in the dim light. “I’m not poking you,” he replied, gently patting your belly. “Maybe you’re just dreaming.”

You sighed, momentarily awake, and turned to face him, narrowing your eyes in mock severity. “Oh, of course. Blame my dreams when you're always the one causing trouble.”

Heizou raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Me? Causing problems? I would never do that.”

You stared at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter, taking care that the loud sound of your voices didn't disturb anyone else's sleep. 

When you were coming back to him with another bicker comment, another subtle movement appeared and interrupted your joking time. You caught your breath in surprise and placed your hand over your husband's, which was already resting on your belly. 

“Did you feel that?”

Heizou's playful smile disappeared and was replaced by an expression of delight. “I did,” he replied, his voice now a mere whisper. “You think...?”

“It’s the baby,” you nodded, your eyes shining with joy. “Our little Ren is moving.”

Heizou's face lit up with a mixture of excitement and tenderness. “Well, it looks like our baby takes after me,” he said, his teasing tone returning. “It’s already causing a bit of confusion.”

You rolled your eyes but giggled, “Great, just what I needed—two troublemakers.”

Heizou leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “You love it,” he whispered, his eyes shining.

You rested a hand on his cheek, suddenly feeling a rush of warmth and love. "I do. I love you both."

You stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the shared joy of feeling the baby's first movements. “You know,” Heizou said thoughtfully, “if this is how our little one is right now, we might be in for some sleepless nights.”

You laughed a little louder this time.

“Well, I was already prepared for that. Besides, I have you by my side. So I think we will do very well.”

Heizou kissed you gently. “We will be the best team, my dear,” he promised.

[emmcfrxst]

OKAY and what about a happy ending for reader, Logan and Laura??? Like in that one little drabble you wrote her mom!reader somehow resuscitated/healed Logan after he was ‘chest fucked?’ Nobody dies and Mom and Logan get to raise Laura together like normal parents!!!

Cue some happy mommy/daughter headcanons with Logan loving his girls 🩷🩷🩷🩷

the term “chest fucked” made me laugh out loud so thank you for that

one thing you come to learn about laura is that she absolutely LOVES to be the little spoon. she’d never felt particularly cared for (or safe) in her life before she met you and logan, so when you hand her affection on a silver platter she just becomes quite honestly a little obsessed with it. she loves everything about the concept of spooning because it’s easy affection— you can be watching tv or reading in bed with her curled up into your arms, cradling her, and it both makes her feel loved and makes her feel safe because she’s come to associate your touch with pure, unconditional love and support. like i’ve mentioned before, you’ve quite literally began to carry out with the purpose of being her mother, her protector; she knows that no matter what happens, you’ll always, always have her back and that comforts her to no end. she’s very physically affectionate with you, to the point where she feels comfortable initiating physical contact on her own— she knows you won’t refuse or judge her, and she’s been deprived of love for most of her life so having a parent who is willing to hand out love and care like this honestly has made her a little greedy (in a funny, endearing, child-like way. she absolutely adores you and she does not have the words to properly express how much you’ve impacted her life).

affection is a little less easy between logan and laura; they’re both a little awkward with each other— logan because he’s unsure of just how to initiate any kind of physical affection to anyone that isn’t you, and laura because she’s unsure whether or not he would reject her (he wouldn’t. ever. he might grumble about it but it’s just for show. he would never ever dare to reject laura’s affections because he knows just how badly this could affect her; he’s the human embodiment of touch starvation from years of abuse and pain and he’s come to learn just how truly impactful a little love and care can be, that’s something he’s learned from loving you and being loved by you) so the only kind of affection they really partake in at first is through play fighting/bickering. i’ve mentioned this before but laura really brings out the child in logan; he loves to tease her and be playful during their interactions, even if she sometimes gets annoyed with it (it’s the Howlett Poor Anger Management Starter Kit) so he shows his affection through little acts like pinching her cheeks, ruffling her hair or pushing her aside with his hip while they’re helping you out in the kitchen. the playfulness is fully reciprocated, because laura can and will jump on him and basically force him to carry her around the house like a little baby monkey (which is one of the reasons why he affectionately calls her his little monkey, i’ve talked about this specific nickname and the whole carrying thing in the two posts linked in this reply) and the whole frenemies thing they have going on at first really helps them bond and like i’ve said before, also helps two very traumatized people associate touch with something that’s fun, light, and positive. their interactions do end up growing from play fighting/wrestling as a way to express affection to actual, genuine (although tentative) affection in the “usual” way; laura will often rest her head on logan’s arm/shoulder if they’re sitting side by side, and it’s not uncommon for you to see laura’s head resting in logan’s lap while he reads or vice versa— they slowly find something that they’re both comfortable with, and it always makes you a little emotional when you think of how far they’ve come in not only their personal journeys, but also in their shared one. it’s not over-the-top physical displays of affection, but it’s simple and it’s genuine and that’s really what makes this so beautiful to you. logan probably won’t admit it out loud because he’s not particularly good at voicing his feelings (although he’s been actively trying to be better at it for your and laura’s sake), but there’s nothing in the world that he loves more than having you and laura by his side, both literally and figuratively.

[stardusksx]

ೀ⋆｡ ˚ TIME TO BEGIN AGAIN remus lupin x fem!reader

summary: after the death of lily & james, reader and remus navigate their broken relationship while raising harry potter.

gif not mine, credits to the creator <3

warning: sad & angsty but there is a happy ending! idiots in love?? talks of death and grief, past miscommunication, hurt/comfort, friend to lovers, fade to black at the very end but nothing explicit!

( word count : 1.89k )

Silver moonlight bled through the windows, illuminating the tears on her cheeks and setting one-year-old Harry Potter’s eyes ablaze. He stared up at her, gaze wide like his small body had finally succumbed to the shock. She swayed back and forth to soothe him, her heart heavier than concrete, sound of his now silenced screams still ringing in her ears.

Down the hallway, she could hear muted voices. Albus Dumbledore's sombre words were incoherent to her, but she didn’t care what he was saying— what anyone was saying. She'd arrived a matter of fifteen minutes ago, burned under their sympathetic gazes, and fell apart at the confirmation of what she had hoped was a cruel, cruel, joke. Then her eyes had landed on midnight hair and a blue baby grow, the toddler squirming in Mcgonagall's arms as hysterical cries bellowed from his lungs. She’d taken him from her, cradled him close, and wordlessly walked down the hallway to Lily and James' vacant room.

She couldn’t whisper it’s okay, couldn’t get any words of reassurance out even if the infant was the only one who would be able to judge if they were truthful or not. It was like she hadn’t had air in her lungs since the phone call— it felt like nothing would be worth the effort it took to breathe again.

Lily and James were good. They were everything that a person should be, and they were gone.

“I’ve got you.” She managed to murmur, because she did— it was the one true thing she could say to offer comfort, “I promise.”

His head came to rest against her chest, and she could feel the stickiness of his drying tears against her skin. She was remembering the sorting hat placed over coppery hair, the sheepish expression on James’s face after he had accidentally hit her with a crumpled ball of paper— a note he’d been trying to get to Lily, who was sat obliviously beside her. They were so intertwined with every memory of those seven years at Hogwarts that she would never be able to think about her time there without thinking about them.

It had been the best era of her life, now forever tainted, like a spill of ink to pure water. She felt like she’d come crashing to earth after floating through antigravity.

There was shuffling in the hall, and her head snapped towards the doorway.

"Remus." She breathed, voice full of grief. The sight of him sent another wave of despair over her as more tears surfaced and spilled like rain against a window. He was dishevelled and clearly just pulled from sleep, but the redness of his glassy eyes as he stared at her for a frozen moment was enough to tell that he was in the same emotional turmoil she was. Her lip quivered before he finally strode towards her, wrapping his arms around them both. A sob was muffled into his shoulder, and she could feel his tears against the skin of her neck. They'd lost it all tonight.

"Oh god." His voice was raw, broken, as he said her name, "Oh god."

She didn’t know how long they held each other, but his arms were the only sense of reprieve she could find— like one of the million elastic bands around her heart had snapped away. She was scared to let go, scared that the one band would tighten around her again and squeeze until she gave out.

She hadn’t seen Remus since graduation. They’d had a stupid argument— stubborn colliding with stubborn, neither one of them wanting to admit to their wrongs. She had called him careless, stupid. It was harsh, but when she’d heard he was in the infirmary from a prank gone wrong, her panic had made her irrational. Why do you care so much? He had spat back when he realised she hadn’t been joking— when he realised she was actually mad. As soon as he’d said it, he really did feel stupid for instituting that she did care that deeply for him. For insinuating it like he didn’t want her to care, like he hadn’t been wishing for her to care like that since first year.

Well, forgive me, her last words to him had been, sarcastic and punctuated with a glare that she hoped would hide the way her heart was hurting, next time I’ll be sure to not give a fuck, Remus.

He’d felt too ashamed to approach her, and she’d felt too raw from the way it had been as if all her vulnerable feelings towards him had been forcefully exposed and thrown back at her with a sneer.

Come on, Sirius had said her name softly after it had been weeks, you know he didn’t mean it that way.

Then he shouldn’t have said it. She’d responded, shoving her papers into her bag and exiting the dining hall. He shouldn’t have said it like she didn’t have a right to care about him. Not when her heart had been in her throat at the sight of his bandages, voice wobbling when she’d asked if he was okay.

Yeah, he’d responded, having the nerve to grin, it was worth it for—

She was worked up. When Dorcas had come to get her, she’d made it out like he was on his deathbed. She’d been terrified. It was careless, Remus. Are you that stupid—

His eyes had widened in surprise, clearly not expecting her reaction. And so it had happened. They had said things they shouldn’t, then been too stubborn to fix it.

None of that mattered now. “He can’t go to Lily’s sister,” She said, “He just can’t.”

Remus pulled back from her, his hand gently caressing the side of Harry’s face. “He won’t,” he said firmly, “We’re his godparents, he goes to us.”

They had spoken to Dumbledore after they’d finally gotten the toddler to sleep, and the man’s features had pinched in concern. “You’d have to go into hiding,” He said, “He’ll be a target if they find out he’s still alive, as will you— if you aren’t already.”

“Whatever it takes.” She had responded, Remus nodding along.

They found themselves in the middle of nowhere. Some cottage hidden by country side trees while they waited out the war with the death eaters. Harry needed to be held most night, his cries an echo against the darkness after awakening from another nightmare.

She had nightmares too. So did Remus. They started off in separate rooms, but ended up in the same one for comfort. He held her, whispered assurances as they weathered the grief. She did the same for him.

Harry began walking, talking. They laughed again for the first time sitting on the kitchen floor, legs forming a diamond as the little boy attempted to stumble between them. One step, two step. He’d collapsed into her arms, and she’d raised him into the air, their cheers making him squeal.

The way Remus looked at her then— it had made her feel like a schoolgirl again, like she was before all the loss. She had smiled at him, genuinely, then broke his gaze to continue praising Harry.

They took turns cooking. Reminisced. It was less painful to remember things together. Candle light would flicker on the kitchen table, and they’d talk for hours like they used to. Then they’d get into the same bed, sleep in each other's arms as rain pattered against the window.

It didn’t happen straight away. They were too busy with grief, with the hurts from that lingering argument they hadn’t talked about, but eventually, with time, came the healing. Came the capacity to remember what they’d toed the line at those few months before the end of their final year at Hogwarts.

She’d loved him for a long time. She doesn’t remember when she started, but she knows that she hadn’t stopped. Not even for a moment.

Remus? It was sometime in February, the common room empty as the clock struck one in the morning. The fire was spitting embers, tartan blankets draped over laps. You're my favourite thing to come of this, you know?

His head had snapped up from his parchment paper, eyes comically wide, w-what?

She’d grinned slightly at his bewilderment, out of all the things Hogwarts has given me, you're my favourite.

He’d spluttered, and she’d gathered up her homework and headed towards the stairs, tossing a night, Mooney, over her shoulders like she hadn’t left him short of breath. At the breakfast table the following morning, Sirius had been teasing him about something as she sat down. He’d been flushed bright red, swatting the other boy's hands away and harshly whispering to stop it. Sirius had smirked at her, raised his eyebrows suggestively, and she’d told him to sod off with a poor attempt at concealing a smile.

“You're still my favourite.” She says, late into the night as her hands are deep in dish water. Remus freezes, rag hovering over the counters he was polishing. When his head turned to look at her, his eyes were as wide as they had been the last time. She smiles, “You always will be.”

He stares at her, grip on the cloth loosing, before his arm completely falls slack at his side. He takes in a breath, there’s another beat, and he does something he regretted not doing the last time.

With two strides, his hands cradle her face, and he pulls her towards him. Moonlight illuminates them, silver streamers through the kitchen window, and he kisses her like he was always meant to. Her hands fly to his waist, to his shoulders, and she melts into him as if her very bones were liquidated and seeking to be moulded permanently against his shape.

“I love you,” He says it like a promise, “Always. With everything I have.”

The words linger between mingled breaths, chests rising and falling against each other. “You’re my world, Remus. You and Harry. I don’t need anything else but this.”

He takes her hands between them, brings them to his lips. “You have me. I don’t want to be anywhere that you aren’t.”

They crash together again, years and years of unsaid things melded into their movements. They become a tangle of limbs in a bed they’d shared for months now, skin against skin and a shared pleasure that rolled over them like liquid gold.

It should feel wrong— hiding away in this cottage, raising the child of their murdered best friends, praying for the end of a war. But little by little, life begins to take a shape again, starts to feel like there is certainty and purpose. Here with Remus, with Harry, the effort it takes to breathe, to continue, is entirely worth it.

[sapphire-writes]

no matter what ~ Aemond Targaryen

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader

Summary: Your daughter worries about her egg not hatching. Dad Aemond to the rescue. Cuteness & fluff.

Word Count: 0.7k

Warnings: none, pure fluff

A/N: Wanted to write some soft Aemond, let me know what you think!

update: part 2 drabble where baby girl gets her dragon 🥺

Requests are open 💚

Your daughter had been laying in front of the fireplace since returning to your chambers after supper. The usually rambunctious child was eerily calm, watching the flames lick the sides of her dragon egg.

She had been presented with an egg when she was a baby in cradle, a tradition that honors the Targaryens, hoping the egg would hatch and she would bond with the dragon inside.

Years had passed and as your daughter grew, the egg remained unopened.

You smiled softly as you watched from where you sat, a book across your belly, swollen with child yet again. From where you sat, you could not see the silent tears that rolled down your daughter's face, her eyes transfixed on the dancing flames.

The door to your chambers opened, and your husband Aemond entered. He waltzed over to you first, placing a kiss on your head before kneeling in front of you.

You smiled at your husband as he placed a hand on your stomach.

"How is our little dragon today, my love?" he asked, concern written on his face.

"Restless today, it seems," you tell him honestly, placing your hand atop his. As much as he loves seeing you pregnant with his child, Aemond detests the pain it brings you late in the pregnancy.

Aemond turned to look then at the other dragon in the room. He glances back at you, and you give him an encouraging nod.

Aemond stands, walking over to your daughter.

"Skorkydoso iksos issa byka mēre?" he asks, stroking his daughter's silver head affectionately (How is my little one?).

Your daughter sniffles, running her sleeve across her nose. Aemond sits swiftly, pulling the small girl into his lap.

"Skoros iksos pirta issa dōna hāedar?" he inquires, as she snuggles into his chest (What is wrong my sweet girl?).

"It shall never hatch," she cries, hopelessly, "I shall never have a dragon to ride." She answered in the common tongue, causing your face to fall into a sad expression. Aemond meets your eyes, his expression mirrors yours.

"Why do you say that?" Aemond asks, beginning to rock your daughter back and forth, soothing her sobs.

"I-I- heard th-that sometimes," the tears come harder, your daughter struggles to find the words between her sobs, "sometimes...it never-"

She is cut off by a small hiccup, you bring a hand to cover your lips, tears filling your eyes. You have never seen your daughter so distraught.

"Shhhh, it is alright," Aemond purrs, "do you want to hear something?"

Your daughter hiccups again, turning to look up at Aemond. Her violet eyes are large and watery, and more tears threaten to spill over.

"I did not have a dragon in cradle, nor was I a dragonrider until I was much older than you are now."

Your daughter's eyes appeared to widen, as she sat up looking at her father. Aemond smiled softly at her.

"You didn't have an egg?" she asked, sniffling. Aemond shook his head. He reached forward, wiping the tears from his daughter's reddened cheeks.

"The gods are mysterious, indeed," he began, "sometimes they place greatness in our laps, other times they wish to see what challenges we can rise to."

You smiled softly, looking at your daughter. Her full attention was on Aemond, drinking in every word he spoke. She simply adored him.

"I claimed Vhagar, and she claimed me," Aemond said, smiling at the memory. He took his daughter's hands in his.

"So perhaps your egg hatches, or perhaps it does not," he says, pursing his lips, in thought. "There is more than one way to become a dragonrider and you, my daughter, will be a dragon rider."

Your daughter smiled widely before her brow furrowed.

"What if the gods truly wish for me not to fly?" she whispers, the fear still fresh in her young mind. Aemond hums before answering.

"Your mother is not a dragonrider," he says, looking towards you, "and she is the fiercest woman in the seven kingdoms."

Your daughter giggles as you smile at your husband's kind words.

"We love you, no matter what," Aemond assures and your daughter throws her arms around his neck. Aemond hugs her tightly, and you can't stop a happy tear from falling down your cheek.

You feel so lucky for the family the gods have blessed you with.

[shogunish]

𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿.

pairing. gojo satoru x f! reader

genre. heavy angst, heartbreak

summary. satoru realized something. he wasn't only losing his life. he was losing you, too.

warnings. chapter 236 spoilers, major character death, blood/violence, denial, no comfort

words. 1.3k

note. i can't see anything through my tears

Pristine snowflakes gently fell from the night sky, embracing what was once Shinjuku with a smooth blanket of innocent, pure white. Little puddles, thin branches were all frozen solid while a peaceful silence seemed to linger in the air. It was cut by soft sobs and begs, hot tears and crimson blood staining the pure blanket of snow,

Your knees were buried in the snow, Satoru's head rested on your thighs. Blood spilled from his mouth like water from an overflowing sink, but he still had the energy to smile. Hot tears dripped onto his cooling skin. "Don't cry. You're So much prettier when you smile."

"Don't talk like you're dying! You're gonna make it, you hear?!" You yelled out loud. Fat tears streamed down your cheeks while you were cradling Satoru's face with trembling fingers. Defeated – that was what you were. "You promised..you promised to marry me once this was all over..you can't go.."

With the way you were denying Satoru's looming death, you would end up cursing him and that was something you would never do to the man you loved so much and yet..and yet..

"There's gotta be something..anything at all.." Your voice was nothing but a strained whisper.

That promise was all Satoru could think about. That warm ring on your finger which warmed his gradually cooling skin, the silver that glimmered even underneath the darkest night sky that even the moonlight couldn't penetrate. It was proof of his devotion to you.

Satoru realized something. He wasn't only losing his life. He was losing you, too. He coughed, his voice unusually quiet and vulnerable. "I wish I could live out that promise, tell you how much you mean to me and make lots of babies, too.."

Satoru nuzzled into your trembling hands. His vision was slowly but surely darkening, but he was happy. He could still feel and hear you clear as day. "But you won't ever be alone. I'll be with you..every step of the way, my love."

Satoru's words tore a hole right through your heart that nothing could ever fill. Both of you had already made plans to settle down, build a cozy home and fill it with the family you always wanted without the expectations of Jujutsu Society on his shoulders. A place where no one expected Satoru to be The Strongest. A place where he could be Gojo Satoru.

Gripping Satoru's shirt with your fists, your knuckles turned white. You knew you had to pull yourself together for the last moments you could spend with the man who always stole the blanket in the middle of the night, never failing to kiss you good morning and good night. The man who always brought home some kikufuku for you. The man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

"If we're ever reborn as human beings..In a world without curses.." You spoke in hushed tones as you lowered your forehead on Satoru's. "..will you make me your bride again..?"

Usually, Satoru would chuckle at you and call you cheesy for saying such sappy words, but not this time. Not when he was bleeding out in your loving embrace, feeling so, so safe and so protected. Those words..they comforted him, too. "I'd do it in another lifetime, in every life. You're the one I want to grow old with..be happy with.."

A single snowflake got caught in your hair and oh, how badly Satoru wanted to brush it away. He tried. Lord knows he tried, but he couldn't even lift his arm anymore. How he yearned to run his fingers through your hair and feel your soft lips on his one last time..

"You're the love of my life. It's always gonna be you." He felt at peace with you. The most content he'd felt in a very long time. Even though he was more dead than alive, Satoru looked so..peaceful.

You were gentle when you pushed Satoru's messy bangs away from his face – you weren't even sure if he could still feel your touch with the way the light in those sky-colored irises was fading.

"Then this shall be our Binding Vow. I, too, will meet you in every and any lifetime. We'll grow old together, make a family and be happy together."

Silent tears still ran down your cheeks as you pressed your lips to Satoru's bloodied, cold ones as if to seal the Binding Vow you had just made.

"Close your eyes, Toru. It's..it's okay to rest now." You whispered, knowing how hard it had to be for him to keep his eyes open and so, you gently slid his eyelids shut with the delicate tips of your fingers. "I'm right here.."

Satoru couldn't be happier. He got to kiss you, he was surrounded by the woman he loved in his final moments and he got to hear you call him "Toru" one last time.

Taking a slow steady breath, Satoru focused all of his attention on you. Your voice, your touch and your breathing. He'd miss the way your hair was in his face when he spooned you from behind. He'd miss the way you'd comb your fingers through his hair as he fell asleep on your chest and he'd miss that beautifully radiant smile of yours that you only ever showed him.

You heard a whisper, one that was meant for you only. "I'll miss you, my love."

Silence filled the space around you. Satoru had taken his last breath and his heart ceased to beat. Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, was dead.

"I'll miss you too, Toru.."

You two were torn apart with nothing to do about it and you finally allowed yourself to shatter into countless little pieces while the sun was finally rising, ringing in a new day which was adorned by a clear blue sky. A blue that only his eyes could ever hold.

Tears and snot streamed down your face as you bent over Satoru's body, your face buried in his chest like you could breathe life back into him. You sobbed and wailed painfully, holding his cold body incredibly tight. Cries and begs and pieces of yourself cut through the tranquil day.

It was unfair.

It was unfair how wedding plans suddenly turned into a funeral.

bonus;

Several hours had passed and cries of agony had turned into deafening silence. Your ear was still pressed to Satoru's chest like you were expecting a heartbeat to return, but it was over. This wasn't just a nightmare. This was cruel reality. Eyes that once sparkled for the love you had for Satoru were now dull and lost their former shimmer. Motionless, you were still bent over his body, protecting and shielding it from the curse called reality.

"[Name].." It was Shoko who stood by your side along with the medical team. Judging by her swollen eyes and sore nose, she had been crying not too long ago, as well. "You need to let him go. Satoru..he wouldn't have wanted you to be like that."

No reaction. If Shoko didn't know any better, she would've believed you had died as well and maybe..maybe a part of you actually did. The doctor frowned. She knew how much you loved Satoru, how many plans the two of you had and that all of your future plans were tied to him, but..she also knew that the longer you'd remain in the snow with a dead body, the more your health would be endangered.

"Come. It's time to go home, [Name]." Shoko gently pried you away from Satoru's dead body and although you didn't resist physically, you immediately raised your voice and started crying the moment you saw the medical team picking up Satoru's body.

"Don't! Anything but that!" You yelled, vision blurry with tears. You reached out your hand to the body that belonged to the man you had given your heart and soul to.

"Don't take him away from me!"

taglist; @torusmochi (i'm so sorry)

[lovelytsunoda]

a sweet, sweet fantasy, baby // alex albon

summary: she thought that settling down with the love of her life was just a fever dream, that being loved just wasn't in the cards for her. but alex made her dreams come true with a small silver ring. or, engagement night sex with alex.

warnings: the most romantic smut that you have ever read tbh

author's note: i literally made myself so emotional while i was writing this, clearly i need to lay off the romance books for a hot minute.

she never thought that this would happen. that someone else would love her so much that they would be willing to be by her side until the bitter end. that someone would want to grow old with her, laugh with her, cook with her. start a family with her.

so when alexander got down on one knee with that small velvet box in hand, the emotions had bubbled over before she could even say yes.

now, they stumbled back into the house in a tipsy flurry of giggles, her hand holding his so tightly, as if she thought that he would vanish into thin air if she let go of the driver.

alex reached behind his head to turn on the living room lights, his eyes filled with nothing but pure adoration for the young woman in front of him.

his lover, no, his fiancée, smiled at him, resting her slender, perfect hands on either side of his face before she kissed him softly.

"alexander albon, you are my favourite person."

it was something she had started saying early in the relationship, when she was scared to tell alex that she loved him, when she was scared to be the first person to say it. when she was more scared of scaring away the best thing that had ever happened to her than she was actually telling alex how she felt about him.

something that had grown to be even stronger than an 'i love you', spoken on days where the going got tough, or the words were hard to find.

a reminder that they would always be there for each other.

"i can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you, y/n. y/n albon, that has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" alex laughed, kissing her again before sinking to his knees on the smooth hardwood floor, his nimble fingers fiddling with the straps on her high heels as he placed a soft kiss on y/n's leg.

y/n giggled, using the palms of her hands to support her extra weight against the walls on either side of the hallway. "alex, i'm pretty sure i can take my heels off by myself."

"i'm trying to be romantic, y/n." alex joked, rolling his eyes as he slipped the shoe off his lovers right foot. "also, i have a great view up your dress from down here."

"dork." she grinned, playfully tapping her lover in the side with her foot. "get on with it, my feet are starting to hurt."

"let's get the weight off of them, love." alexander spoke softly, kissing up her leg before he got to his feet, hooking his arms under her thighs and lifting her into the air.

y/n laughed, an unbreakable smile on her face as alex twirled their bodies around, walking from the front hall to the living room and setting her down , feet sinking into the plush, white carpet. alex switched on the stereo, an old mariah carey song beginning to play as they danced softly in the low lights, the calming sounds of night in the monaco harbour wafting in from behind the patio door.

"alex," y/n hummed as her fiancé spun her around gently, dipping her towards the ground in a dance that they had done a million times before. "thank you for loving me."

alex's face softened as he took her hands in his, pressing a kiss to the finger that cradled the heart shaped diamond. “hey, baby, you don’t ever have to thank me for loving you, okay? you are so deserving of love, in every way. you’re my favourite person, y/n.”

"i love you, alex." she said softly, pressing up on her toes to smush her lips against his, a small smear of glitter lip gloss smudging against the corner of his mouth.

y/n was overflowing with love for the man in front of her. the man who would sit on a skype call with her from halfway across the world while she worked on a term paper because he wanted to hear her voice. the man who made her a hot chocolate in bed on the days where she couldn't find the courage to face the world on her own.

the man who made loving someone as complicated as her look easy.

"help me out of my dress?" she asked sweetly, arms looped around his neck

alex grinned, kissing her again. "i thought you'd never ask. just sit back and let me spoil you tonight, okay pretty girl?"

giggling, she grabbed alex's hand and turned in the direction of the bedroom, stepping over discarded cat toys that gucci and horsey had left out before retreating into hiding when the couple came home.

alex kissed her, his tongue gently teasing the seam of her lips as he held y/n close, one hand slipping underneath the shoulder straps of her floral sundress. his lips followed his fingers, peppering her shoulders with soft, yet hungry kisses as he slid the straps down her skin, watching the dress fabric pool around her feet.

"you're so beautiful. i hope you know that." alex said sincerely. "i love you."

he kissed her again before she stepped back, perching on the end of the bed before moving to lie on her back, looking up at her lover as he practically ripped open the buttons on his shirt before kneeling over her body.

alex kissed up her body, her hands tangling gently in his hair before he paused, nestling his head between her breasts. alex would have been content to lie there all night, with y/n's slender fingers gently brushing his hair. he kissed her right breast through the padded fabric of her bra, the lace dotted with tiny embroidered roses.

"baby, you know i'm yours, right? you're mine and i'm all yours for as long as we live." alex said,

y/n laughed. "are you putting that in your vows, loverboy?"

"i don't know." alex hummed, sucking a small love bite onto his fiancée's right breast. "it sounds vaguely sexual."

"baby, anything sounds sexual when you have your face buried in my tits. you could be talking about tyre degradation and i'd still be turned on as hell."

alex laughed before hooking his fingers underneath the bra strap, sliding it down her arms before pulling the bra cups away from her breasts, allowing himself access to her perky nipples, immediately rolling them in between his thumbs so he could hear the breathy whines she let out.

"mhm, alex." she hummed, pressing up on her elbows to push her breasts further into her lover's hands.

alex would have loved to have teased her all night, peppering kisses to her breasts and massaging them in his hands, but when he noticed that she was clenching her thighs together in search of any kind of release for the arousal that she was feeling, he knew he couldn't stay where he was forever.

"you don't need to whimper, baby. i've got you, i promise. tell me what you need."

"i just need you, alex."

smiling to himself, he kissed down her thigh, his body sliding off the foot of the bed so he was kneeling on the floor. he kissed her soft skin slowly and sensually, dragging his tongue along the flesh as he went, before hooking his teeth into the waistband of her panties. unfortunately, his endeavors to try and remove a pair of silk panties with his teeth was short lived, as the fabric got caught on her thighs and the driver resigned himself to removing them with his fingers, earning a lighthearted giggle from his fiancée.

"you're such a dork."

"you love it."

y/n smiled, lumbering to her knees and crawling to the edge of the bed, still on all fours as she leaned over the edge to kiss her kneeling lover. "you know i do."

alex got to his feet, taking her hands in his. "come, sit on my lap, baby girl."

he pressed his back against the mountain of pillows against the headboard, wrapping his arms around his lover as she sat with her back pressed against his bare chest, his shirt cast off somewhere in the room.

"i love you, baby." he said softly, kissing her shoulder as he massaged her breasts. "can't wait to spend the rest of my life by your side. or on top of you. or under you, if that's what the day brings."

"i love you too, you big dumbass." she laughed, relishing in the feeling of alex's hands on her body, his fingers drawing a moan from the back of her throat as he began to play with her clit. "mhm, baby, yes."

"that's it, darling. my smart, sexy, pretty girl." alex groaned, sliding his fingers into her dripping wet center. "god, you're soaked, baby."

y/n laughed, the end of her giggle turning up into a moan. "that's what a diamond ring does to a girl."

alex groaned at the feeling, the moan sending shivers down y/n's spine as alex moved his fingers, shyly trying to open her legs wider as she gripped his free hand.

"you're doing so well for me, pretty girl." alex hummed. "just wanna spoil my sweetheart."

"alex, baby, please, please don't stop."

"you like my fingers inside of you, yeah, darling? come on, baby. come for me, let me make you feel so good." alex panted, kissing up and down her neck, one kiss punctuating each word.

alex picked up the pace, burying his fingers deeper inside of her as she moaned, throwing her head back against his shoulder. "a-alex." she whined. "baby, i think i'm gonna-"

"it's okay, baby. just ride my fingers, i'm right here. show me how good i make you feel, my sweet girl."

she came with a moan that shook her body, fingers gripping alex's hand tightly as he kissed her, swallowing the moan as he finger-fucked her through her peak.

"i've got you, i've got you." he mumbled against her lips.

alex cradled her body against his, kissing her skin softly as he whispered sweet nothings, her thumb tracing small hearts on his hand.

"i hope you didn't stain the duvet." she said softly, running her free hand through his hair. "it's going to be a bitch to try and wash."

alex shook his head. "i think most of it got on my jeans, that will be easier to scrub."

she smiled. "if i can get your race suits clean, i can get your jeans clean. i've gotten an hour-old bloodstain out of white satin, this is going to be a piece of cake. go soak them, babe."

"will you be okay for a minute if i go?"

alex didn't ever want to let her go again. he'd never loved anybody as much, never thought that he could even love someone that much. she was his other half, and without him she would be lost.

"baby, i'll be fine. besides, by the time you get back, i'll be ready for round two."

alex swore that he had never gotten out of bed sooner.

giggling to herself, y/n got to her feet, taking off what remained of her bra and pulling back the floral duvet cover. crossing the room to her dresser, she pulled out a bundle of silk that she had been saving for an occasion just like this, pulling the sexy nightie over her head, the flowy skirt barely covering her ass, and the straps on the back showing skin almost all the way down, lace stitched on the front to make her breasts pop.

if there was ever an occasion for the nightdress, it was now.

alex came back from the laundry room, dressed in nothing but his calvin klein boxer shorts, his jaw dropping when he saw pale pink silk that his fiancée was wearing, perched delicately on the bed.

"hi." she said shyly, a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks. "do you like it?"

"baby," alex breathed, crossing over to the bed. "i love it."

he sat across from her, leaning in for the soft, sensual kiss as he shifted so that they were laying on their sides, facing each other under the plush duvet as his fingers danced along her thighs. still kissing alex, with his tongue exploring her mouth, she threw her leg over his, the silk fabric riding up her thigh. her hand travelled down alex's chest, over his washboard abs and under the waistband of his boxers, fingers gripping his erect cock as alex moaned into the kiss.

"baby, i want you. i want to be inside you so fucking badly." alex said quietly, almost as if he was afraid of breaking the peaceful atmosphere by raising his voice anything above a whisper. "will you let me make love to you, darling?"

"take me, alex." she said, pressing up on her elbow and kissing him again.

sex with alex albon was always a sensual affair, and he had the uncanny ability to make it last for hours, to draw it out and make her feel like she was on cloud nine. if this was what the rest of her life was going to be like, she wasn't going to complain.

using her hand to guide him, alex slipped inside of her, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of her walls around his cock. "baby, you feel so fucking good. so good for me, pretty girl."

she put her arms around alex, looping them together over his shoulders as he made his first thrust, both lovers moaning together, desperately clinging to the other's body.

"alex, fuck, just like that." she moaned, head against his neck. "i fucking love your cock, baby. feels so fucking good."

he tightened his grip on her thigh, thrusting harder. "yeah, you love this cock. fuck, sweetheart, i love you so much."

"i love you more, alexander." she whined, a particularly deep thrust causing a full body shudder, her walls contracting against his cock."

"love making you feel good." alex mumbled, sucking a love bite onto y/n's neck. "think of all the fantastic sex we're gonna have on our honeymoon. love, just thinking about you in that white dress is making me so fucking hard."

"oh, baby, baby, yes, right there."

"fuck, i love those sounds you make, sweet girl." he moaned, squeezing her ass. "if you keep this up, i don't think m'gonna last."

"it's okay, baby. let go, fuck me harder. make me come, alex. just keep making me feel so fucking good."

alex picked up the pace with his thrusts, snapping his hips into hers at a rapid pace, his lover's moans reaching a crescendo as he reached down to play with her clit.

"shit, alex, that feels so good." she breathed, digging her nails into the skin on his back. "keep doing that, please. please, don't stop."

"i think i'm gonna come, baby. where do you want me to finish?" alex was breathing heavier now, his thrusts getting sloppier. "tell me what you want, pretty girl."

"inside me." she managed to moan out. "fill me up, alex. please."

alex closed his eyes, kissing her forehead gently. "god, i fucking love you."

y/n grinned, reaching for his hand. "i love you more."

and it was the feeling of the warm metal of the engagement ring against his skin that finally pushed him over the edge, his face buried against y/n's neck as she held him, coaxing him through his orgasm the same way that he would do for her, a sensual melody of sweet nothings and dirty praises.

even when he felt like he couldn't move his body any more, alex's fingers kept working at her clit, and that motion, coupled with the feeling of alex's seed inside of her was enough to bring on y/n's second orgasm. she clung to her lover desperately, her moans muffled against alex's chest before they separated, sweaty, exhausted bodies lying next to each other on the bed.

alex pulled her into his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as she rested her head on his chest, her fingers coming up to trace shapes on his skin.

"i meant every word." she said softly. "i can't wait to get married."

alex beamed, the smile lighting up his entire face. "good, because the only person i would want standing across the altar from me in that white dress is you."

he kissed her softly, holding her body close. "come on, let's go have a nice, warm shower, and then we can watch netflix with the cats until we can fall asleep."

"that's the second best idea i've heard all day."

"what was the first?"

"marrying you."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @diorleclerc @daydreamingleclerc @estevries @micksfilms

[mjwhisperer]

𝚂𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝙰𝚜 𝙸 𝙶𝚎𝚝 𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚎

*Part 1*

Smut

2007

Los Angeles/ London

Word Count: 7k

The condo was steeped in an almost hypnotic quiet, a peaceful hum that only came with the late hour, the kind of silence that invited deep thoughts and lingered long after the chaos of the day had subsided. Outside, the night sky stretched endlessly above, a canvas of deep indigo, the stars twinkling faintly, while the moon hung full and low, casting a silver sheen across the still, rippling waters of the pool. A soft breeze barely stirred the trees, leaving the night undisturbed. The children were asleep in their rooms, their soft breaths the only sign of life beyond your own presence.

You stood in the kitchen, the cool tiles grounding you as you leaned against the counter, cradling a steaming cup of tea in your hands. The warmth from the cup seeped into your palms, offering comfort against the cool air of the condo. Your black satin robe clung to your body, the fabric smooth and weightless, brushing your skin with every movement. Michael's initials, 'M.J.', were intricately embroidered in gold on the robe, the letters glimmering faintly in the dim light, a constant reminder of him.

The kitchen was bathed in a soft, amber glow, the only light coming from the pendant above the island, casting long shadows across the marble countertops. In the adjacent living room, the television played quietly, flickering with muted colors as the news reported on Michael's arrival in London. Of course, it had made headlines—everything about Michael did. You adjusted the volume, not wanting to risk waking the kids, their exhaustion from the day's adventures ensuring they slept soundly. You allowed yourself a small smile, remembering how carefree they had been, splashing in the pool under the afternoon sun, laughing with pure joy.

After a moment, you lazily reached for the remote and flipped through the channels. A flash of skin and suggestive movements filled the screen before you hurriedly turned it off, heat rushing to your cheeks as you glanced around, even though you were alone. Now, the kitchen was left in near darkness, save for the dim golden light above the island, wrapping the room in warmth and intimacy.

You took another sip of tea, the herbal notes soothing your throat, though it did little to ease the hollow ache in your chest. Michael had been gone for only a day, but the absence of his presence seemed to fill the room. The weight of the silence felt heavier without his voice, his laughter, his energy. It wasn't like the long months when he'd be on tour, but even a day felt too long.

The soft hum of the house was suddenly interrupted by the sharp ring of the phone on the wall. Startled, you set your cup down and quickly crossed the kitchen, pulling the phone from its cradle, your heart leaping with anticipation.

"Hello? Jackson residence," you said softly, already suspecting who was on the other end.

"Hi, beautiful," came Michael's voice, rich and familiar, instantly calming the restless energy that had been stirring inside you. His tone was warm, like honey, and just hearing him sent a wave of comfort over you, smoothing out the rough edges of your loneliness.

A slow smile crept across your lips. "Hi, baby. What are you doing up so late? It's six in the morning over there," you said, glancing at the clock, the early hour in London playing on your mind.

"I couldn't sleep," he replied, his voice a mix of exhaustion and that signature softness. "Jet lag's got me, but I'll be alright. I just couldn't let the night end without hearing your voice. If I didn't call, I knew I'd hear it from you tomorrow."

His chuckle was deep, sending a shiver down your spine. You could picture him so clearly in your mind—tired, yet smiling, his hand running through his dark curls.

"You already know," you teased, shifting your weight and crossing your arms, leaning against the counter as if he were right in front of you.

"Of course I do," he quipped, his tone playful but laced with affection. "Why wouldn't I?"

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see it, but your voice softened. "How was your flight?" you asked, knowing he was probably used to the endless travel but wanting to ask anyway, needing that connection.

"My flight?" He paused, as if he hadn't really thought about it. "Oh, it was fine—nothing I haven't done a hundred times before. Just long, but nothing unusual."

"And how are the kids?" he asked, his voice dropping, that protective edge creeping in. "Were they good today? Well, yesterday for you."

"They were perfect," you said, smiling at the thought of them. "We spent the day swimming in the pool, and Bill took us around town for a bit. No paparazzi this time, which was a nice change. I still kept their faces covered, though. You know how you are about that."

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice turning tender again, soft like a whispered secret. "I wish you all could've come with me. But I promise, when I'm back, I'm all yours."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. You bit your lip, the anticipation stirring in your stomach. "I'd love that," you whispered, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, "But I think the kids might want their dad first before you get near me."

Michael groaned playfully, the sound making you laugh. "You're impossible," he muttered, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

"And you love it," you shot back, your grin widening.

"I do," he admitted with a sigh, before his voice turned low and suggestive. "So... where are you right now?"

You glanced around the quiet kitchen, the dim light casting a warm glow on the polished surfaces. "In the kitchen," you replied. "Just finished my tea."

His voice hummed through the phone, and instantly, a shiver danced down your spine. It was like honey—smooth, slow, and rich with promise. "How about you take this conversation to the bedroom?" he purred, each word dripping with a quiet intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. The thrill of it was instant, your breath catching in your throat, anticipation crackling in the air like static. "I don't want anyone overhearing us... just in case things... change."

Your pulse quickened at his suggestion, heat rising to your cheeks. A slow smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned back slightly, basking in the moment, enjoying the delicious tension building between the two of you. The playful tone in his voice sent your heart racing faster. You raised an eyebrow, savoring the game. "What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Jackson?"

A low, almost growling chuckle rumbled from him, making your skin tingle. "You know exactly what I mean," he murmured, his voice dropping to a level that wrapped around you like a warm blanket, thick and full of unspoken desire. His words were soft but heavy with the kind of promise that made your skin flush.

You chuckled, your lips curving as you leaned against the counter, fighting the heat that had already begun to coil in your stomach. "Alright," you relented softly, playing along, though your own excitement was quickly becoming impossible to hide. "Give me five minutes, and I'll call you back," you said, already knowing he wouldn't let you off that easily.

"Why five?" he quipped, his tone smooth as silk, completely in control of the moment. "Why not thirty seconds?"

You bit your lip, barely able to suppress the smile creeping across your face, your heart pounding faster in your chest. "Michael, don't start."

His deep chuckle came again, sending another delicious ripple down your spine. "I'm just teasing, baby," he said, the affection in his voice thick and unmistakable. "But go ahead, hang up... I'll give you two minutes. No more."

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head even though he couldn't see you. "You're so irritating, but I love you," you said, your voice softening at the end.

"I love you more," he said quietly, but with an intensity that made your heart ache with longing. "Now hang up."

You hesitated for just a second, not wanting to lose the sound of his voice, but the excitement bubbling inside you urged you forward. You placed the phone down, the soft click of the receiver louder than usual in the silence of the kitchen. Without wasting a second, you darted down the hall, your bare feet padding softly over the cool, polished wood floors. Each step felt like you were moving toward something inevitable, the air around you thick with anticipation.

The house was quiet, the soft hum of the refrigerator the only sound accompanying your hurried movements. You slipped into the bedroom, the door closing behind you with a quiet click. The room was bathed in shadows, the dim light from the hallway casting a soft, golden glow over the bed. You moved quickly, reaching for the bedside lamp, dimming the light to a soft, warm glow that barely illuminated the space. The shadows danced along the walls, the atmosphere now thick with intimacy.

You moved to his side of the bed, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric of his pillow. His scent—woodsy and musky, with a hint of the cologne he always wore—lingered faintly on the linens. You clutched the pillow to your chest for a moment, the weight of it grounding you, filling the emptiness of the room that was too big without him.

Sliding onto the bed, you sank into the soft mattress, feeling the comfort of the familiar space surround you. You tucked his pillow beneath your head, your body relaxing slightly as his scent enveloped you. The anticipation, however, only grew stronger, your heart racing in your chest as you waited for the phone to ring.

And then, it did.

The sharp trill of the phone sliced through the stillness, and you grabbed it without hesitation, bringing it to your ear, your heart leaping as his voice washed over you. "Someone's eager," he teased, his tone laced with mischief, though the affection in his voice was unmistakable.

"Oh, shut up," you shot back playfully, though you couldn't keep the smile out of your voice. "I just miss you, that's all."

He sighed softly, and you could hear the longing in the sound, could feel it echo in your own chest. "I miss you more, doll," he said, his voice deep and velvety, every word dripping with sincerity. "I've been lying in this bed thinking about you since I got here."

You shifted slightly, reclining further into the bed, your fingers brushing over the cool surface of the photo frame on his nightstand—the picture of you both, caught in a moment of laughter, frozen in time. "Yeah? What about me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I've been thinking about your smile," he began softly, his tone tender and slow, as if savoring every word. "Those big, beautiful eyes of yours. God, I miss them. I miss the way you look at me, how they light up when you're happy. I miss your voice... You have no idea how much I miss hearing it, even when you're just talking about the most random things. You've picked up that habit from me, you know."

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you listened, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace, filling the empty space in the room.

"And your lips," he continued, his voice dropping lower, turning more intimate. "I miss your kisses... your hugs. Everything. I hate being so far away from you."

His voice was heavy with emotion, the longing thick between you, so palpable it made your chest ache. You closed your eyes for a moment, imagining him there beside you, his hand reaching out to pull you close, his warmth wrapping around you, his breath soft against your skin.

"I hate it too," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "It feels so empty without you here."

The silence that followed was filled with the unspoken—the two of you just breathing, connected through the distance, the miles falling away as the intimacy between you filled the space.

"I promise," he finally said, his voice low and resolute, "the second I get back, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"I'm holding you to that," you replied, a soft smile on your lips, though the ache of longing remained. You wanted him here, now, the need for his touch overwhelming.

"You better," he murmured, his words carrying a weight that transcended the miles between you, bridging the gap with a promise that lingered in the air. Even though he was far away, the distance felt irrelevant. His presence wrapped around you, almost tangible, as if he were standing right there, his breath warm against your skin.

A stillness settled over the conversation, the silence between you thick with unspoken desires. The only sounds breaking the quiet were the soft rustle of sheets and the synchronized rise and fall of your breaths, as if the very air between you had become shared, intimate. It was as though the entire world had shrunk, leaving only this moment, suspended in time, where the space between you was charged with electricity.

Michael's soft, deliberate throat clearing pulled you from the cocoon of silence, his voice vibrating through the phone and sending a shiver down your spine. "What are you wearing right now?" he asked, his tone low, edged with curiosity and something deeper, something darker.

Your fingers absently traced the delicate gold thread of his initials sewn into your robe, the texture grounding you, keeping you tethered to him despite the distance. "My robe," you answered, letting the words slip from your lips as though they were of no consequence, your tone casual, playful.

"Which one?" he pressed, his voice carrying a soft insistence, a desire for more.

"The black one," you replied, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you imagined the way his breath would catch. "With your initials on it."

A low hum of approval reverberated through the line, a sound that spoke volumes, his appreciation clear without needing further explanation. "And underneath?" he asked, his voice dipping, the question soaked with a heady mixture of anticipation and longing.

"Nothing," you teased, the single word slipping out like a carefully drawn breath, soft and laced with just the right amount of provocation.

His response came immediately, a deep, throaty groan that sent a flush of heat through you. "Fuck..." he breathed, the rawness of his voice painting a vivid image in your mind—one of him, miles away, his body reacting to your words, the evidence of his desire undeniable. You could practically feel him, the warmth of his skin, the tension in his muscles, all brought to life through the intensity of his voice.

"And you?" you asked, your hand instinctively curling around the edge of the phone, fingers pressing into the cool metal as if it could somehow pull him closer.

"Nothing," he replied, his voice a soft, hushed breath against your ear, intimate and vulnerable.

"Mmm, I like that," you purred, your tone dipping into a sultry whisper, every word dripping with playful seduction. "I packed you something in your bag. Have you found it yet?"

The line went quiet for a beat, the soft sounds of his shifting body filling the void. You imagined him, sprawled across the hotel bed, his body tense with curiosity. "What did you put in my bag, baby?" he asked, the question carrying a note of surprise, mingling with something more primal.

"Go look," you said, your voice low, controlled. Slowly, deliberately, you loosened the satin belt of your robe, letting it fall open as the cool air kissed your bare skin. With a soft click, you switched the phone to speaker, setting it down beside you as your body sank deeper into the sheets.

The sound of sheets rustling on his end reached your ears, followed by the muffled thud of footsteps as you imagined him rising from the bed. You could picture it all—the way he moved, each step deliberate, his anticipation growing as he neared the bag. The soft sound of his rummaging cut through the silence, and then, there it was—a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low, appreciative groan.

"Oh god..." His voice was filled with astonishment, the realization sinking in.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across your lips, your teeth grazing the tip of your nail as you savored the sound of his reaction. It was intoxicating, knowing how you could affect him even from afar.

The sheets rustled again as he returned to bed. "Baby, why would you do this?" His tone was a mix of amusement and disbelief, the kind that hinted at both appreciation and helpless surrender.

"Because I knew you'd miss me," you replied, your voice laced with playful affection, every word deliberately chosen. "So I packed you something special."

"And it was... your panties." His voice had dropped an octave, the words heavy with the realization, with the weight of the small red lace now resting in his hands.

"Mm-hmm," you confirmed, a teasing lilt to your voice. "Is that a problem?"

He let out a slow breath, the sound almost tangible through the phone, as if you could feel his chest rising and falling with it. "No. I'm fine with it."

"Good," you murmured, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Now... what are you doing with them?"

His breath hitched, the silence that followed thick with tension. "Nothing yet," he admitted, his voice lower, rougher. "They're just... lying on my chest."

The corner of your mouth quirked into a smile, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across your thigh. "Mmm, and what do you intend to do with them?" Your words hung in the air, a challenge, a coaxing invitation.

His breath grew heavier, every exhale more labored, and when he finally spoke, his voice was threaded with longing. "Wrapping them around me... thinking it's you."

You closed your eyes, the image flashing even clearer behind your eyelids—the vivid picture of Michael, your panties wrapped tight around his hardened shaft. The thought alone made your pulse quicken, heat pooling in your core as your hand drifted lower, fingers teasing along your skin, mirroring the ache deep inside you.

His voice, low and rough with concern, broke the silence. "Baby... you're breathing hard. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you lied softly, the word slipping out effortlessly, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you, every syllable soaked in the heady mix of anticipation and desire.

Michael's deep chuckle rolled through the phone, sending a fresh wave of heat down your spine. "You're lying to me, baby. Where's your hand right now? Don't tell me you've got me on speakerphone," he teased, his voice both a challenge and an invitation, knowing full well the effect he had on you.

You couldn't help but chuckle softly in return, the sound low and breathy as your hand trailed down further, teasing the edge of the heat pooling between your thighs. His voice, dark and full of promise, made the ache between your legs more pronounced. "You are," you whispered, letting the sound of his name roll off your tongue like a secret you weren't ready to share.

"And where's your hand?" he pressed, voice softer now, but weighted with something more—desperation, hunger.

"Where you should be," you whispered, breath catching in your throat as your fingers finally dipped lower, brushing against the slickness between your thighs, the sensation sending a shudder through you.

"God..." he breathed, his voice thick with longing, his own desire palpable even through the phone.

A wicked smile played on your lips as you closed your eyes again, imagining the way he must look, laid bare in his hotel room, miles away yet so close in your mind. "You wanna do me a favor, baby?" you murmured, sliding your fingers between your slick folds, teasing yourself with slow, deliberate strokes.

"What's that, baby?" Michael asked, his voice rougher now, barely above a whisper.

You bit your lip, rubbing slow, tantalizing circles over your clit, your breath coming quicker. "Can you suck on my panties for me? I just want to hear it."

The silence that followed was thick, charged with an intensity that sent another wave of heat coursing through you. His sharp inhale was loud in your ear, followed by a low, almost disbelieving chuckle. "You're nasty... but anything for you, baby. I was gonna do it anyway."

You could almost hear the smirk in his voice as he picked them up, turning the delicate fabric inside out. The sound of him flicking his tongue against the crotch of your panties reached your ears, slow at first, then deeper, more deliberate. His groans were deep, guttural, the wet sound of his tongue working against the lace sending a shiver through your entire body.

"Fuck..." you breathed, eyes squeezing shut as the image of him filled your mind. His bare body sprawled across the bed, hair tousled, the sleek, straight strands falling into his face as he sucked on the red lace. You could practically see his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, his lips working against the fabric, lost in the taste of you.

"Keep going," you whispered, voice barely audible as your fingers slipped inside yourself, the slow slide making your hips lift off the bed. The sensation was overwhelming, your body aching for more, for him. Each thrust of your fingers matched the rhythm of his heavy breathing, the sound of his mouth working against the lace of your panties sending a fire through your veins.

Michael groaned again, the sound reverberating through you, spurring you on as you pumped your fingers in and out, slow at first, then faster, the wetness of your arousal coating your fingers. Your breath hitched, the pleasure building with each thrust, each flick of his tongue that you could hear through the phone.

The sound of his breath, ragged and uneven, crackled through the phone line, each exhale dripping with a hunger that matched your own. His voice, low and hoarse, vibrated through you, like a live wire connecting every nerve in your body to him. "I want you here... I want to taste you," he growled, his words more than a plea, but a command wrapped in longing. The weight of his desire had your entire body tingling, the pulse between your legs quickening with every passing second.

"I want you inside me, Michael," you whispered, your voice barely steady, the words trembling on your lips as your body responded to the mere thought of him. You could feel the ache deep inside, the emptiness begging to be filled.

"Yeah?" His voice came out in a rasp, edged with the kind of desperation that sent shivers racing across your skin. "How many fingers do you have inside of you, baby?" The question was thick with intent, a challenge you were more than willing to meet.

"Two," you moaned, pressing your fingers deeper, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coat them. The stretch was delicious but still not enough, never enough when what you truly craved was the fullness only he could provide.

"Add one more for me... Do it for me, baby," he coaxed, his voice dark and intoxicating, each word making the air between you feel heavier, saturated with an unspeakable tension.

You whimpered, your free hand trembling as you slid a third finger inside, the sensation making your toes curl and your breath catch in your throat. The feeling was almost too much, yet still far from the overwhelming fullness you yearned for. You could picture him in vivid detail—his thick, hardened shaft sliding in and out of you, your slick arousal coating him with each thrust, the sounds of your bodies moving in sync.

"I bet you're soaked right now," he continued, his voice growing darker, rougher. "I can practically taste you, baby... Imagine my tongue, leaving a wet trail all over your skin, starting between those thighs, teasing you, licking every inch until I'm at your lips." His words painted a vivid picture that had your entire body trembling in response. You could almost feel his mouth on you, the warmth of his breath as his tongue slid over your slick folds, the pressure building as he devoured you.

A broken moan escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, your free hand tracing up your body, fingertips brushing over your hardened nipples, imagining it was him, his tongue laving over each sensitive peak. You sucked two fingers into your mouth, running them over your chest, imagining his hot breath there, his lips marking every inch of you as his.

"You don't know how bad I wish I could be buried deep inside you right now," Michael growled, his voice thick with lust, each word dripping with raw desire. "Feeling you clench around me, taking every inch of me, pulling me deeper until there's nothing left."

"Oh, Michael," you moaned, your body arching involuntarily as you pumped your fingers faster, your hips rolling in time with the rhythm, chasing the edge of pleasure that was building inside you. The sound of his voice alone was enough to push you toward the brink.

"Just like that, baby... moan my name again," he demanded, his voice so close, so intimate, that it felt as though he were right there with you, his breath hot against your skin.

"Michael..." you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, your body trembling under the weight of your own desire.

"One more time, baby. Do it for daddy," he coaxed, his voice dripping with control, but barely masking the urgency, the need that threatened to unravel him.

"Fuck... Michael!" you cried out, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave inside you, crashing over every nerve, sending you spiraling higher and higher, every muscle tightening in anticipation of release.

The sound that came through the phone next was primal—a deep, guttural groan that made your skin prickle with heat. You could hear it—hear him—the slick sound of your panties sliding over his hardened shaft, his hand moving faster now, each stroke sending him closer to the edge. "God, I need you," he growled, his voice raw and broken as he worked himself harder, the sound of fabric and skin filling the air between you.

"I want you more, Michael," you gasped, your voice breathless as your trembling body succumbed to the relentless pleasure. Your fingers curled deeper inside, your slick arousal coating them as your hips rose to meet each thrust. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your thighs trembling, your heart racing. You could feel the tightness building within you, the edge of release teasing you, just out of reach.

On the other end, Michael groaned, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating through the phone and into your core. You could picture him—two hands wrapped firmly around his hardened shaft, his fingers squeezing the base as he stroked himself with your panties, the fabric soaked in your scent driving him wild. Even with thousands of miles between you, the connection between your bodies felt tangible, as if you could reach out and touch him.

"Keep going, baby. Just like that," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, the deep timbre sending shivers racing across your skin. "Think of me, baby."

Your free hand traveled to your breast, fingers teasing the sensitive peak of your nipple, rolling it between your fingertips. You could feel the way his hands would replace yours—the rough pads of his fingers tracing over your soft skin, his lips brushing against your heated flesh, his teeth gently tugging before sucking your nipple into the wet warmth of his mouth. The fantasy alone had you gasping, the ache between your legs intensifying.

You shifted your legs, raising them higher, propping yourself up so that your slick arousal dripped down your thighs and onto your satin robe, staining the fabric dark as the sensation overwhelmed you. Each movement of your fingers inside you was like lightning, your body pulsing with need as the tension coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

"Michael... oh Michael, I need you so bad," you moaned, the sound almost desperate, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought to hold onto the edge just a little longer.

"Shhh, baby," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "Don't get too loud. We don't want to wake anyone." His chuckle was low, but you could hear the strain in his voice, the need beneath his playful warning.

You bit your lip, stifling another moan as you pumped your fingers faster, your hips rocking in time with each thrust. The wet sounds of your movements filled the room, mixing with his breathless moans on the other end of the line. "Michael... I'm close," you gasped, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge.

"Hold it, doll," he groaned, his breath catching as he stroked himself harder, faster, the slick sounds of his hand moving over his shaft echoing through the line. "Just a little longer." His voice was low and strained, barely holding back the need that threatened to overtake him. "Oh, baby..." he whimpered, the sound of it sending you spiraling even further into your own desire.

You closed your eyes, your mind conjuring the image of him above you—his bare skin pressed against yours, his muscular body slick with sweat, the heat of him enveloping you as he thrust into you, deep and hard. You could feel the weight of him, the way his body would cling to yours, the rough pads of his fingers digging into your hips as he guided you through each pulse of pleasure. His forehead would rest against yours, droplets of sweat dripping down onto your skin as his breath fanned across your lips.

"God, I want you so bad, girl," Michael groaned, his voice thick with lust. "I want to feel your mouth wrapped around me... to watch you take me." The fantasy spilled from his lips, his voice cracking with desperation. "Stick your fingers in your mouth, baby. Think of me."

Your free hand slipped from your breast, your fingers finding their way to your lips. You slid three fingers into your mouth, imagining the heavy weight of his hardened length pressing against your tongue, the warmth of him filling you. You bobbed your head, your lips parting around your fingers as if it were him, your tongue teasing the imagined veins that pulsed against your lips.

"You sound so good, mama," he groaned, his voice rough and broken. "Fuck... keep going. I'm so close."

Your fingers moved faster inside your aching core, your body arching off the bed as you rode the edge, your hips rising with every thrust. The tension inside you was unbearable, your body trembling uncontrollably as Michael's voice—low, commanding, desperate—pushed you closer and closer to the brink.

"I'm right there with you," he breathed, the sound of his strokes faster now, more frantic. "I can feel you, baby... I can feel how tight you are... so fucking wet." His voice trailed off into a moan, his breath ragged as he chased his own release.

Your breath came in ragged, erratic gasps, the heat coursing through your body like a wildfire, spreading from the center of your being and radiating outward. Each time your fingers curled inside you, a fresh surge of pleasure rippled through your core, the pressure building and threatening to overwhelm. Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the frantic movements of your hand as you hovered on the precipice of release.

"Michael... I can't... I can't hold on anymore," you whimpered, the desperation in your voice palpable, your body trembling with need. The edge was so close, and yet you teetered there, suspended between the pleasure that burned inside you and the sweet, shattering release you craved.

His voice, low and rough, drifted through the phone like a dark melody, wrapping around you and sending shivers down your spine. "Let go, baby. Don't fight it. I'm right here with you. I want you to cum for me," he coaxed, each word sliding over your skin like velvet, igniting something deep inside you.

You could feel your body surrendering before your mind even had time to process it, the wave of ecstasy crashing over you like a tidal surge. Your hips bucked wildly, your fingers finding that perfect spot inside you, the one that shattered the last remnants of your control. "Oh God, Michael!" you cried out, voice muffled as you buried your face in the pillow, trying in vain to muffle the moans that spilled uncontrollably from your lips. The pleasure was all-consuming, like a storm you couldn't outrun, your body trembling, spasming with the intensity of it.

Through the haze, you could hear him, his breathing heavy, uneven, punctuated by low, guttural groans. "Damn, baby... I'm right there with you," he growled, his voice thick with raw desire. The unmistakable sound of his hand working up and down his shaft reached your ears, the slick, rhythmic motions driving your already over-stimulated senses wild. "You're driving me fucking crazy... I'm so close... so fucking close." The urgency in his voice made your pulse quicken, your body aching for him even though you'd just found your release.

You could hear the strain in his voice, the primal sounds of him chasing his own pleasure. "Fuck... I'm cumming," he groaned, his words fractured by ragged breaths, the deep, guttural sounds of his climax filling your ears as you imagined him spilling over, his hot seed coating his hand. "Look what you do to me... shit..." His voice trailed off, heavy and hoarse, the sound of him coming undone sending another wave of longing through your body.

"Michael..." you whispered breathlessly, your body still trembling, the aftershocks of your release making your limbs feel weak and heavy. Your fingers, slick with your own essence, slid into your mouth without thinking, the taste of yourself lingering on your tongue as you savored the sensation. Your eyelids fluttered closed as the pleasure ebbed, leaving behind a tingling warmth that suffused your entire body.

"Fuck, baby... I wish I was there," he rasped, the sound of his voice thick with the aftermath of his release, still dripping with hunger. "I need you so bad."

The satin robe you wore clung to your damp skin, the smooth fabric cool against the feverish heat of your body. You shifted on the bed, the empty space beside you a painful reminder of how far away he was. "I need you too," you murmured softly, the words barely a whisper. "I hate being apart from you... it's not enough."

There was a pause, the soft rustling of sheets on the other end of the line signaling his movement. "I'll be right back," he said, his voice still gravelly but laced with tenderness. "Stay on the line." You heard the sound of water running, the faint clink of glass as he cleaned himself up, while you lay there, your body humming with the lingering buzz of release. The quiet of the room felt oppressive, the emptiness of the bed like a gaping void in the absence of his presence.

When Michael returned, his voice was a soft caress. "You still there, baby?"

"Yeah... I'm still here," you answered, turning onto your side, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the pillow beside you, the place where his head should've been.

"You okay?" His voice was laced with concern, the warmth in it wrapping around you like a security blanket. "You sounded like you were gonna pass out on me."

A breathless laugh escaped your lips. "I'm fine," you assured him. "Just... wishing it was real. That you were here."

"I know, baby. I know." His sigh was heavy, laden with the same ache you felt. "But I promise you, as soon as I get home... I'm giving you everything. All of me. Every inch, over and over. Until you can't take it anymore."

Your laugh was soft, but the hunger in your voice was unmistakable. "That's the problem, Michael. We never know when to stop."

He chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "And I don't plan to. Is that really a problem?"

"Not at all." You pulled the covers over your bare skin, the coolness of the fabric a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from your body. "I love it when you can go all night."

"You know I won't stop until I'm completely worn out, right?" His voice dropped an octave, the playfulness in his tone sending a thrill through you.

Your heart clenched, a deep ache settling in your chest. "I love you," you whispered, your voice soft and filled with raw emotion.

"I love you more, baby," he murmured, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around your heart. "You heading to sleep?"

A heavy sigh escaped you, your fingers brushing over the empty sheets. "I don't know... I haven't been sleeping well. I usually stay up till four... thinking about you."

The line was silent for a moment, then you heard him sigh, his concern palpable. "It won't be like this for long. You want me to stay up with you?"

Your throat tightened, the weight of your exhaustion and longing pressing down on you. "No, baby, it's fine. You need rest," you insisted, though your voice betrayed the crack of emotion lingering at the edge. You wanted to let him go, to give him the rest he deserved, but the ache of wanting him close made it impossible to lie convincingly.

"Don't lie to me," he said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet, a firm but gentle command that wrapped around your heart. "I'll stay until you fall asleep. Even if the line goes dead, I'm not going anywhere."

A warmth bloomed in your chest, his words soothing the ache just enough to breathe a little easier. "Okay," you whispered, surrendering to the comfort he offered, your voice barely audible, but laced with a gratitude you couldn't put into words.

The silence that followed wasn't empty, but rich with the weight of unspoken emotions. You could feel his presence across the miles, like he was lying right beside you, the soft rise and fall of his breath matching yours. It was a strange comfort—knowing that even separated by distance, he could still make you feel like you weren't alone.

"Hey..." he murmured after a while, his voice low, soothing, breaking the quiet.

"Hmm?" You swallowed thickly, your throat still tight with the tears you were trying so hard to hold back.

"Close your eyes for me. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, his words slow and deliberate, like he was coaxing you into sleep. "Soon as I'm home, I'm all yours. No more of this phone stuff."

You nodded, though you knew he couldn't see you. "Okay," you whispered back, the words shaky as you fought against the tears that were threatening to spill over. The tenderness in his voice made your chest ache even more, the distance between you feeling impossibly large.

"Don't cry, baby. I can feel it," he said, his voice laced with love, his concern wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "I'm right here with you."

"I know... I'm trying not to," you admitted, your voice trembling with vulnerability. It was always so hard to keep yourself together when he spoke like that—soft and gentle, yet strong, like he could take all your pain and carry it for you.

Another silence settled over you both, but this time it was different, peaceful even. The sound of your breathing blended with his, slow and steady, the rhythm of it calming the storm that had been raging in your chest all night.

Then, just as the quiet began to feel too heavy, his voice cut through again, this time in a soft, familiar hum. You recognized the melody immediately—The Lady in My Life.

"Is that what I think it is?" you asked, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the tears still threatening to fall.

He chuckled, the sound soft and intimate, like he was smiling too. "Yeah, baby. It's your favorite. Thought you could use a lullaby."

You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into the comfort of his voice as he hummed the tune at first, before slowly easing into the lyrics, his voice gentle and soothing, just like it had always been. Each word wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him, making the distance between you feel insignificant, like he was right there, singing to you from the other side of the bed.

The ache in your chest began to fade, replaced by the steady thrum of love that radiated through his voice. As he continued singing, the weight of your emotions lifted, the exhaustion that had been tugging at you all night finally winning. Your breathing slowed, your body relaxing into the bed as sleep began to pull you under, his voice the last thing tethering you to consciousness.

Michael stayed on the line, listening to your soft snores, a tender smile curving his lips. "Goodnight, angel," he whispered, his voice filled with so much love it made his chest tight. "I love you. I'll be home soon."

He stayed there for a moment longer, the sound of your breathing calming him as much as his voice had calmed you. Then, with one last glance at the phone, he ended the call, the line going dead. But in your dreams, he was already there—holding you close, just like he promised.

[misguidedasgardian]

Desire & Duty (3)

3. Helaena & Aemond

MASTERLIST

Summary: It’s all about Helaena and Aemond today ❤️

Pairings: Aemond x Targaryen!reader x Helaena

Warnings: Medieval ASOIF Customs, canon incest, cursing, polyamorous, incestous polygamy, Aemond is obsessed with his girls on girl love 😂,  breeding kink, oral sex, (f &m receiving), face sitting, cum eating, dirty kissing ANYWAYS, all of it Idk, is pure smut with little plot.

Wordcount: 2.8 k 

Notes: perhaps is too OCC to make them this horny it's is snowing where I am so... jiji I needed something to warm me up if you know what I mean

That morning felt you had died and were in one of the seven rings of heaven

You woke up with the sight of the sun hitting your sister’s beautiful silver curls,making them shine like they were made of glitter, she opened her big eyes and looked right at you, their pupils enlarged once she saw you, and they shone like amethysts 

You then looked up and Aemond was sleeping still, his breathing soft and steady, his arms wrapped around the both of you, grabbing you greedily, like you could evaporate in the middle of the night.

“Good morning”, you whispered, she misled sweetly

“Good morning love”, she greeted back. You felt a tingle in your belly, and even if you were a little sore you wanted to make love to them again, and you almost felt ashamed to feel like this

Helaena giggled, it seemed she had this ability to read your minds at times

“I want it too”, she confessed with a wide smile

You leaned in over Aemond, and kissed her gently, her hands went to the side of your face to touch you even more. Aemond moved under you, his hand went to your back to touch you gently, you both had clearly woken him up.

“You just woke up”, you heard him moan, clearly aroused, and surprised by the needs of yours and your sister’s. You placed your hand on his hard belly, and then your hand went down his stomach to continue until you reached his hard cock. He whimpered under you as you stroke him, but your attention kept being on Helaena 

You climbed over Aemond to be finally on top of your sister, your mouth was on her at all times, 

The first thing Aemond saw when he woke up was you between Helaena’s soft thighs. His sister moaned softly, grabbing her tits to have something to hold on to, as you licked a long stripe along her wet folds 

“You two are insatiable”, he admired, as he cradled sweet Helaena’s cheek and kissed her gently, drawing her moans on his lips 

You didn’t like that, you wanted to hear her, so you latched your lips on her clit while you used two fingers to tease her entrance. That did the trick as you finally heard her again, the whimpers and her sweet begging for more.

You didn't stop until her thighs were shaking and she screamed your name, cumming in your tongue when you ate her out more intensely. She was always so receptive to your touch, always, and you loved that.

You released her from your soft hold and left her whimpering, grabbing onto Aemond for dear life. 

He kneeled in the bed right next to you, as you both looked down on Helaena, trying to regain her composure

“We are off to a good start”, he purred, kissing your cheek, and then you mouth, wanting to taste your sister in your mouth. She whined underneath you, claiming for your attention

“She is a needy one”, he whispered, smiling wickedly, you liked this horny Aemond you were coaxing out of his shell. 

“Please”, she begged, reaching for you, “I need you”

“You have us”, you whispered at the same time as your brother.

Aemond dove in first, leaning over Helaena to kiss her

“You are going to give me babies as well, aren’t you?”, he whispered, “I know you want my seed”, she only nodded

“Yes, please”, Aemond grunted, please, and you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself as you caressed his naked shoulder, and then his body, as he placed himself between Helaena’s thighs. 

She moaned when she felt him entering her, and you moaned also, wantonly, feeling so horny, wanting them both, bot you were left unattended

But like you believed, Helaena read your mind, signaling for you to be near her. When you kneeled by her side, she grabbed one of your thighs, and you obeyed what she wanted, you passed one over her head and hunched over her, your intimacy over her mouth

“Helaena… ah!”, you never had done this in this position, but she grabbed your thighs with her hands and made you sit on her sweet face. You felt her tongue penetrate your entrance and you screeched, moving your hips desperately over her.

Aemond grabbed the back of your head and made you lean in to kiss him. 

You devoured his mouth, stifling your moans into him, and she was just delving into you, his hands cupping your tits, pinching your nipples which made you buck your hips into your sister’s mouth. 

It didn't take you long to cum, the bare realization of what you were doing was enough to place you near enough of your climax. After you did though, you fought against your sister’s hands to release yourself from her. You were barely starting and you didn't want to be overstimulated just yet. 

You just laid next to your sister, caressing her softly, kissing her soft skin, as she was pounded by Aemond. 

You loved Helaena’s soft skin, she used to be so shy after giving birth to the twins, her skin around the belly was looser, but that only made it softer, and even more beautiful. you admired your sister so so much, she was a great mother, and she had been a great Queen, beloved by the small folks 

Aemond’s hands were on you, placing you on top of your sister, your ass and intimacy at his mercy. He grabbed the globes of your butt, hard. Helaena took one of your tits in her mouth, making you whine loudly 

 And that is how you spend all morning, pleasing Helaena, it was her turn after all.

You were already spent and it wasn’t even noon, as you let yourself fall by Aemond’s side, placing your hand on his chest, sticking your body to his side, just like Lena was doing on his other side. 

“You want children from both of us?”, you asked in a whisper, drawing invisible shapes in his chest, feeling his seed dripping out of you.

“Of course I do”, he said, leaning in and kissing the top of Helaena’s head 

He then released himself from your hold

“I need to get you something to eat, my beautiful girls”, he whispered tenderly, kissing the both of you and then he stood up from the bed and left the room after covering himself with a robe he found around.

Immediately you cuddle with Helaena, seeking her warmth. Dragonstone was beautiful but it wasn’t known for its warmth or sun.

“Do you want more children?”, you asked softly, and she only nodded

“Only for Aemond”, she answered gently, you only nodded, rubbing your cheek against her soft beautiful hair, caressing her head softly, “do you want to bear his children?”, she asked then

“Yes I do”, you answered with a small smile

“Do you truly believe everyone will be fine with us?”, she asked fearfully

“They love you”, you said seriously, “besides, the dragons does not concern himself with the opinion of sheep, they will get over it, as long as Aemond and the small council manage to help the people to recover front he war, they won’t care what we do in the inside of our chambers”, she nodded, chuckling softly

“You are right”, she whispered 

“What about Aemond?”, you asked then, and she looked at you with surprise

“What about him?” 

“I’m his Visenya, you are his Rhaenys”, you whispered sadly

“That’s not true”, she whispered with a shy smile, “he wanted to marry you first, I’m his Visenya, he married me because he pitied me”

“Or perhaps you are my Helaena and my (y/N)”, he said, surprising you both, you looked at him wide eyed, “and I wanted to marry you both since I found out from Aegon that you two liked to spend their nights together”

You both felt your cheeks reddened 

“You are not Rhaenys or Visenya, and I’m certainly not Aegon the Conqueror”, he said softly, “we are Helaena, (y/n) and Aemond”

You both smiled and reached for him, and he smiled

“But I’m going to need a second”, he chuckled looking down at his manhood, “and you both need to eat, what kind of husband would I be if I don’t feed my wives something else than my seed?”

You covered yourself hastily with the sheets when the door opened suddenly, and a group of servants came in, carrying trays of food, a small feast they placed over the big table in the corner of the room and then they left with blushed faces, trying not to look at the naked Queens laying in the bed. 

“I need some wine”, you giggled, getting up from the bed, grabbing a silk robe and covering yourself, and then walking to the table, you were indeed starving

Helaena rose too, and you admired her beauty, her nakedness, her beautiful hair loose, not a single braid, her mane looked like the one of a Lion, you then looked at Aemond, his hair also wild, loose, his sapphire there for only the both of you to see, he was so handsome, you had always thought so.

He caught you staring, and smiled, as he sat by the table and started snacking on the food with his fingers, you did the same, eating what you could,  sipping on your goblet of wine. 

But soon you were hungry for more.

You didn't know if you believed this was too good to be true, and you wanted to get the most of it before you woke up… Or what, but you were horny all the time, you didn’t want to leave this room, you didn't want to leave this bed… 

You looked at Aemond and you wanted to eat him, again he caught you staring and smiled, with a loud noise he separated the chair from the table, making a space for you in between them. 

“I think it’s Aemond’s turn”, you whispered, as Helaena sat and eat, you let her, walking towards your brother you sat on his lap, and leaned in to kiss him gently on the lip, his hands were on you in a second, opening your robe to touch your skin, he wouldn’t settle for fabric.

You abandoned his mouth to kiss him down his cheek, especially in the trail of his scar, and then his sharp jaw, and then his neck, to his chest…

But you wanted something else 

You released yourself from his grasp, to kneel between his thighs

“It's a crime to make you kneel”, he whispered huskily. Helaena just looked at you entertained, siping on her cup of wine. 

“You are my King, are you not?”, you teased, looking up at him through your lashes

“Do you want to go to bed?”, you only shook your head, placing your own robe strategically under you so it wouldn’t hurt your knees 

Aemond breathed in heavily, waiting with excitement was what to come.

With your fingers you undid the low knot that kept his robes together, undressing him, revealing his hard cock, you looked up at him and found him so handsome, so beautiful, even with his scar, especially with his scar. He looked like those drawings of the statues of the Valyrian Gods.

Even his cock was pretty, you took him in your hands and stroked him, making him moan, reaching for you, you leaned in until he could caress your head, your silvery locks just like his. 

You had never done this before, but you guessed it wasn’t hard. You pleased Helaena with your mouth, you could do the same for him, so you licked the tip softly, making him buckle under you.

You placed your hands on his thighs, caressing them, and you felt him tremble beneath you, you felt so powerful. One of your hands remained on his thigh while the other grabbed the base of his cock, it was big, not that you had anything to compare it to, but, you guessed that not even after your best effort you could take him while in your mouth.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t try. You took him in your mouth, just the tip and you sucked making him whimper in need, grabbing his own thighs, one hand over yours to prevent himself from grabbing you by the hair and pushing down on him, he didn’t want to push you.

You stroked his cock as you licked him.

“Fuck”, he moaned, as saliva started dripping down your chin, as you took more of him in your mouth. You felt yourself getting wet and you wanted more, more of him, more of everything 

You became more brave in your quest for giving him pleasure, so you sucked him harder, slurping noises spurring you on, and him, as he started bucking his hips into your mouth.

“I want to cum inside you”, he begged, as he was feeling himself getting hard.

So you released him, making a mess of yourself. He grabbed you roughly, pulling up towards him. You straddled him, whimpering when you felt his cock touch your pussy

“Come here”, he led his cock to your entrance and you just sat on him, impaling yourself in his length

You had been fucking for less than a day and yet, you were so comfortable, he had molded you to him, and you wanted it 

You grabbed you by your hips, moving you on top of his, feeling his cock inside you sparked pleasure in all your boy, making you see stars whenever you closed your eyes

He leaned in and kissed you, wasn’t sweet or tender this time, he was passionate and rough, like he wanted to possess you, to have you all to himself, you liked what you were discovering about him, you loved him.

You moaned loudly, grabbing onto his shoulders for stability to ride him properly, your legs folded and coiled with them, as you rode him up and down his thick cock.

“Aemond”, you whined, “lēkia”

“My love”, he whined, moving you even faster above him, making your hips buck forwards and backwards. That made his cock rubbed your clit, and consequently, made your head spin, your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, and you could feel the knot in your lower belly tightening, teasing your impending release

Aemond looked over your shoulder at Helaena, who was looking right at you both as she was popping grapes into her mouth lazily

He stood up from the chair after grabbing your thighs to not drop you, you screamed when he went even deeper inside of you, he walked towards the bed and layed you upon it, and from here, he could pound into you like he wanted.

He ravaged you, he started fucking into you, hard, fast, even angrily, but you loved it, maoning desperately, your arms coiling around his shoulders, your nails scratching his skin. 

“Aemond…”

“Fuckin moan for me”, he said with a wide smile

Helaena wanted to interact, so she walked towards you both, as Aemond stood, still inside you, at the foot of the bed, Helaena climbed on top of you, like you had done, she kissed you, moaning when Aemond placed his hand on her body 

She gave open mouthed kisses all over your jaw, neck and chest, taking one of your breasts in her soft lips, licking, nibbling, sucking, making you cry out. Your hand sneaked between you, teasing her clit, and then her entrance, making her buck her hips, rubbing herself against you. 

 “AH!”, you moaned when you finally cummed, thinking you must have died, and truly be in one of the seven heavens. 

The night found you three cuddled together in the bed

“Is this how our whole week is going to be?”, purred Helaena

“We should not get badly accustomed”, you said back, “we are bound to return to King’s Landing”, you murmured sadly, thinking of a good plan to get the children from the castle and have them sent here, so you would never return to the continent.

“We are getting back only when I’m satisfied”, said Aemond and you looked at Helaena, shocked at what you had unleashed within your brother. His finger traced invisible figures in your naked backs. 

“And are you ever going to be satisfied?”, you giggled

“No, but, I will be when I get to know every inch of your needy bodies…”

taglist!

@sloppy0bitch @sweethoneyblossom1 @aemondsdelight @floofdeloop @fangirlninja67 @hc-geralt-23 @watercolorskyy

[cisacoolkid]

What do you mean you accidentally created a baby??

It was a peaceful, oddly calm afternoon. The sky was a light, yet warm orange color, rather uncharacteristic of the colder colors of Yeast-Beast, let alone the Faerie kingdom. The air was rather warm, a clear indication that summer was close, flowers were blooming… the perfect time to run experiments, to continue her research on how Cookie kind was made, White Lily Cookie initially thought.And she was so terribly wrong, but for totally different reasons than one might think. She was in a panic, running through the royal palace’s long hallways, with one clear goal in mind: Find Elder Faerie Cookie.White Lily was holding- no, cradling a little bundle in her arms, made up from her cloak, holding it close to her chest as she ran.

To any bystander, the sight might've been rather peculiar, if not confusing. Seeing the Outsider from Crispia, who'd helped them seal those terrifying ancient Beasts away in the Silver Tree, looking like a scared, cornered animal, not paying anyone the time of day, just focused on running and running and…well, running.

It felt like hours had passed, and she was getting weaker the more she moved, reducing her sprint into a mere limp, as she finally reached The King's chambers. Her grip never relented on the small bundle she was carrying, still firm, yet gentle, as if its contents would break at the slightest squeeze.

White Lily took a moment to regain her composure, taking in deep, shaky yet soft breaths. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her lungs. But that was fair, she'd run a long way, from her own little research room, which had been very generously built for her, as per order from the Faerie King.

After a moment of hesitation, White Lily gently propped the little bundle in one arm, moved in front of the door, and extended the other towards it, knocking. It was gentle, as if she didn't want Him to hear. Maybe to try and make an excuse to herself, to go back where she came from.But soon, the Elder called out to her. “...White Lily, I know it's you, standing behind my room's door. Come on in, it's not locked.” Elder Faerie Cookie said, inviting her in.

White Lily sighed softly, cursing herself in her mind for having the audacity to bother the Faerie King, before slowly unlocking the door, and walking into Elder Faerie's chambers, closing it behind herself after, to avoid any curious servants or knights coming to peek.…after that, followed silence, with the Ancient awkwardly looking around, still holding the little bundle in her arms, with the King sitting at his desk, reading a book, she presumes. The room was left just as she last saw: gray walls, adorned by what she could only describe as Murals, representing the Silver Tree itself, and abstract depictions of the Witches. To her right, was one big, and beautiful stained glass window, its glass being of colors ranging from cold greens, to light purple shades.

Then there was the King's bed, which sat at the center of the room, a desk by its right, with a little bookshelf on the wall, and a little, less luxurious looking wardrobe on its left.

“..What brings you here, White Lily?” The King finally spoke, after a long, uncomfortable silence. The tension in his own voice could be felt, and White Lily figured that it'd be best to speak, instead of remaining silent.So, she cleared her throat, to try and calm her nerves, before finally talking.“...My King, I…need to-...oh, how do I put this..!” She started, quickly trailing off. She couldn't make up her own mind: she'd messed up, that much was clear. This..what she'd done…what she'd created shouldn't be talked about so lightly- but the Faerie King is the wisest Cookie here in the Faerie kingdom, and she doesn't have any way of contacting her friends…especially Pure Vanilla Cookie.

Elder Faerie waited patiently for her to speak, his eyes focused on the book he was reading, but still focused on the other Cookie inside his bedroom.“...I may have…I made a mistake.” White Lily finally vaguely muttered, her tone sounding so…discomforted, ashamed, it made the old King’s heart ache for her. Though he wouldn't show it. He couldn't. “White Lily, I…Would you mind, actually, telling me what's bothering you..? I may have a solution for your burdens, just…please, tell me, my friend.” Replied Elder Faerie, sounding serious, yet so…kind, and sincere, it made White Lily's own heart skip a beat, and her hold on her little…”mess”, as she put it, tightened slightly, but not by too much.The King finally closed his book, slowly getting up from his seat, mostly because of his old age. Yet, he still looked…heavenly, in the outsiders eyes. When he turned around, to face White Lily, his friend and ally, she lowered her gaze, out of embarrassment, and respect for him, the best she could do to replace kneeling before him.

“...What is that?” He asked, rather curiously, despite his mostly stoic expression. He raised a brow, and approached White Lily, and said little bundle, cautiously, slowly, to get a good look at both of them.And then, after a few steps, he saw the bundle move. Elder Faerie stopped for a second, blinking in silent disbelief, his wings, the bigger pair, which he mostly used as a makeshift cloak of his own, opened, slowly flapping out of curiosity.

“..White Lily, please, tell me. What…what is inside your cloak?” He asked a bit hesitant himself, taking one last step forward, standing directly in front of White Lily, looking down at the slightly shorter Cookie. White Lily took a long, deep breath, finally looking back up at the King, before using her free hand to push the cloak apart, like it was a blanket..and here, Elder Faerie was presented with the sight of a small, little Cookie, a baby, lightly wiggling inside the makeshift blanket. They had a slightly dark, tanned dough color, a few little light orange hairs on their head, and most importantly, one small, dark brown lily symbol on their forehead.

The baby looked slightly grumpy, with a little pout on their face; probably the reason why they had started moving.

Elder Faerie stood there, his stoic facade now faltering a tad, surprise now lining his features. White Lily, on the other hand, was feeling like she'd explode from shame, fear, and her own shock and confusion. Her head lowered once again. “...White Lily is that…” He started, slowly raising a gloved hand, up to the shorter Cookie's face, guiding her to look up at him once more. He gazed into her eyes, his own having such a soft, yet hesitant affection for her. She leaned into the touch, letting out a little discomforted whine, as he spoke once again, his tone gentle, as the initial shock from the discovery went away.

“..How did…this, happen, my friend?” He then asked, as his gaze slowly lowered towards the little baby White Lily was holding so gently, almost tenderly to her chest.

“..I don't really know. I-I was trying to understand the power of cookie cutters-...one thing led to another, and I somehow made a living Cookie on my own..” She explained, her concerned and scared look never going away. “..I don't- know what to do..! My King. That's..why I came to you for guidance..I've…never had small Cookies in my care, and I…I don't think I'd be able to take care of this..little one. Especially because they've…got a different anatomy than my own…” She then added, now also looking down at the small cookie in her arms. She moved a bit of the cloak hiding the baby’s back away, to reveal that the small, little thing, had…bee wings.

“...White Lily..” Elder Faerie started, now cupping the shorter Cookie’s cheek on his hand, trying his hardest to comfort his friend. “...I'm glad that you're..comfortable enough to tell me this. I can see your concern, and fear, and I want you to know that I'm here for you.” He reassured, giving her a small, comforting smile.“I can see that the little one has…rather unique features..tell me, what did you use to bake them?” He then asked, thinking that he'd first need to get a basic understanding of this…little Cookie…bee? “...I didn't have many ingredients on me, only the basics, except milk. But I found some honey in one of the shelves in the room you and your kingdom made for me..so I used it as a replacement..maybe that's what gave them their bee attributes.”

White Lily admitted, looking back down at her little creation. “..though I'm also sure that a few…crumbs fell from my hands. I've since stopped..hurting myself for survival, but the scars are still there.” She adds, muttering a bit…

“Hm… then, we can assume that the life powder transferred from your..crumbling hands brought this little Cookie to life.” Elder Faerie concludes, and White Lily nods in agreement.

“What do you plan to do with them?” Elder Faerie then asked out of the blue, still eying the small Cookie in White Lily Cookie's arms, which was now wiggling a bit more, their little, nubby wings twitching as they tried to struggle their way out of the Ancient's arms, to no avail.

White Lily sighed, before giggling a tad at the baby's antics, before turning her attention back to the King. She was much calmer now, as if the Faerie King's mere presence were to have soothed her.

“I…honestly don't know. I can't leave them- Yeast-Beast is a dangerous place, and even if I were to…find a village somewhere, who knows in what hands they'd fall into..?” She replies, her tone a mix of care, and uncertainty, unsure whether or not to keep the baby she baked as her own.

“Personally, I believe that'd you’d…be a great mother, White Lily.” Elder Faerie commented, giving the shorter Cookie an…almost loving gaze. And a smile. At that, White Lily blushed faintly, hiding the feeling of butterflies fluttering inside her stomach with a soft laugh. She gave the King a just as sweet look, accompanied by a little smile.“My King…that's very nice of you..but I doubt that I'd be able to handle such a small and…rowdy thing.” She said, giving the small little, wiggling bee Cookie a glance. Their movements had gotten a bit more frantic, before finally slumping against her, letting out a little noise of frustration. And White Lily, without hesitation, started to cradle the baby in her arms, resting one of her bandaged hands on their little head to try and comfort them, and avoid a crying fit. And it worked cause the small thing was out of it in..minutes.

Elder Faerie just watched, looking stoic, but feeling impressed by White Lily. She was a great magic user, and a great caretaker. The Outsider always doubted her own abilities, but the Faerie King could immediately tell that this baby was in the right hands.

“My friend, I believe that you're underestimating yourself..I can see it in the way you're acting right now, that this baby will be in the right hands..and even then, given that you're staying here, in our kingdom, for the time being, you can always ask us faeries for help..I know that I wouldn't mind. You've done a lot to help us, it's only fair that we repay the favor.” Elder Faerie said, slowly moving his hand away from White Lily’s cheek, down to her shoulder, in an act of reassurance and solidarity. “..thank you, my King..” She replied, her soft smile only getting bigger, and her features losing all that stress and tension they previously had. “...I’m…sorry if this request is of any disturbance to you..but could we please sit down?..I, ran all the way over here and-” White Lily started, but before she knew it, the Elder gently guided her to his bed, having no problem letting her and the baby sit in his room with him.

She sighed softly, sitting by the edge of the bed, to avoid taking up too much space, and finally setting the baby on her lap, her gaze set on her…accidental creation. Hm, that…it didn't sound right, to call them that, this baby is much more than an accident, something she wants to keep close to her.

“..What are you gonna name it, White Lily?” Elder Faerie suddenly asked, as if he'd read her mind, making White Lily's heart skip a beat. She gave the Elder a glance, a quizzical one. “...hm. Well..I used a lot of sugar in…the recipe. And honey, but this…little Cookie's personality is anything but soft…uh..how about Amber Sugar?” She proposed, looking up at Elder Faerie (and only now she noticed that he was sitting a foot or two away from them, giving them space, but still wanting to stay by her and the baby’s- Amber Sugar Cookie's side). She blushed a bit, this time a bit more visible, and despite her best efforts to try and hide her cheeks with her hair, it was pointless…and Elder Faerie didn't comment on it.

“...Amber Sugar..ah, that sounds like a strong, but lovely name. I like your way of thinking, White Lily.” Elder Faerie commented, he too, was blushing juuust a bit. He gave her a smile, and she reciprocated it.

Then, White Lily went back to giving attention to Amber Sugar, with Elder Faerie watching. The small Cookie had woken up once they got on the bed, and now that they were receiving attention, they were definitely a bit more active, grabbing the air, or holding onto White Lily's damaged, but bandaged fingers when she offered them. “..look at them go..” She cooed at them, watching as Amber Sugar wiggled in their makeshift blanket. Speaking of which…“You know, I think we should get them proper baby clothes..” Elder Faerie mindlessly commented, as he watched the mother and…child, playing. “And a crib…and entertainment. And a proper blanket too.” He mused a bit, looking down at Amber, as they played with White Lily's hand as if it were a toy. They were a tad clumsy in their movements, but so are all babies.

White Lily just gave him a few hums of acknowledgement, most of her attention revolving around Amber Sugar for now; but Elder Faerie didn't mind, just enjoying the latter's company.

That said, they fell back into now comfortable silence, only interrupted by Amber Sugar's little baby noises, and White Lily's lovely laughs. Their figures illuminated by the afternoon sun.

The future may be uncertain, for them, the Faerie kingdom, the Silver Tree…but as long as they had each other, they'd manage to pull through.

[jcthecrafthome]

Silver cradle | pure silver baby cradle | Luxury cradle

Size and design can be customised.

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.

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#jcthecrafthome #puresilvercradle #luxurysilvercradle #silverbabycradle #royalcradle #silveruyala #silver999cradle #silverantiquecradle #silverfurniture #silverinteriorfurniture #silverdesignercradle #silverluxuryfurniture #silverjhula

[unsettlingconclusions]

Winds of Change

Pairing: Hana Lee x MC (Riley) Summary:  Hana sings a lullaby as the whispering wind sighs. Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort. Rating: G Word Count: 830 Notes: In celebration of Hana Lee Appreciation Week 2024. This is an appreciation of Hana's loving nature. It was supposed to be a drabble, but I may have got carried away. It was also supposed to be pure fluff, but I can only do so much without letting the angst seep through. Written while listening to Chinese Traditional: East Chinese Lullaby(Erhu & String Quartet). I recognize it's been a long while since folks have asked me to tag them, so if you're not interested, please just ignore me. Tags: @hanaleeappreciationweek @lizzybeth1986 @sazanes @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @choicesficwriterscreations

Shì shàng zhí yǒu mā ma hǎo

A tender breeze blows through the room, moving the curtains like gentle waves drawing its shadows in the room, seemingly following the soft melody cutting through the silence of the night. A string of direct moonlight makes its way in, bathing in silver gleam two dancing figures completely enthralled by each other.

Méi mā de hái zi xiàng gēn cǎo

The whispering wind lures Riley in, who finds herself bewitched by scene. She doesn’t know the words being sang, but the warmth of Hana’s smooth melodic voice makes her feel like she was being offered a hot chocolate on a cold night.  Hana is cradling Aurora while rocking them back and forth as the baby coos and grabs randomly at Hana’s face with her chubby hands, fascinated by the sound of Hana’s voice.

Lí kāi mā ma de huái bào

Resting herself against the doorframe, Riley barely utters, “You are so beautiful.”

“She is beautiful”, Hana smiles like a beam of light, never taking her eyes off Aurora. She shifts a little, securing Aurora’s sleepy head on her left shoulder and gesturing towards Riley with her other arm. “Come here.”

Xìng fú nǎ lǐ zhǎo

Riley tiptoes towards them as quietly as she can, not missing any chance to wrap her arms around her two favorite people. As she presses her chest against Hana’s back, she places a quick kiss to her wife’s temple and caresses Aurora’s baby head, tightening her grip instinctively when she’s hit by the sweet mixture of Hana’s floral perfume and that adorable baby scent.

The three of them sway together to the sound of Hana’s humming for a while, until Aurora’s breathing becomes heavy and rhythmic. “I think she fell asleep”, Hana hushes, as she turns around in Riley’s embrace.

“What were you singing right now?” Riley moves a strand of hair away from Hana’s face. “It sounded comforting.”

“It’s a song my grandma used to sing to me when I was little”, Hana shifts Aurora again, now resting the baby’s head on the nook of her elbow as she moves towards the crib. “It talks about how a child will find happiness with their mother”.

The change was almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to Riley the slight change to a more flat tone in Hana’s voice wasn’t missed. She heard the other woman inhale just a little bit deeper as she fondly settled Aurora on the crib.

“Can you translate it to me?”

“Of course. Sit here with me.” Hana motions for the couch at the corner of the room and waits for Riley to join her before she starts reciting.

“Mommy is the best in the world. With a mom you have the most valuable treasure. Jump into your mom's heart. And you will find happiness! Mommy is the best in the world. Without your mom, you are like a blade of grass. Away from your mom's heart, where will you find happiness?”

“You miss your grandma a lot, don’t you?”

Hana just nods, “Nǎi nai meant a lot to me.”

 “I am sure she’s proud of the mom you’re becoming.”

The breeze picks up in strength, invading the room a bit more fiercely for no more than a couple of seconds, its swishing working well for muffling the sound of Hana’s sharp intake of breath. But Hana’s shivering can’t be disguised, and Riley pulls her wife down to her lap, covering the woman with a blanket that rested at the corner of the couch.

“Aurora is so lucky to have you as a mom”, Riley adds, running her fingers through the length of Hana’s hair, only to come back to her scalp and do it all over again. “You’re smart and compassionate, and you’re so warm and loving. I can see you holding her up when she’s learning to walk, and celebrating every new word she spouts. And when she gets older and awed by everything, just like you are, you’ll teach whatever she wants to learn, when she wants to learn. You’ll be there for her when she needs you and won’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to.”

A few seconds tick by after Riley’s proclamation, the curtains swayed like a pole flag the only indication of the passage of time until a gentle sniff cuts through the monotony, “Whatever she wants to learn?”

“Whatever!”, Riley replies animatedly waving her hands through the air before finding Hana’s and intertwining their fingers together.

“She will find a lot of happiness in your heart”.

Hana inhales sharply again, but this time, instead of the quiet tears welling up in her eyes, the corners of them crinkle, soon followed by the corners of her mouth turning up in a relaxed smile.

Outside the wind kept stirring, rustling the leaves leisurely. Inside, the love for Aurora stirred so many emotions inside Hana, and she couldn’t wait for all the transformation she was bound to bring in. ____________________

Additional notes: a. The lullaby and its pinyin were taken from this place. If you're Chinese and I got it wrong, please let me know.

b. This was inspired by 2 haikus about the wind:

1. A Gentle Breeze Whispering wind sighs Leaves rustle in sweet embrace Nature's lullaby 2. Winds of Change Wind whispers softly Stirring dreams of transformation Hope for new chapters

Thanks for reading!

[umineko-ost-bracket]

The Higurashi OST Bracket

The match-ups have been drafted based on chronological order (as listed by the playlist in this link) and split up into four even brackets of 24 each.

Voting for the first round of Bracket A will begin 6/15/24 at 12 PM EST

Bracket Lineup under the Read More

[And here's the link to the previous pinned post, which was for the Umineko OST Bracket]

Bracket A

Paris no Gogo (Afternoon in Paris) vs Lunch time (Rena)

Hello! vs Sutakorasassa (Helter Skelter)

Orenji iro no Toki (Orange colored time) vs Asagiri (Morning Fog)

Small Town (Satoko) vs Baby’s Walk (Rika)

Silver Mirror vs Digital Network

Doukutsu (Cave) vs Seijaku (Quietness)

Mazoku Kenkyuusho (Demonic Institute) vs Silence

Spring Step (Mion) vs Gear | (Radiata Alice Version)

Dawn | (Radiata Alice Version) vs Rainy Days | (Radiata Alice Version)

Tell a thing | (Radiata Alice Version) vs Fascism | (Radiata Alice Version)

Theme of owner | (Radiata Alice Version) vs Sunrise | (Radiata Alice Version)

Dancers #7 vs Snow #4 “Frozen to death”

Bracket B

Snow #3 “First snow” | (Radiata Alice Version) vs Meditation #1

Lie lies-lies lie vs Dancers #1

Dancers #5 vs Days of children #3 | (Radiata Alice Version)

Heigen wo Iku (Going to the Plains) vs Iru

Unseen Future (Mienu Mirai/見えぬ未来) vs Boy in the Windmill (Fuushagoya no Shounen/風車小屋の少年 )

Thanks vs You (M.Box)

Ancient Times (Inishie/古) vs daily passing by

Gallery of Madness (Kiyouki he no Kairou/狂気への回廊) vs Shadow (Kage/陰(かげ))

What is Wished vs Solitude

Confession vs daily passing by(celesta)

Insanity (Kyoki / 狂気) vs Festivals (Shiukusai/祝祭)

Soak vs Soul Scour

Bracket C

Depressive Paranoia vs you | You (vocals)

Night When the Invisible Scares You vs Frozen memories

Bellflower vs Amber

Utu vs Feel

Birth and death vs Cradle Song

Sheep Counts vs Pros

Wandering Words Lead to Heaven vs Fabricated Dream (Sorayume/空夢)

Z・E・R・O vs Beat (Kodou / 鼓動)

Quickening (Taidou/胎動) vs Big Bear

Single (Hitoe/一重) vs Conviction

Gray vs R of Can

C-examination vs Fearlessness

Bracket D

White Mist Peak -Pure White- vs Hollow (Uro/虚)

LIVE vs Requiem for the Disaster

Moon -Cruelness⇔Tribute- Song vs Beyond the Skies (そらのむこう/Sora no Mukou) [Piano]

Testament vs Things I Want to Convey (Tsutaetai Koto/伝えたいこと)

Over the sky vs Years

Two, Alone (Futari. Hitori. / ふたり。ひとり。) vs you -destructive-

Being vs Liberating

Squall vs Rain

Festival (祭/Matsuri) vs Primal Beat of Horrow

Assault Operations vs Door

Air Pizz vs Search and Destroy

Beyond the Skies (Sora no Mukou/そらのむこう) vs Banquet (Utage/宴)

[violettduchess]

Hello! I don't know if you're still taking kisses requests but I'd love one for Isaac bc he's baby and I wanna give him all the smooches<3 thank you!!

A/N: Here you go @akitsuneswife 💜

Isaac x Reader

Word Count: 454

His eyes, the soft pink of cherry blossoms in springtime, light up when he sees you waiting on the university steps. The sky above is already darkening, an ombré of blues from the last, light vestiges of day to the halcyon, inky darkness of night. After a long day of classes and conferences, you are the last person he expects to see and somehow, the only one he wants to. It’s late enough that students and faculty are scarce, the usually bustling entrance of the science building all but deserted. He lowers his worn leather satchel and opens his arms to welcome you as you bound up the alabaster stairs and step into his arms.

Like magnets, your faces tilt and your lips find each other, drawn to one another with a force as natural as it is undeniable. His words, spoken not all that long ago, echo through your mind as your lips touch: “You’re the first person I’ve ever laughed with��felt peace with…the first one I’ve ever felt possessive of…”

Sometimes when Isaac kisses you, he burns as brightly as a comet, his mouth leaving a fiery trail of kisses across the firmament of your body. You're lambent with want, glowing with need. He leaves the world of rational thinking behind and with you, sinks into the wonder of just being. Of feeling. Of letting go and allowing the primal, uralt desire that spins in our cores to drive his actions, his touches, his soft, half-growled whispers. Sometimes he leaves you, deliciously broken, deliriously spent, your mind unable to form a single thought, capable of nothing other than listening to the throb of your heart as it drums how much you love him.

But sometimes, like this velveteen moment on the white marbled steps of academia, there are no chaotic explosions. His lips on yours don’t burn, but rather soothe. It is the gentle, peaceful twinkle of starlight, the silver beam of moonlight as it brightens the night. The kiss of someone who cherishes you, protects you, will always shelter you with every atom of his being.

His kiss sends a warm ripple of satisfaction through your veins as you lean into his arms, feel them tighten around you. You love how you fit into his embrace, how your bodies feel like matching puzzle pieces that lock together perfectly to create a picture of pure happiness. He slides his hands upward until he cradles your face, allowing himself the luxury of using only his sense of feel (your skin under his palms), of taste (your lips, sweeter than apples), of sound (your hushed sighs of contentment). You transcend his need to analyze, to tinker, to figure out. 

You allow him to exist, just like this.

And you love him, just as he is.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bubblexly

[wcrriorhearts]

The morning was bright and sunny, barely a cloud in sight above the ocean. Rhaenyra's gaze drifted over the cliffs and waves from her place by the window, watching dragons circle the mountains in the distance. A smile flickered across her lips and she turned, striding towards the door. Baby Aegon was a few weeks old now and asleep in the cradle, so she left him in Elinda's care and made her way down to the sitting room in which the children were having their lessons. Ever since moving to Dragonstone alongside their father, the twins were taught together with their cousins. All four were so close in age that it made sense and luckily the children got along very well. Nonetheless, Rhaenyra was not blind to the many changes forced upon the little ones in a short period of time, knowing each one of them struggled in their own way. Baela was about to leave to live with her grandmother as a ward, so she was rebellious and generally moody, Rhaena was quiet and obedient, Jace standoffish. Luke, similiar to Rhaena, was quiet and affectionate as usual, but Rhaenyra could tell that he was also more affected than he let on, especially now that Daemon and her had a babe of their own, a silver haired, pure blooded Valyrian child, so unlike his older siblings.

Knocking on the door, she entered the classroom and nodded towards the Maester. "Luke, please come with me", she told her middle child and smiled at the others, waiting until he had risen from his chair and followed her outside. Her hand reached out to ruffle his messy curls, a trait he had inherited from his true father. "The weather is lovely today, isn't it?", she asked, smiling down at the boy. He was most likely confused as to why she had him pulled from his lesson to speak about the weather. "I was thinking, you and I could go out on Syrax together. I have not flown her in a few weeks and I am sure she is eager to stretch her wings a little more. What do you say?" Here on Dragonstone the dragons got to roam the island freely, so Syrax had enough exercise, but Rhaenyra herself had missed flying. She had recovered from birth enough to take to the saddle again and knew Luke loved flying as well. Arrax was not quite ready to carry him just yet, so either Daemon or her took the boys up as often as possible. Little Aegon had also already had his first flight and slept through it, so she hoped he would one day claim a dragon of his own, or have a hatchling.

@luceryse gets a plotted starter