#your husband and daughter miss you babes

[cybergoth1]

can you do some Jason Todd as a husband headcannon pls !! i just know that when he’s healed , he’s hauling his partner and getting TF out of Gotham , and popping out babies (GIRLDAD) and a nice job in a low-key town and maybe becomes a househusband 😋🤭(for real i’m 100% sure he would) but at the same time he is The Jason Todd . Hot , mysterious , emotional but also not , a big fat nerd in a brick body .

you know your daddy's home.

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader.

warnings/tags: fluffy, pre established relationship. my silly drabble about raising a daughter with jason todd. girl dad jason todd. husband jason todd.

author's note: hey babe i turned it into a drabble! hope you don't mind it!

"look, mommy! i'm batman!”

you suppressed a chuckle as you watched your five-year-old daughter standing tall on the couch, wearing a paper mask poorly shaped like batman’s cowl. the little girl came home from school, talking non-stop about the vigilant and refusing to take off her paper mask, even during lunch time, excitedly repeating what her teacher had said about nowday heroes.

"gotham needs me!"

she was trying to make her voice deeper as she jumped onto the floor. the cats, startled by the noise on the wooden floor, bolted away in a stampede.

"you're too pretty to be batman, baby girl".

your husband jason said as he stepped out of the bathroom. the scent of soap and shaving lotion lingered in the air as he walked down the hallway in just his sweatpants. his scars seemed more visible, glistening under the light as drops of water trailed down his bare back and chest.

“but how do you know what he looks like? he's always wearing a mask!” her childish voice rang out indignantly.

he picked her up effortlessly with one hand, while the other gently tugged the paper mask aside to look into her bright blue eyes — blue like his had been before the lazarus pit. her nose, mouth and ears were just like yours, a glimpse of you both in her youthful face.

"he sounds ugly, like a very old sad man. unlike you, princess".

"i'm not a princess, i'm vengeance!"

you laughed behind the stove.

"well, vengeance," he said, walking toward the apartment’s kitchen with her tiny legs wrapped around his hips "you can save gotham after eating your vegetables," he added with a smirk, putting her on the high chair.

she looked at him with wide eyes, as if he’d just handed her a death sentence.

"broccoli?"

"broccoli".

you placed the plate of food in front of her, the broccoli standing out between the rice and meat like a tiny, green nightmare. she looked up at you with pleading eyes, silently appealing to your good side.

you stroked her hair gently.

"if you don’t eat, i'll have to tell batman that his sidekick isn’t eating properly. you can't patrol without eating broccoli," he said, pulling out the chair to sit beside her. that was more than enough. with a disgusted expression, she began to eat, occasionally poking at the broccoli.

"hi, jay," you said, placing your hands on his broad shoulders and giving him a light massage. he softly kissed your left hand before looking up at you.

"how’s my other girl doing?" he asked with a smile, his lips still lingering against your hand. your daughter was so focused on hating the broccoli that she didn’t even notice the display of affection. normally, she would’ve made a gagging noise, followed by a dramatic, “bleh!”.

"she's missing you a lot" you said kissing the top of his head. a familiar scent makes you pause for a moment.

"you're using my shampoo again, aren't you?"

"maybe?"

©cybergoth1, 2025

[linoxpudding]

Like Father, Like Son- Lee Know

summary: when your son gets in fight at school, you realise he's just as possessive as his dad

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: fluff, humor, married with kids

word count: 989 words

Masterlist

Han's POV

*Mingi and his friends are all 8 year olds*

~°~

You were in the middle of folding laundry when your phone rang. The moment you saw "Mingi's School" flashing on the screen, your heart skipped a beat. Parental instincts kicked in immediately—had he gotten hurt? Was he in trouble?

"Hello?" you answered quickly, pressing the phone to your ear.

"Mrs. Lee? This is Mrs. Park from the school administration. Your son Mingi was involved in a… disagreement with another student. We would like you and your husband to come to the principal’s office as soon as possible."

A fight? Your sweet little boy? Your mouth parted in shock, but you quickly pulled yourself together. "Of course, we’ll be there right away."

Hanging up, you immediately dialed your husband.

"Hey, babe. Miss me already?" Minho’s smooth voice came through the speaker.

"Minho, I just got a call from Mingi’s school. He got into a fight!"

There was a beat of silence before Minho asked, "Did he win?"

"LEE MINHO!"

"Okay, okay, bad timing," he chuckled. "I’m on my way. Be outside in five."

As promised, your husband pulled up a few minutes later. He barely put the car in park before you got in, crossing your arms. Minho glanced at you with a smirk, sensing your frustration.

"Relax, jagiya. It’s his first fight—it was bound to happen."

"That is NOT the attitude we’re taking into the principal’s office, Minho."

Minho shrugged, casually driving towards the school. "Just saying, boys fight. It’s a part of growing up. At least he’s standing up for himself."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just hope it’s not serious…"

When you arrived at the school, the receptionist immediately directed you to the principal’s office. As soon as you stepped inside, your eyes landed on your son, Mingi, sitting on a chair, arms crossed, lips in a deep pout. Beside him, Rowoon sat in the exact same position—his dark eyes glaring at the floor and your jaw dropped. Your son got into a fight with Hyunjin’s son.

Your eyes flickered over to Hwang Hyunjin and his wife sitting.

You exchanged glances before Hyunjin let out a small chuckle. His wife covered her mouth, failing to stifle her laughter.

"Oh my God," you muttered under your breath.

Minho, standing beside you, took one look at Hyunjin and grinned. "So our sons fought?"

Hyunjin nodded, shaking his head. "Like father, like son, huh?"

Minho smirked, clearly too amused by the situation. "Who threw the first punch?"

"They both claim the other did," Hyunjin’s wife answered, sighing. "But the real issue here is why they fought."

Your heart dropped. "Why?"

Hyunjin grinned, exchanging a look with Minho before saying, "Over Han Jisung’s daughter, Minsoo."

You gaped. "You mean to tell me our sons fought over a girl?!"

The principal cleared her throat, clearly unimpressed with the casual atmosphere between the parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Lee, Mr. and Mrs. Hwang, while this situation may seem amusing to you, fighting is not acceptable in this school. We will not tolerate violence, even if it was over… romantic disputes at such a young age."

You turned to Mingi, giving him the look. His little lips pursed stubbornly, but he avoided your gaze.

"We understand," you assured the principal. "This won’t happen again."

After wrapping up the meeting and ensuring no serious consequences would be given (other than an apology and a week of lunch clean-up duty), you and Minho took Mingi home.

---

As soon as you stepped into the house, you turned to your son.

"Alright, Mingi. Start talking. Why did you fight Rowoon?"

Mingi, still pouting, huffed. "He said Minsoo liked him more. But she told me she likes me better!"

Your mouth fell open. "So you punched him because of that?!"

"He called me a liar first!" Mingi defended himself.

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. "That is not how we solve problems, Mingi. Just because someone says something you don’t like doesn’t mean you start throwing punches!"

"But he punched me back!"

"And you should’ve walked away!"

Mingi crossed his arms. "No. He deserved it."

You groaned in frustration before turning to your husband. "Minho, please deal with your mini version before I lose my mind."

Minho crouched in front of his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Mingi, buddy, listen. I’m proud that you stood up for yourself—"

"LEE MINHO!" You gave him a deadly glare.

Minho immediately coughed, straightening up. "Uh, what I meant was, fighting is bad. Really bad. We should use our words, not our fists."

Mingi frowned. "But I did use my words. He didn’t believe me."

Minho bit back a smirk, and you shot him another warning look. He quickly sobered up.

"Apologize to Rowoon tomorrow, alright?" Minho said, ruffling his son’s hair.

Mingi huffed, clearly unhappy, but mumbled, "Fine."

"Good." You sighed, relieved that this was resolved—for now.

As Mingi stomped off to his room, you turned to Minho, narrowing your eyes. "Why do I feel like you’re secretly proud of him?"

Minho smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. "Because I am."

You groaned. "Minho! We’re supposed to be setting a good example!"

"He’s just like me," Minho mused, grinning. "Possessive over what’s his."

You rolled your eyes, playfully smacking his arm. "So possessive. Just like you."

Minho tilted his head, his gaze softening as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "My son, after all."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Should we tell Jisung to start planning their wedding?"

Minho burst into laughter. "Oh, Jisung’s gonna lose his mind."

"Good. He deserves it after all the teasing he’s done to us."

Minho pulled you even closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss against your lips. "Then let’s make a deal. You handle Jisung, and I’ll handle our little troublemaker."

You sighed dramatically. "Fine. But if Mingi gets into another fight, you get the next principal call."

Minho smirked. "Deal."

[amal-alhaj]

Rolan

A Childhood Stolen by War 💔

When I think of my little ، daughter Rolan, the first thing that comes to mind is her innocent laughter that used to fill our home with joy.

Rolan, who is just five years old, was once a lively, energetic child, full of innocence and unaware of anything but playing with her toys 🧸🎈.

Since the war began, everything has changed.

We have been forced to flee several times, each time hoping that it would be our last stop 😔🏚️.

Rolan would watch us silently as we packed our few belongings, her eyes reflecting fear and confusion about what was happening around her 😔.

In the last place we went to, Rolan began to suffer from a problem with her skin, which began to become constantly sensitive due to pollution, insect bites, and germs spread everywhere.

Rolan cried from the pain, and we couldn't afford to get her the necessary treatment😢

Access to doctors or medicine became almost impossible due to the ongoing conflict 🚫🩺, and we now live in a place lacking the most basic necessities.

Rolan would ask us innocently, "Why can't I play like I used to? Why does my skin hurt?" 🥺, and all we could do was reassure her that everything would be okay, even though deep inside, we felt completely helpless.

Our constant displacement has also affected her nutrition 🍽️.

Despite all this pain, Rolan remains a child 🌸.

Even in the hardest moments, she tries to smile 😊, searching for small moments of joy in anything she can find around her.

Her story is the story of thousands of children who have suffered because of the war 🕊️.

Her life has been suspended between pain, fear, and deprivation.

All we want is to give her back a piece of the life she deserves 🎨.

We are doing everything we can to provide Rolan with the treatment she needs and to restore the sense of safety she has lost, but we cannot do it alone 🤲.

We need your support, not only to secure medicine and treatment but to give Rolan the chance to live her childhood as she should 🌸.

Every contribution can help heal her wounds and bring back the smile we’ve missed 💖.

We want to give her a better future, free from pain and fear 🌟✨.

best wishes:

Amal Alhaj

My husband

@naser-mossallum

Vetted by

@gaza-evacuation-funds

@gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #135 )

@bilal-salah0

Help me spread it, thank you

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[toothfa-1-ry]

JUST FATHER ACTIVITIES

Imagine in an alternative universe, somehow you and your baby daddy Thanos escape the games (don't ask me how) and you guys pay off all of your debts and have financial stability

Basically father! Thanos headcannons!!

First of all, thanos is a girl dad. Idc i do not make the rules you CANNOT and WILL not change my mind otherwise

After the games, irrelevant of whether you were also in the games with him or not, he'd quit his drug addiction and go to a rehabilitation centre for the sake of your daughter

You couldn't change him, but your daughter could

Thanos would go with you to the gynae every single time without fail, he'd brag about it (very loudly) though

"Look" thanos points at all the patients in the waiting room in the gynae clinic "how many women do you see with their husband's accompanying them?"

"Thanos shut the fuck up" you'd hiss at him, while hitting his arm. The women around you guys giving you the stink eye which he proudly gave back

"I'm just saying the truth- is it a sin to speak the truth?!?"

Will brag to the doctor and nurses too

"Say doctor miss" he leans back at his chair with his head held up high "how many husband's accompany their wives to the clinic?"

"Oh well that depends, not all the time-"

*insert thanos's loud proud laugh, his head thrown back while you grimace*

"I'm the fucking best aren't i"

*insert your slow head shaking* "Yes babe, you sure are"

He was always protective of you, but it grew even stronger after he found out you were pregnant

The type to protect you from a pigeon if he felt like it looked at you for a second too long

"Wtf are you looking at you cross eyed motherfucker"

*glares at the pigeon from a distance"

The type of person to hyper fixated on whatever small movement you do cause he's doesn't want you to get hurt

"Oh be careful be careful" *Holds your hand* "hold my hand and dont let go, use your other hand on the railing"

Says that he doesn't need to read or watch those "pregnancy classes" or "how to take care of a new born" classes cause he's already fully prepared

You later find out that he signed up for one of those seminars online and attends those lectures at night while your asleep

Bro probably has even stronger baby fever than you do

Buys things for the baby and you

"Thanos.. what's that in your hand"

"It's a costume, a ironman costume"

"For?"

"Our daughter 🙄 duh y/n"

"Babe, she still isn't even born"

"I got you a costume too" *takes out a black widow costume that seemed a little too racey* "you should try wearing it now just incase-"

*he got hit by you for trying to get you pregnant again while you were pregnant*

Let's say nam gyu wasn't the slimy bitch he was in the series

Best GODFATHER ever. GOATED godfather, S TIER godfather

I already mentioned this but I'm sure Thanos and nam gyu would come up with names for the baby

I'm talking wack ass names that they genuinely find cool

The list of names would include marvel character names (cause cmon, the child's dad is literally called thanos) or rapper names

"Add cardi b on the list too"

"You know that's not her real name right?" Nam gyu asked, pausing before quickly scribbling the name down

"WHAT?!? Since when??"

I'm sure nam gyu even accompanied the two of you to the clinic atleast once or twice

He was banned from coming though cause him and Thanos together made too much noise

Whenever you and thanos are in public, it doesn't matter if your in a cafe or restaurant or if your just out for a walk

If he meets anyone and i mean anyone

He'd tell them that he was gonna be a dad

"Hey do you know that I'm gonna be a dad?" *points at you* "and that's the mom- she's carrying my baby"

"Sir I'm the waiter"

On the softer note though

Kisses you on the lips first and then kisses your stomach second before you both go to sleep

If you groan or even if he senses a inch of your discomfort he'll automatically try to figure out a way to make you feel in ease

Tries his best not to annoy you

(It doesn't always work cause being annoying is his entire personality trait but it's the effort that counts!!)

Ties your shoelaces for you cause you can't bend over

Traces shapes over your stomach while you both lie next to eachother

Reminds you how pretty you are everyday

"If I'm the legend Thanos, then I guess you would be a myth, cause only a face like yours could make a man like me want to quit"

"Your so corny"

But you wouldn't have it any other way

[dollyichi]

THREE PEAS IN A POD . . . husband ! katsuki bakugou featuring your two babies / f ! reader / fluff / the both of you are already parents!

katsuki definitely prides himself in having two beautiful babies and the family you built together.

one girl, one boy (he’s older just a bit), and it’s funny how despite you being the one carrying them for 9 months his genes won in a landslide. however, your baby boy has eyes just like yours!

what you didn’t know, was how much they actually took after their dad. it was beyond their physical attributes.

katsuki finally had a day off and as much as you wanted to skip work that day and spend time with them, the projects just kept piling up that you couldn’t even fake a cold.

he reassures you that he can handle them.

katsuki’s woken up by his two little runts, shaking him in excitement. he’d pretend to sleep for a bit, peeking with one eye open to see them frowning at each other because he’s taking too long to ‘wake up.’ only to sit up and grab them. they squeal in surprise as he pulls them down to his chest, twisting and turning—putting them other the covers, already having so much fun at the start of the day.

after he made them breakfast he wanted to take them out to the mall, spoil them a little bit. they were really well behaved (something you taught them well!) and didn’t fuss even when they missed you. thinking that if they’re sad you’re not here, daddy will get sad too and they wouldn’t want that—today’s supposed to be a happy day!

at the mall he’d get a few compliments and whispers from moms and fans. how they look so much like him, how they even walk like him! it’s really adorable how he made them wear matching outfits, even sunglasses! two mini bakugou’s!

but genetics weren’t the only thing they got from him you see. they visited all types of shops, getting a few things of what they want here and there because katsuki always said to “just get anything you want.” their eyes are so bright and full of excitement. he has to slouch a bit while they’re walking hand in hand, bringing him to every aisle they take an interest in while he follows happily.

still, a phrase would always pop up from one of them. “maybe mommy would like this!” or “should we buy these for mommy too?” and they’d be showing it to him so proudly he’s almost melting. feeling so proud that a part of his love for you transferred onto them as well. they’re absolutely his kids, no doubt about it. ends up getting everything they wanted to get for you.

doesn’t even care if it’s obvious that you’re their favorite. chuckling to himself that the bags he’s carrying is mostly stuff the kids picked out for you. besides, you never asked for anything, but they listen real well, just like their father. “i hope mommy’s happy with all the things we got her!” your daughter says while he helps her with her seatbelt. “she definitely will be.”

and when you get home you see he’s watching them from the couch as they set on their little chairs drawings happily. when they realize you were there all three of then stands up to greet you. and you give each of them a kiss.

when you helped sort out some of their ‘shopping’ you see a this really expensive coat that you were eyeing just a week ago while your little girl slept on your lap (you didn’t know she was peeking from time to time).

you’re so happy you ended up hugging him so tightly, “oh my katsuki, how’d you know?” and he would shake his head with a smile, “i didn’t pick that one babe, she did.”

yeah, they definitely take after him at least eighty percent!

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : papa katsuki cradling his little ones in each of his arms while carrying the bags without the need of a shopping cart… i’d be asking for baby number 3 idk what to name these two ><

spin off — late send with todoroki shouto <3

[kairoot]

── 𝒮𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝒩𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠． 에이티즈 (HYUNG LINE.)

‧₊˚ 𝓼𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when your pregnancy prevents you from getting a good night’s rest 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : husband!ateez x pregnant! 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : fluff 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 : no 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : pet names, reader is slightly afraid of becoming a new parent, not proofread, lmk if I missed any !

— ( 𝓂𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ) : ateez song reference in here somewhere 😫 pls leave reblogs, they are much appreciated !! ♡︎

hyung line’s headcanons under the cut ! ♡︎

໒˚⋆ 𝓀𝐡𝐣.

as you sit up in bed, you throw the duvet off of your body. you felt like you were melting and the growing human inside of you wasn’t making your state any better, the kicks growing more and more painful by the minute.

you tapped your phone, the screen lighting up immediately as the time read, ‘2:34’. you sighed, running a hand down your face, growing irritated at the restlessness that you felt.

after giving up on trying to sleep all together, you ventured to the room next to yours.

it was your husband’s home studio, to which he sat in at that very moment, one side of his headphones hanging off of his ear.

he hadn’t noticed you until your arms wrapped around him, resting your head on his shoulder.

he jumped slightly, removing the headphones, “babe? what are you doing awake?”

you moved your arms from around him, standing next to him as a hand came to rest on your growing belly.

“your baby’s like a champion soccer player in here.. also, the room is warmer than usual tonight.” you chuckled.

he smiled slightly, his eyes coming to meet your stomach. he placed his hand next to yours, feeling the constant thump.

“sunshine… are you hurting mama?” he asked in a soothing voice, the baby kicking in response. hongjoong chuckled, rubbing where his hand rested.

“careful with her, okay? she needs some sleep. and so do you.”

with that, he closed the notebook that he had been scribbling in before, placing his headphones elsewhere. he turned off the lights in the studio before leading you back to your room.

you both took your spots on the mattress, cuddling in close. hongjoong’s hand came to your belly once more, continuing to rub it gently. soon enough, the kicking had ceased and your eyes had fluttered shut.

joong smiled, kissing the top of your head.

“love you so much, pumpkin.”

໒˚⋆ 𝓅𝐬𝐡.

the floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you entered your kitchen, flicking the overhead light on. you sighed, the cool air giving you some relief from the warm air you felt in the bedroom.

you pulled the fridge open gently, not wanting anything to fall over. the only thing that seemed appetizing to you was the last bit of leftovers that you and hwa had from the other day. you grabbed it from the top shelf, taking it over to the oven to heat it up.

as you transferred your meal into an oven safe pan, you heard soft footsteps behind you, causing a smile to appear on your face.

a pair of warm arms wrapped around you, larger hands resting on your baby bump.

“what are you doing up so late?” seonghwa mumbled into your neck, voice low and raspy as his eyes remained closed.

“come back to bed, love..”

“your daughters’ up, so i’m up.” you chuckled, making him hum in response as he placed small kisses in the crook of your neck.

“she’s always up.. how do you sleep at night?” he asked, letting out a laugh.

“i don’t.” you shrugged.

he giggled once more, watching you prepare your meal.

“do you want me to help with that? i’ll put on our favorite romcom.”

you smiled, nodding, “yeah, but i wanna get my food first.”

“of course, baby.”

໒˚⋆ 𝒿𝐲𝐡.

the light from the tv brightened up your bedroom as you sat against the headboard, watching one of your favorite shows.

the bathroom door opened and your husband walked out, hair springing in random directions. his gaze turned to you, seeing you wide awake and not an ounce of tiredness in your eyes.

“honey?” he looked between you and the television for a moment.

“what’re you doing up? thought you were asleep..” he walked over to the bed, settling back in his spot and pulling the comforter over his legs.

you shook your head, “no, i’ve been awake for a few hours now. can’t sleep.”

yunho slid down in the bed so that he was lying on your belly. your bundle of joy seemed to know he was there, as you felt two kicks right where your husband had laid his head.

he giggled, placing a kiss on your belly.

“hi, baby,” he mumbled against it, placing another.

your baby kicked and kicked, getting excited at the sound of yunho’s voice. you smiled but winced at the force of the kicks.

“whoa, whoa, okay.” he rubbed where the kicks were, not wanting them to cause any more pain.

“you’re too excited, love bug. it’s very late.” he spoke to your baby quietly, trying to calm them down. and it seemed to work in a way, as you felt your baby move around a bit but eventually settle down.

“why don’t you try getting some sleep, baby? i know how tired you’ve been.” he looked up at you, smiling softly.

“but i can’t.” you pouted.

“how about i sing to you then, hm? would you like that?” he asked, continuing the gentle rubs on your belly.

you nodded, reaching down to play with his hair as you closed your eyes, waiting to hear his voice.

໒˚⋆ 𝓀𝐲𝐬. (i swear these are just yeo’s initals)

you sat in the nursery that everyone had helped make for the baby on the way, refolding clothes and reorganizing. you tried not to be loud, seeing as it was nearly 2am.

you had crept out of bed about 30 minutes before, your thoughts not letting you get a wink of sleep. you’d been so caught up in your thoughts, worried that you wouldn’t be the parent that you wanted to be when your baby arrived. you and yeosang were first time parents so you didn’t wanna mess things up.

as you sat on the floor, the door to the baby’s room had opened slightly, your husband peeking in to see you sitting down.

“babe?” he called softly.

you turned around quickly, not expecting him to be awake.

“yeo.. what’re you doing awake?” you asked. you could tell that he had just woken up, as he squinted his eyes, trying to adjust them to the dim light in the room.

“i should be asking you that.” he chuckled, entering the room and leaving the door cracked.

he took a seat next to you on the carpet, looking down at the pile of clothes you had folded.

“you bored or something?”

“no,” you laughed. “i just..”

he looked over at you now, letting you know that he was listening.

“i just don’t wanna mess things up, yeo.”

“what do you mean?”

you sighed, “i mean we’re first time parents. i just wanna make sure i’m doing what’s right for our baby.”

“honey,” he started, smiling, “yes this is our first time. so you know we’re bound to make mistakes, right? not everything will be perfect.”

you nodded in agreement, knowing he was right but you couldn’t help your overthinking.

“we’re a team, okay? you aren’t doing this alone, i’ll be with you.”

you didn’t respond to him verbally but just hugged him instead, silently thanking him. he held onto you tightly, rubbing your back and reminding you that everything would be fine.

᪥

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[ripeandsoft]

Hi Monae how are you babes? Can I request for terry and his wife having sex for the first time since their baby was born and she was trying to cover up her post baby body after having her baby.

🥺

A/n: I’m good baby! I’m so sorry this took so long, me and my brain weren’t friends lol. Please accept this as an early Christmas gift and apology! I hope you enjoy, feedback is always appreciated 💕

Content warnings: mentions of postpartum insecurity, gentle sex?, oral, a spank or two (i couldn’t help it), mirror sex, fluffy sweetness all around, also barely proofread oops

—

“Diapers, bottles, bibs, pacifiers…” You paced around the nursery as you packed your daughter Josie’s diaper bag. She was laying in her crib, fresh from the bath and drifting off to sleep under the musical chime of her mobile. Terry was quiet as he ambled up the stairs with extra clean bottles and formula. The shadow of you flitting around her room like a mad woman on the hallway wall made Terry laugh. This was Josie’s first time being away from you guys for two whole nights and your nerves were through the roof.

“Calm down baby, you know my mama will take good care of her” Terry sat the bottles and formula on the dresser next to her bag, coming up behind you to rub his hands soothingly down your arms. You leaned back into him and you closed your eyes to take a deep breath. You couldn’t help but be anxious. This was the longest you’d be away from your baby since she was born. You knew Mrs. Richmond wouldn’t let a curl on Josie’s head be touched but your nerves were still crackling with anxiety.

“I know, ‘m just nervous” Your words were hushed as you turned to loop your arms around his waist. “I’m glad we’ll have some alone time. Maybe even get some good sleep, give the baby monitor a rest for the weekend” Terry rocked the both of you back and forth in his embrace. You hummed against him, the warmth of his body against yours making your eyes close in comfort.

Soft gurgles spilled from Josie’s mouth as she shifted positions in her crib, her noises causing you and Terry to separate. “I’ll finish packing up here. You go start the car.” You ordered Terry gently with point of your finger. He nodded dutifully, giving both you and Josie a soft kiss on the cheek.

—

“I’ll miss you babygirl” You cooed at Josie, rubbing her chubby cheek with your thumb. She nuzzled against the contact while she smiled with all her gums. “Y’all better get out of here so I can spend time with my baby” Mrs. Richmond started to usher you and Terry out the door, eager to spend time with her granddaughter. “Can’t we say bye?” Terry asked.

“No you can’t. Now get before them roads get bad.” Mrs. Richmond nodded to the window, swirls of flurries falling outside.

—

It felt weird to be in your bathroom alone. When Josie is fussy but you need to shower you bring her with you, letting her rest in her bouncer while you clean up. Terry often joins you when you’re doing your hair or taking off your makeup. You were never really alone these days, not since Josie was born. Even when she’s not with you physically her presence crackles through the baby monitor seemingly attached to your hand. You’d heard of women who become so consumed with their families that they lose themselves, but that isn’t happening to you.

Right?

All you could think about was a hot shower. Your clothes were strewn across the floor, a fabric trail leading to you standing at the sink. You pulled your braids up into a ponytail before wrapping it up in a fat bun. The counter was cold as you bent down to rest your elbows on it, filling your palms with water so you could wash your face. Before you could reach for the cleanser, your husband slid his hands around your hips.

“Can I help you sir?” You asked him through the mirror, water dripping down your neck to your chest. “Mhm, you sure can” Terry’s voice rumbling low in your ears. His strong hands rubbed over all your soft parts—stomach, hips, thighs, tits, ass. You sighed at the feeling, leaning back into him. But before you can get lost in your man, the quiet part of your mind speaks up.

You’ve never been a stranger to stretch marks, cellulite, dimples, pimples, or moles. All these things came with your figure and you had come to love them. Growing your babygirl gave you immense pride in your body and you wouldn’t trade your pregnancy experience for the world. Being a mother was wonderful journey but every journey has its ups and downs, and these postpartum stages were mostly down. The things you once loved about your body have become insecurities.

“I need to take a shower” You pressed yourself into the sink to create space between you two. “Can I join you?” Terry asks. You avoid his hand reaching for you, side stepping him and going to stand by the shower. “No, thank you baby but I got this one by myself” Your lips quirk up in an awkward smile, your hands shielding your breast and stomach from his watching eyes.

Terry frowned, the crease in the middle of his brows growing deeper as he examined your behavior. You never shy away from his touch whether it’s sexual or not. You’ve been somewhat avoidant recently. Not necessarily detached or distant but just…not the same. It was strange.

“Go lay down” Terry instructs, nodding towards the bedroom. Your mouth opened to retort but the look in Terry’s eyes made the words seep into your tongue. You obeyed wordlessly, feelings his eyes follow your every movement.

—

“Don’t look away” Terry spoke against you, mouth full of your wet pussy. His head could be seen from between your cheeks, the mirror that normally leaned on your bedroom wall now closer to the bed propped on its thin stand. Your eyes watered in pleasure as his tongue swirled around your clenching hole. The silver band of your wedding ring dug into your skin as you held onto the sheets tight.

His lips were soft against you, vibrating with his own moans as he feasted on you. “Terry baby ‘m gonna mmm fuck come” You started to grind against his face, beard tickling your mound. “I know” His words were muffled as he pulled your hips back against his face. The room around you blurred into nothing as your eyes rolled back, orgasm rolling through you with fury.

The sheets were soft on your hard nipples, the added stimulation making you cry out. You pulled yourself away from him weakly only to be pulled back. “Where you going?” He questioned. The spank Terry placed on your right ass cheek had you jolting away from him, which made him wrap his hand around the back of your neck. “Tell me where you going girl” Terry’s voice echoed in your head as you tried to focus. “Nowhere, I promise” You head shook back and forth wildly, braids falling from your bun.

Terry rubbed soothing circle on your now red ass cheek, giving you a moment to calm down. You started to bounce back on Terry’s bulge, your stickiness making his hard dick shine in the light of your bedroom. “Oh you want it now?” He teased. His hand came to hold your hips steady as he started to do the work for you. His swollen tip nudged against your clit just right, bubbles of precum decorating your flesh. You reached back to grab his dick, tired of being empty.

You fell into an arch as he found his home in your pussy. Your walls pulsated around him as if to say “welcome home.”

“Tight ass fucking pussy” He grunted from behind you, his balls resting against your clit as he bottomed out. He trapped his bottom lip between his teeth as he felt his balls start to throb. He fed you slow, deep thrusts, the slap of his thighs on yours filling the room. Goosebumps rushed over your skin with movement.

He hit all your spots with expert precision, catching your hand when you reached back to press it on his stomach. “No ma’am, this what you wanted. Be still and let me work my pussy open” He spoke, head thrown back and eyes closed. Your mind went numb with pleasure. The fat of your thighs started to jiggle as you shook, mouth open in silent moans. Each thrust stole the breath from your lungs.

“Let me tell you something” Terry wrapped a hand in your now messy hair, pulling to get you to look at him through the mirror. “Don’t you ever hide this body from me. This body carried my baby and I’ll be damned if you shamed of it” He punctuated his words with sharper thrusts making you squeal. “Tell me you’re beautiful” He demanded.

“I’m, ugh, I’m beautiful” Your words were quick, drool building up in your mouth and dribbling from the side of it. “Again, make me believe it” He responded. “I’m beautiful Terry, so beautiful” You felt yourself about to come again, walls squeezing him even tighter.

“Yes you are” Terry agreed, his own orgasm building. The sensation of you creaming around him triggered Terry’s orgasm. He continued to thrust as he spilled into you, the mixture of you two dripping onto the sheets. You fell limp onto the bed, shaking and whining at the overwhelming feeling. Terry pulled out slowly to watch his cum flow from your hole.

A warm rag was the next thing you felt on your pussy, the heat making you sigh in relief. “Don’t worry baby, I got you” Terry spoke softly, planting a kiss on your cheek.

—

tags: @kenshisluvrgirl @megamindsecretlair

[tender-rosiey]

hii, hope im not bothering uu!!

my brain is obsessed with ur daddy gojo ficsss!! 🤭🤭 just a thought though. what if gojo brought his kid to work since reader couldnt hire a babysitter and had work to do!! 😱😱 kid can be a baby or like, 7-10?? or something? (idrc i jus need to feed my head with more dad gojo fics 😔😔, kid can be a girl or boy!!) hopee u have a nice dayyy!! ❤❤

missing – gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: I wrote the kid being around 5 or 6 max, I think?? hope you like this as well! <3

you are standing at the door, checking over everything with your husband, "satoru, you got the toys?"

like the proud and confident dad he is, he replies with ease, "yep."

"the snacks?"

“of course,” he grins, pulling up the bag of snacks and toys to show you.

but you’re still stressing, "what about—“

"wifey, relax!” he starts rubbing your shoulders soothingly; “I got everything she needs. you have nothing to worry about,” he presses a loud kiss to your cheek.

"last time you said that, you teleported with d/n to the maldives."

he laughs loudly, before pulling you into a big hug, "aww, babe; I said I am sorry,” he is swaying the both of you, “you know I wanted you to be with us."

"that's not the point!"

"oh wowie, look at the time!” he looks at his fake watch and starts gently pushing you towards the car, “you’re gonna be late sweetheart."

"oh god!" you gasp, quickly giving satoru his goodbye kiss, and running to your daughter to give her own goodbye peck on the cheek as well, “I will miss you; take care of dada, okay?”

“aren’t I the one who is supposed to do that taking care part?!”

“bye ‘toru; bye d/n! love you!”

“love you too!” they both reply in unison before looking each other in the eye. satoru grins at her, “do you want to see uncle nanami?”

“nanamin!” she squeals then runs to god knows where.

soon, they finally get to jujutsu tech.

it took longer than usual because the little missy ran off and decided to play hide and seek. in addition to that, since the madlives incident, you banned satoru from teleporting with d/n because it gets her really dizzy and she starts puking.

so like the common people, he takes a car and has to wait till they arrive there. he wants to grumble, but, at least, his princess is there to play with him and make conversations.

they are finally in class when nobara coos, crouching down in front of d/n, “oh, you’re so cute!”

the little girl grins, “thank you!”

“also, I love your dress!”

“oh; thank you!” d/n gasps and starts twirling around, “mommy picked it for me! It’s so pretty, right?” nobara nods eagerly at her and it makes d/n giggle.

d/n pauses for a moment, a pout on her face and eyes get teary, and looks at satoru, “mommy…”

satoru pats her head, “we will see her soon; don’t worry.”

“wow; I am surprised you’re acting like a proper dad,” megumi comments, waving at d/n who grins back at him.

swiftly, yuuji defends his teacher’s pride, “hey! sensei is a great dad!”

d/n starts swinging her arms around and running in place like she is preparing for something. soon. it is revealed what she is waiting for. the door opens and she launches herself at the new guest, “nanamin!”

nanami effortlessly catches her and secures his hold on her, “d/n, that was dangerous; what if you got hurt?”

she looks down with yet another pout, “I know…’am sorry. just missed you.”

nanami sighs before patting her head, “it’s alright,” a tiny smile creeps up, “are you having fun so far?”

she nods happily and starts rambling about how cool nobara is or how much fun yuuji is to be around. meanwhile, satoru is standing in a corner with his arms crossed and grumbling, “that’s my daughter, you know.”

“imagine losing your daughter’s affection to someone else,” megumi pops up from behind satoru.

he retorts with no hesitation, “imagine not having a father.”

satoru looks petrified at megumi who is so very offended. satoru starts mini-panicking, “wait—megumi, I was kidding!”

“divine dogs.”

satoru shrieks and d/n squeals, pointing at him, “minmin, daddy’s playing with ‘gumi’s dogs!”

nanami averts his attention to gojo playing (read: being attacked). he nods slowly at the suffering man, “he is having so much fun; isn’t he?”

 “yay!” she throws her arms in the air.

nobara snaps a picture of d/n, “she’s adorable!”

yuuji sobs beside her, “I know right?!”

that was at the beginning of the day, but, right now, satoru has to attend a meeting for some reason with the higher-ups, including yaga. though, it hardly counts as a proper one considering that satoru laid out d/n toys so she can play with him.

“daddy, you’re not supposed to give him the green shirt; he needs the blue one.”

satoru quickly obeys, “yes ma’am,” and he changes the doll into his fabulous blue outfit. d/n giggles and holds his face to kiss his cheek.

one of the higher-ups clears his throat, “refrain from such disrespectful behavior during the meeting, gojo.”

satoru smiles humorlessly at the elder, “last time I checked, my daughter’s happiness is a lot more important than the nonsense you spout every single time.”

d/n carefully makes her way down the table and pulls on satoru’s pants, “daddy, toilet, please.”

“this was a fun meeting!” he beams, collecting d/n’s toys in her bag, “I have more urgent matters to attend to so adieu!” he mock bows, before bending to pick his daughter up, “let’s go princess.”

the door closes after satoru and d/n leave, and everyone looks at yaga. he takes a deep breath, “listen, that's his daughter. asking him not to pamper her is like asking a cat to let go of her kittens. you will get bit.”

time passes and satoru is chilling with d/n in the common room. she is laying on his lap and curled around herself. she groggily looks up to him, “when are we going to see mommy?”

he starts stroking her hair, “soon; I promise,” he takes out a candid picture he took of you and hands it to her, “how about you take this until we go back home and see mommy?”

she nods slowly and hugs the photo close. satoru smiles softly and presses a kiss to her forehead. not much after, d/n falls asleep with your photo secure in her hold.

it makes satoru chuckle. it reminds him of how he can never sleep without you either.

that’s why when he goes on mission, he scrolls endlessly through your photos until sleep takes over him or he listens to any voice message you sent. it helps him with the dilemma of missing you, and he is glad it helps his daughter the same way.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[ilovejb]

| Shattered Glass |

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x female!wife!reader

Summary: They were already falling apart — this was just the night it broke loud enough to hear.

Warnings: Drug use (meth),domestic violence (non-graphic physical and emotional abuse).Alcohol abuse, shouting, glass breaking, verbal arguments. Emotional neglect and trauma (child present during conflict)

Authors note: requested by @horrormovielover2000 (Can be read as a sequel to Second Chance or as a standalone piece )

It starts like any other night.

Your daughter hums in her room with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, legs crossed on the floor. Crayons scattered everywhere — dragons with flower crowns, purple stars, green volcanoes, a planet with a smiling face. She’s talking to herself quietly, making up stories as she draws, like she always does when she’s anxious but pretending she’s not.

And you?

You’re in the kitchen, still in your work clothes, heating up leftovers that neither of you really want. You’ve texted Bob three times — one got left on read, the rest ignored. But you already know.

You knew the second he didn’t come home before sunset.

You knew the second you opened the liquor cabinet to grab cooking wine and saw the bottle of bourbon half gone.

You knew the second your daughter asked, too carefully, “Is Daddy still at the gym?”

Because she’s been keeping track. Just like you have.

You hear her giggle softly from the next room, scribbling stars onto a sheet of printer paper like they’re real, like if she draws enough of them, he’ll show up clean and soft-spoken like he did a few months ago. Post-rehab Bob. The one who tried. The one who tried so hard.

And you can feel it coming.

Like a storm on the edge of town.

It’s almost 10PM when the front door slams open so hard it bounces off the wall. You freeze in the hallway, your hand on the light switch.

“Hey—hey, babe?” Bob’s voice, slurred. Sloppy. The way you haven’t heard it in months. “Where’s—where’s my girls?”

You don’t answer right away.

You just breathe.

One second. Two.

Then your voice, flat: “She’s in her room. Drawing.”

You turn the corner slowly, and there he is.

Bob Reynolds. Your husband. Father of your child. Standing in the foyer with bloodshot eyes, pupils blown wide, and a lazy grin that doesn’t reach past his teeth.

His shirt is half untucked. There’s glitter on his forearms — not the kind your daughter uses. The club kind. His hands are trembling.

And his breath…

His breath stinks of vodka and meth sweat.

“Did you—did you miss me?” he grins, like it’s a joke. Like you’re going to laugh. Like this is normal.

Your nails dig into your palm.

“Go wash your face,” you say quietly.

He stumbles forward instead, kicking his shoes off so hard one flies into the wall. It thunks and your daughter’s voice calls out faintly:

“Mommy? Was that Daddy?”

You force yourself to keep your tone steady. “It’s okay, baby. Just stay in your room for now.”

“I drew a new dragon,” she says softly.

You shut your eyes. “I can’t wait to see it.”

When you turn back around, Bob’s in the kitchen, swaying slightly, staring into the open fridge like he forgot what food looks like.

“Don’t do this,” you say low. “Not in front of her.”

He laughs — that weird, hiccupy laugh that’s more mouth than voice.

“Oh, come on. I missed dinner, that’s all. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to be late.” He pulls out a half-empty can of beer from god-knows-where and pops it open like it’s nothing.

“Don’t drink that in front of her,” you snap. “Put it down.”

“Jesus, relax.” He takes a long swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s not like I’m—what? Gonna crash the house into a tree?”

“Bob—” You raise your voice without meaning to. “She’s six. She can hear you.”

He scoffs, louder now. “She’s drawing in her little fantasy castle. She doesn’t give a damn what I do.”

The words hit you harder than you expect.

“Don’t you dare say that,” you hiss.

He’s already pacing.

You know this dance. You’ve lived this cycle. He’s not even fully here — chemically scattered, skin buzzing under sweat and guilt. You can feel the fight coming like a train and you want to stop it.

But you’re so tired of swallowing the silence.

So you say it.

“Were you with her?”

That stops him. Just for a second.

His face flinches. Then hardens.

“Don’t start with that paranoid jealous wife bullshit,” he spits.

“I’m not jealous. I’m angry. And terrified. You came home high, Bob. Drunk. After weeks of pretending—promising—you were done.”

“It was one night.”

“It’s never one night!”

The bottle slips out of his hand.

CRASH.

It shatters across the tile.

You both freeze.

From her room: silence. Then the softest voice.

“Mommy?”

Your eyes sting. “It’s okay, sweetie. Just something fell.”

“I’ll draw you a flower,” she says quietly.

You clench your fists.

Bob stares at the broken glass, swaying. “See what you made me do.”

You spin. “What I made you do? Are you kidding me?”

“You push and push and—” His voice cracks. “I’m trying.”

“No, you’re not,” you snap. “You tried. Past tense. Then you stopped. You walked back into hell and dragged us with you.”

His hands go to his hair. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You never mean to. But I’m the one cleaning up the mess. I’m the one checking on her in the night when she cries because Daddy didn’t kiss her goodnight. I’m the one who—who—”

You have to stop. Your throat tightens.

“You’re a superpowered god,” you whisper. “But you can’t even pick up a goddamn crayon and sit with your daughter for five minutes.”

That one hits.

He turns away like he’s been slapped.

Silence.

A beat.

Then, from the hallway, soft footsteps.

You both turn.

She’s there — standing in her pajamas, holding a drawing in both hands.

A planet with dragon wings. Flowers blooming across its surface. Stars smiling above it.

“I made this for you, Daddy,” she says quietly. “In case you were sad.” Bob opens his mouth. No words come. He sinks to his knees.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You tuck her back into bed ten minutes later.

Bob doesn’t help. He doesn’t follow. He just stands in the hallway like a ghost while you kneel beside your daughter’s little bed, gently brushing her curls back behind her ear.

She’s still holding the drawing. She won’t let it go.

You whisper, “It’s beautiful, baby,” and she nods. “He’s just really tired tonight, okay? He’s… not feeling like himself.”

“Is he sick?” she asks, voice small.

You hesitate. “A little. Grown-up sick. It’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t ask any more questions. She doesn’t cry. That’s what worries you most.

She just pulls the blanket up to her chin and says, “I can draw him another one tomorrow.”

Your chest feels like it’s caving in.

You kiss her forehead and close the door gently behind you. The moment it clicks shut, the weight shifts from your chest to your fists.

You walk down the hall and there he is.

Still swaying slightly. Still reeking of chemicals and bourbon and mistakes.

“She saw,” you say.

Bob doesn’t answer.

“She saw everything.”

He runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to wake up from something, but he isn’t asleep. He’s wide awake in the worst version of himself.

You shake your head. “What did you take?”

He doesn’t lie.

“Meth,” he mutters. “Just a little. Just… I wasn’t gonna go full spiral again.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Your voice cracks on the last word.

He turns away. “I needed it. Just for one night. You don’t know what it’s like in here.” He taps his temple hard. “I’m stuck in my own f***ing head all the time.”

You step closer.

“And I’m stuck in the wreckage. Picking up every broken thing you leave behind. Including her.”

Bob flinches.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t say you didn’t mean to,” you snap. “You chose this. You walked back into it. You lied to me. You lied to her. You promised.”

“I know,” he says again, and it’s weaker this time. “I f***ing know, okay?”

You’re not even yelling anymore. You’re too drained for that.

You walk past him into the kitchen where the broken glass still glints in the dim light. You grab the broom. Sweep. One shard slices your palm as you dump the pieces into the trash. You don’t flinch. You just let it bleed.

Bob watches from the doorway. Pathetic. Hollow.

“Don’t just stand there,” you mutter.

He doesn’t move.

“I don’t know what you want me to do.”

You turn, eyes sharp.

“I wanted you to stay clean.”

Silence.

Then—

“I’m not good at this,” he says. “Being normal. Being domestic. It doesn’t feel real. I wake up and I feel like I’m still some… broken thing with a kill switch. Like one bad day and it all resets.”

“You think I’m not scared?” You drop the broom. “You think I’m not terrified every time I hear a siren or get a phone call at midnight?”

He closes his eyes.

“Don’t you dare use your powers as an excuse. This isn’t about being Sentry. This is about being a father.”

His voice is barely above a whisper: “I’m trying.”

You stare at him, eyes burning.

“No. You tried. Then you gave up. And you didn’t even look back.”

That’s when the yelling starts again.

He pushes away from the doorway. You don’t remember exactly what sets it off — maybe a look, maybe a word, maybe the sheer tension of too much truth in one room. But then the volume spikes.

“You don’t know what it’s like living with this kind of pressure—!”

“I live with you, Bob. That’s pressure enough.”

“You make me feel like I’m never doing enough!”

“Because you’re not! You disappear for hours, days—!”

“I come back, don’t I?!”

“Do you? Because this—” You gesture to his bloodshot eyes, his shaking hands, the reek of his clothes. “—this isn’t you coming back. This is you dragging the grave with you.”

He grabs a glass off the counter. Throws it. It hits the wall and shatters.

You both freeze again.

No voice this time. No question from the hallway.

Just silence.

That hurts worse.

“She didn’t even ask if we’re okay,” you whisper. “She’s used to this.”

Bob sinks to the floor slowly, like his legs give out.

His hands tremble.

“I never wanted this,” he whispers. “I wanted to be better.”

“Then why the hell aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

You stand over him.

“Fix this,” you say coldly. “Fix it, Bob. Or don’t come back next time.”

He looks up at you, eyes glossy and desperate.

“You don’t mean that.”

You stare down at him, throat tight.

And you don’t say a word.

You don’t sleep.

You lie awake on the edge of the bed with your back turned, eyes fixed on the crack in the ceiling paint. It’s from that one storm last year. Bob swore he’d fix it.

Like everything else.

You hear him in the kitchen again sometime around 3 a.m. — not sneaking, not quiet. Just loud enough for you to know he wants to be heard. Like he wants you to get up and find him. Make it okay. Clean up the mess again.

You don’t move.

Instead, you listen to the fridge door open. Then close. Then open again. Bottles clinking.

God, please let it be water this time.

A few minutes later, the front door creaks. A light step. Lighter than it should be.

He’s leaving again.

No note.

By the time the sun rises, your daughter is in the kitchen with a blanket over her shoulders and her planet drawing taped to the fridge.

You pour her cereal, make her chocolate milk the way she likes — three swirls of syrup, stir counterclockwise, not clockwise — and try to smile when she shows you the flower she drew on the back of her dragon page.

“He didn’t like the dragon, I think,” she mumbles.

“Daddy had something going on in his head,” you say softly. “It wasn’t about the dragon, sweetheart.”

She nods, like she understands, but she shouldn’t have to.

You pack her backpack. Kiss her forehead. Walk her to the bus. Wave until the yellow doors close.

Then you go back inside and sit on the couch.

The quiet is unbearable.

He shows up again at noon.

You don’t even hear the key in the lock — just the sound of the door closing too softly, like he knows he shouldn’t be here.

You don’t look at him.

Bob’s a wreck. His hoodie’s stained, there’s a fresh cut over his knuckle, and the shadows under his eyes look like they’ve taken root.

“I went walking,” he says, like you care.

You pick up the remote. Click the volume up one notch. Don’t speak.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t use again.”

You finally glance at him. “Congrats.”

The sarcasm hits harder than any punch. He winces, but doesn’t argue.

He slinks further inside like he’s testing how close you’ll let him come before you snap. You don’t say stop. Not yet.

“I slept behind the old theater,” he says. “No cops. Just rats.”

You snort, bitter. “And that’s supposed to make me feel sorry for you?”

He sits on the edge of the coffee table, hands clasped like he’s in a confession booth.

“I’m not trying to win points. I just didn’t want to go somewhere worse.”

You finally meet his eyes.

“Bob, you are the worst place.”

The air shifts.

He lets out a low, hollow laugh. “Yeah. I figured.”

You lean forward, elbows on your knees.

“You’ve got a daughter. A daughter who thinks she needs to draw you pictures to make you happy.”

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“You think this is about meth? Or booze? It’s not. It’s about the fact that you come home and look right through us like we’re ghosts in your house.”

“I don’t mean to,” he whispers.

“But you do it anyway.”

Bob’s face crumples a little. “I don’t know how to be here without f***ing it up.”

“Then leave.”

Silence.

You press harder. “No more in and out. No more maybe-I’ll-try-again. If you’re going to rot, do it somewhere else. You don’t get to take us down with you.”

You can see it in his eyes — that flicker of panic, like maybe this is the one time you mean it.

“You want me gone?” he asks.

You shrug. “You already are.”

He sits back like you slapped him.

You wish you had. Maybe a bruise would make the pain real to him.

He gets up. Paces. His hands start twitching.

“I thought you wanted to fix things,” he says.

You snap your head toward him.

“I wanted a husband. I got a f***ing ghost with a death wish.”

He knocks a lamp off the end table. It crashes, shatters.

This time, you don’t even flinch.

“You think I asked for this life?” he shouts. “You think I wanted to turn into someone you’re ashamed to love?!”

You rise to your feet.

“You didn’t want to turn into it. You let it happen.”

You’re nose to nose now, breathing the same poisonous air.

“I have begged,” you say. “I have cried and screamed and pleaded with you to choose us. And every time, you’ve picked the thing that kills you faster.”

His voice breaks. “Because I don’t know how to survive happiness.” “Then don’t drag us down into your misery.”You step back. Point at the door.

“If you don’t have a reason to stay clean, then go. Because I won’t let our daughter grow up thinking love means pain.”

He doesn’t move. For once, he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t break anything else. He just looks at you like a man drowning for the last time.

And then?

He leaves.

The door doesn’t slam.

It clicks.

Soft.

Final.

You don’t know what time it is.

You just know it’s dark, and cold, and your daughter’s bedroom door is closed with a towel shoved under it to keep the smoke out.

You’re barefoot, standing in the hallway with a shattered picture frame at your feet.

And Bob is in the kitchen again — slamming cabinets, muttering to himself, breaking things he probably doesn’t even realize he’s breaking.

You told him not to come back.

But junkies always come back. Especially when they think they’re owed something.

You hear the fridge door open. Another bottle. You feel it before you hear it — the slow drag of him pulling out a chair, sitting down like this is his house, his family, like the last three days didn’t happen.

And something in you snaps.

You walk into the kitchen and grab the bottle from his hand. Whiskey, half gone.

“What the f***—” he starts, reaching for it.

You pull it away. “You don’t get to sit here and drink like this is normal.”

His eyes are bloodshot, his hands twitchy. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ve already started.”

You slam the bottle down on the counter, just hard enough to make him flinch.

“You show up at 1 a.m. reeking of pills and bourbon and you think you can just sit at my kitchen table like this is fine?”

He glares at you, mouth twisted.

“I live here.”

You laugh. “No, Bob. You exist here. You haunt this place. You ruin it.”

He stands. Too fast. The chair screeches.

“I work my ass off not to disappear completely, and all you do is tear me down!”

“You hit rock bottom and then keep digging,” you scream. “What the hell do you expect me to do?! Applaud you?!”

His fist slams the countertop. “You don’t see me! You don’t f***ing care!”

Your chest tightens. You take one step closer. “I saw you when no one else did. I loved you when you were already rotting. But I won’t let our daughter grow up thinking this is love.”

He stumbles forward, unsteady. “Don’t bring her into this.”

You shove him back.

“Why? Scared she might actually realize her dad is a goddamn coward?”

That’s when it happens.

It’s not cinematic. Not slow motion.

It’s fast. Fast and ugly.

His hand comes up before he knows what it’s doing. Open palm, reckless swing.

You feel it before you process it — the sting on your cheek, the burn in your jaw, the sudden stillness that crashes over everything like a glass wall shattering in your chest.

Your head turns with the hit. The whiskey bottle falls and smashes on the tile, spilling amber and shards across your bare feet.

Silence.

Bob steps back, hand frozen mid-air, eyes wide.

“I—I didn’t—”

You don’t speak.

You don’t cry.

You don’t scream.

You just stand there, breath shallow, and stare at him like he’s a stranger who broke in.

And in that second — he is.

Your voice comes out steady. Cold.

“If you ever touch me again, I swear to God—”

“Wait, I didn’t mean to—baby—please, I—”

You shove him. Hard.

He stumbles into the broken glass.

Your voice doesn’t shake. “You’re leaving.”

He looks panicked. “No. No, I just—I lost control, just for a second, I swear—”

“You lost me,” you spit. “You lost your family.”

Your daughter’s bedroom door opens quietly down the hall. A little face peeks out.

“Mom?”

You snap your head toward her, instantly soft. “Stay in your room, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t listen. She walks down the hall, dragging her blanket, blinking at the mess.

You kneel and block her view of the kitchen, your body between her and her father.

“Go back in your room. I’ll be there in a second.”

She sees the red on your cheek.

“Did Daddy hurt you?”

Your throat tightens. “Just go. Please.”

She obeys.

Because she knows when someone means it.

Bob starts crying. Loud, disgusting sobs.

You don’t care.

You get up. Grab his keys from the hook by the door.

You shove them at his chest. “Go.”

He doesn’t move.

“GO!”

You scream it so hard your voice breaks.

He finally turns.

He walks out barefoot, still crying, still muttering apologies that disappear with every step.

You close the door behind him.

Lock it.

And then you slide down against it, head in your hands, and let yourself fall apart.

That night, you sleep in your daughter’s bed.

She draws you a dragon with big wings.

It’s breathing fire on a man with black eyes and a small heart.

You kiss her forehead, curl up beside her, and promise yourself you’ll never let her grow up thinking this is what love looks like.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝗣𝘂𝗺𝗽𝗸𝗶𝗻 𝗣𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 || Dean Winchester ||

A/n: Giving Dean the life he deserved.

"H-Hey Kiddo! Stop running so fast." Dean shouted watching his daughter take off down the pumpkin patch.

"She's fine Dean, she's not going to get too far. Her legs are to small." You teased stepping beside him as his chest heaved with each breath.

"She's so fast." Dean. "Take's after me." He hummed as a smile on his face placing his hands on his hips watching his little look at each pumpkin.

Rolling your eyes you gave your husband a playful shove as he quickly tugged you to his side placing a kiss your cheek.

"You're such an ass Dean."

"You love it baby."

"Ugh."

Resting his head on your shoulder, Dean never thought he would have this life. A life free of monsters, demons and every horror he hunted since he was a child. He thought he would die a hunter, just like so many others before him.

Holding you close, he rested his chin on your shoulder keeping his gaze on his daughter. The six year old rolling a large pumpkin towards you both.

He owed this life thanks to you, thanks to meeting you. Who would have thought one little case would have changed his whole life. That he'd fall in love, meet the one of his dreams, to have a child he always craved. Sometimes he feels guilty, that he didn't deserve this life.

But waking up next to you each morning, cooking breakfast for his little girl. He missed Sammy of course, but at least his brother didn't cut him out of his life. His little girl did love her uncle Sammy after all.

"What are you thinking about?" You hummed looking up at Dean.

"Nothin." Dean placed a kiss to the side of your head, then grins lifting his daughter up in his arms. The little girl squealing with happiness. "Did ya pick the perfect pumpkin, pumpkin?"he teased.

"Daddy!!" The little girl squealed clinging to her father's neck. "Yes! This one. I want this one."

"Well anything for my princess...we'll just have to figure out-."

Taking your daughter from the mans arms, you placed a kiss to his cheek then smiled. "Have fun carrying the pumpkin Dean."

"What?! Come on babe." Dean groans as he bent down to grab the thing.

"You'll be fine Dean!, you were a hunter remember." You called out walking past various sizes, an even smaller one in your daughter's hand that she managed to snag.

Grumbling under his breath, Dean lifted the pumpkin in his arms as he trailed after you though his gaze softened watching you. He wouldn't change this life for anything.

[linoxpudding]

First Milestones

summary: the soft, emotional, and unforgettable moments of your baby's “firsts” — the tiny milestones that feel like entire galaxies for you both as parents

pairing: dad!skz x mom!reader

genre: fluff, humor

a/n: first time writing headcanons, hope you guys like it ♡

Dad!SKZ Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan 🐺

Bang Chan lives for every milestone—he’s been tracking every coo, roll, and crawl in a special baby journal since day one.

He’s on baby duty while you’re in the kitchen. The TV is playing soft nursery rhymes in the background, and Chan is sitting cross-legged on the playmat, watching your daughter, Juliana, pull herself up using the couch.

“Look at you, strong little thing,” he smiles, holding his hands out encouragingly.

Then it happens. Your baby lets go and takes one… two… three wobbly steps toward him.

His eyes go wide. He freezes, then launches into excited chaos.

“Babe!! BABE COME HERE QUICK!!” he shouts, nearly tripping over a toy to get your attention.

You come rushing in, thinking something’s wrong—only to see your baby walking.

Tears well up in Chan’s eyes as he whispers,

“She—she's walking… you’re walking, baby!”

He doesn’t even bother grabbing his phone for a video—he’s too focused on holding out his arms, cheering your baby on like a proud, emotional golden retriever dad.

Once your baby reaches you, Chan immediately pulls you both into the biggest hug.

He kisses both your cheeks and Juliana’s tiny head, whispering how proud he is over and over.

Later that night, he writes the moment in his journal, complete with a doodle of the baby walking and a sticky note that reads:

“First steps. I’ll never forget today.”

Lee Know 🐰

Minho swore he wouldn’t cry over baby milestones—but he was absolutely lying to himself.

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon. You and Minho are cuddled up on the couch under a cozy blanket, coffee cups half-full, watching your 10-month-old son Mingi on the playmat.

Mingi is happily crawling around, absolutely fascinated with the cats. Especially Dori, who’s lying just out of reach, tail twitching.

Minho has his arm draped over your shoulders, a soft smile on his face as he watches your son and cats bond.

“They’re gonna be partners in crime,” he murmurs.

Then it happens.

A tiny, wobbly little voice breaks the peaceful silence:

“...Do…ri…”

You blink. He blinks. You both freeze.

“Did you…?” “Wait, did he just—?”

You both turn your heads slowly toward Mingi, who is now patting Dori gently and giggling like he just did the most amazing thing.

Lee Know sits straight up like he just heard a fire alarm.

“JAGIYA. THAT WAS HIS FIRST WORD.”

He practically throws the blanket off and rushes to the floor, crouching next to Mingi.

“Say it again, baby—Dori? Can you say Dori again?”

Mingi just giggles and reaches for the cat’s tail (which Minho gently redirects before Dori decides to leave).

You’re sitting there with your hand over your mouth, emotional, while Minho keeps whispering to himself: “His first word was one of the cats. I KNEW it. I KNEW IT.”

He scoops Mingi up and comes back to the couch, eyes shining.

“I thought it’d be Appa or Eomma. But no. Dori. The little traitor,” he says dramatically—while smiling so big his cheeks hurt.

That night, he calls his mom just to tell her the story. And yes, he brags to the other cats too.

“Your brother just said your name first. You better treat him like royalty.”

Seo Changbin 🐷🐇

Changbin always felt a little sting of regret for missing your son, Juwon’s first word. He was on tour when it happened, and although you FaceTimed him and he teared up live on camera, it wasn’t the same.

He really hoped he wouldn’t miss any big milestones again—and especially not for his daughter, Seowoon.

One afternoon, Changbin is in full “Dad Mode” — surrounded by IKEA instruction booklets, random screws, and planks that definitely weren’t labeled properly.

You’re on the couch, feeding Seowoon her snack and watching with quiet amusement as your husband mutters under his breath: “Why are there three leftover screws? What do they even go to?”

4-year-old Juwon is nearby, offering his toy hammer and occasionally asking things like, “Appa, are you building a rocket ship?”

Changbin grins at him. “Close. A dresser. For your sister. Same thing, right?”

Then, just as he’s hunched over the half-built furniture, he hears the tiniest, most delicate voice from behind: “...Dada.”

He freezes. You freeze. Juwon blinks. “Did Seowoon just say…?”

Changbin turns around so fast he almost knocks over the dresser.

“No. No way. Did you—Did she really—?”

You nod slowly, wide-eyed, as Seowoon looks up from her snack cup, grinning proudly and clapping her hands, “Dada!”

The screw in Changbin’s hand drops to the floor. His jaw does too.

He scrambles over, ignoring the mess, kneels in front of her, and gently cups her face, “Princess... you said my name. You said Dada...”

His voice cracks with emotion. He presses his forehead to hers, tears threatening to spill because he was here—no blurry video call, no missed moment

“I missed your brother’s first word,” he whispers, holding her close, “But not yours. Not yours.”

Juwon comes over and hugs his dad’s leg, "Appa, hug me too."

Changbin chuckles, pulling him in for a group hug.

You smile from the couch, your heart full, watching the love of your life hold both your kids like he’s never letting go.

Hwang Hyunjin 🥟

Ever since your son, Rowoon, turned six months, Hyunjin has been counting down the days to his first bite of solid food like it’s a Michelin-star event.

The night before, he’s prepping like he’s hosting a gala:

“Do we go with mashed carrots? Or should we puree sweet potatoes? This is his first taste of real flavor—he deserves elegance.”

You’re fully on board. You even go out and buy a tiny baby apron that says “Food Critic in Training.”

Morning arrives, and Hyunjin is wearing a silk robe over a plain tee like some artistic genius preparing a masterpiece.

The kitchen looks like a cooking show set—cute bowls, baby-sized spoons, a highchair with a cushion shaped like a cloud.

He even cues soft classical music in the background. “He needs ambiance.”

You hold your phone, recording everything like you’re making a mini documentary.

“Day one of Rowoon vs Food. Daddy’s the chef. Mommy’s the camerawoman. Stakes are high.”

You both carefully strap Rowoon into his highchair, Hyunjin whispering,

“Are you ready, my little prince? Daddy made this with love.”

He scoops the tiniest bit of mashed sweet potato and gently brings the spoon to son’s lips.

You zoom in dramatically as Rowoon’s mouth opens...and closes... and he makes a face like he just ate betrayal.

“Oh my god, he hates it—” you gasp.

Hyunjin freezes mid-spoon like he’s in a drama scene, “No... this can’t be. I pureed it by hand!”

But then—Rowoon opens his mouth again. Like he’s willing to give it one more chance.

The second bite? Less dramatic. More nom nom. He actually likes it.

Hyunjin's entire face lights up, “HE LIKES IT!!” he shouts.

You burst out laughing, zooming in on Rowoon’s messy, sweet-potato-covered face.

“We’ve got a foodie, folks.”

Hyunjin kisses Rowoon’s cheek despite the mush, whispering, “First food down. Next stop—Korean BBQ.”

Han Jisung 🐿

By the time your son, Jihoon, was born, Jisung was already a seasoned pro at diapers, burping, and twin negotiations.

But when it came to milestones, it still felt brand new.

Unlike his older siblings — Jisoo and Minsoo, who crawled like a champ very early on— Jihoon was the chillest baby ever. Always smiling, always content to just lie in the middle of chaos like a little prince.

Every night Jisung googles things like “how to encourage baby to crawl faster?” or “is my baby behind or just chill?”

He’s been doing "tummy time training" every day, cheering his baby on with way too much excitement: “C’mon, baby nugget! You got this! Crawl like your life depends on it!”

You both set up a full obstacle course one afternoon — pillows, soft toys, and finally, his secret weapon: a snack pouch.

Jisoo and Minsoo were already beside him, holding up toys and clapping like tiny hype squad members.

“Babyyyyy,” he calls, wiggling the pouch like it’s treasure, “You want this? Come get it, I believe in you!”

“Crawl! Crawl! Crawl!” Minsoo chanted.

You’re lying next to the baby with your phone ready, already wheezing at how serious Jisung is.

“You’re acting like this is the Olympics.”

“IT IS!” he whines.

The baby wobbles on all fours for the first time ever and both of you and your twins instantly lose it.

“WAIT. BABE. RECORD THIS. THIS IS IT.”

"Daddy, I'm so excited," Jisoo giggled.

You’re already filming, whispering excitedly: “He’s gonna do it. Hannie, he’s actually gonna—”

And then it happens.

One little hand. One little knee. Then the tiniest, cutest shuffle forward.

Jisung and the twins SCREAMS.

“OH MY GOD!!! HE’S CRAWLING! HE’S CRAWLING! BABY YOU’RE CRAWLING!”

The baby makes it two full scoots before flopping onto the floor with a satisfied gurgle. Jisung rushes over like he just watched his child win a Nobel Prize.

Jisoo clapped. Minsoo cheered. The whole house erupted with joy.

Lee Felix 🐥

Felix is obsessed with every tiny moment in your daughter, Yuna’s life. He’s always recording videos, taking pictures, and creating little memory books.

Every time Yuna babbles, he swears it’s the cutest thing he’s ever heard.

“Did you hear that? I’m pretty sure she said ‘Dada’ right there. Dada, right?” He’s already planning to tell her that “her first word was the best one.”

But today, your daughter is extra chatty, her eyes sparkling as she sits in Felix’s lap, reaching for a toy.

“C’mon, sweetie. Say ‘Dada’ for Daddy,” he coos, gently bouncing her in his lap.

You’re sitting across the room, watching, already knowing what’s about to happen. You’ve seen the signs.

Felix has been casually teasing her, trying to coax out a “Dada,” but you’re secretly thinking: “It’s going to be ‘Mama,’ isn’t it? It’s totally going to be ‘Mama.’”

Felix sees it, but he’s trying to hold onto the hope that his daughter will say his name first.

You’re laughing as Felix dramatically leans in, “I’m ready. Just say it... Dada.”

But then, the most magical thing happens. Yuna, with all her baby energy, looks at him with wide, glistening eyes and giggles.

“Yuna... Dada?”

She pauses, grabs Felix’s finger, and then...

“Mama.”

“WHAT? NOOO.” Felix gasps like his heart just skipped a beat.

You freeze. And then, you both burst out laughing. Felix's face is shocked, then it softens, his voice crackling with emotion.

“I knew it. I just knew you’d say Mama first.”

You’re trying to keep your composure but your heart’s melting from how sweet and soft Felix is in this moment.

“She’s so perfect,” you whisper.

Felix holds Yuna close, kissing the top of her head.

“I guess I’ll just have to work harder to get that ‘Dada,’ huh?”

And as you record everything, Felix, while holding your daughter, leans into you with a dramatic sigh: “I guess I’ll let you have this one... for now.”

The whole moment feels like pure sunshine, with Felix genuinely thrilled by her first word, even if it wasn’t the one he was hoping for.

Kim Seungmin 🐶

Seungmin is already incredibly emotional about everything with your son, Taesan. From the moment he held him, he’s been trying to document every single milestone (if he was not travelling for work) but somehow, this one felt extra special.

The day Taesan decides to take his first step, Seungmin was home fortunately. He was playing with him on the floor, smiling at his little boy who’s holding onto the couch for support.

Seungmin kept saying, “Come on, buddy. You got this. Just one little step.”

But honestly, he’s half-giggling and half-nervous because he's worried your son might fall right into his arms. (And honestly? Seungmin is lowkey terrified of the baby walking because this is a whole new level of chaos)

Taesan grabs onto the couch and teeters, swaying back and forth like a tiny wobbly penguin. Seungmin’s voice is full of anticipation.

“Are you gonna do it? Are you gonna walk?”

“C’mon, Taesan. Take the step, please. For Daddy.” He’s holding his breath.

Then... it happens.

With the tiniest wobbly leg movement, Taesan takes his first unsteady step, stumbling forward toward Seungmin, who gasps and almost falls over in excitement. He catches him right before he topples over.

“OH MY GOD! YOU DID IT!!” Seungmin’s voice cracks in pure joy.

Your son giggles, proud of himself, and Seungmin instantly scoops him up, lifting him in the air, doing an accidental spin because his emotions are a mess.

You’re standing nearby, watching all of this unfold, and Seungmin’s eyes meet yours, filled with overwhelming adoration.

“He just did it... He really did it.” He sounds like he’s in shock, but his heart is melting.

He’s bouncing Taesan in his arms, whispering to him in the sweetest voice, “You’re so grown up now, buddy. Daddy's so proud of you.”

You step forward, and he hands Taesan to you. He tries to hide the tears forming in his eyes, with a playful smile, but you know him too well.

“This is it. He’s gonna be running around soon, and I won’t be able to stop him.”

You laugh, already imagining all the new adventures your son will take. Seungmin rests his head on your shoulder and whispers, “I can’t believe how fast it’s all going. I’m just so proud of him.”

You and Seungmin share a quiet, emotional moment as you both marvel at your beautiful baby boy.

Yang Jeongin 🦊

From the moment your son, Sungheon, was born, he was obsessed with you. Sungheon’s eyes would always follow you around the room, and whenever you held him, he’d snuggle into your chest like he knew you were his safe place.

Jeongin couldn’t get enough of the way his son was so attached to you, always calling you “Mommy” with his baby babbles that made both of you melt.

“He’s already my biggest competition,” Jeongin would joke, pretending to be jealous of the connection you shared.

One evening, as you’re cuddling on the couch, the baby, now a little older, is lying on your chest, his head resting over your heart.

You’re gently stroking his hair, whispering softly, and Jeongin is sitting nearby, watching the two of you, already in love with the moment.

Out of nowhere, your son lifts his little head, looks at you with the biggest, most innocent eyes, and leans in toward your cheek.

He plants the softest, tiniest kiss on your face, almost like he’s been practicing.

“Oh my god.” Jeongin’s voice cracks as he watches, his heart doing flips.

He can’t help but laugh, both from surprise and joy.

“Did he just...?”

Your heart explodes at the tiny kiss. You freeze for a second, not expecting it, and then look at Jeongin.

“I can’t believe he just kissed me!” you say in awe.

Jeongin looks like he’s about to explode with pride, but he’s also so proud of how sweet and loving your son is already. He hypes it up.

“Oh no, it’s happening. He’s already obsessed with you, and now he’s kissing you! What do I even do?” His voice is full of exaggerated jealousy, but there’s nothing but love in his eyes.

You hold your baby closer, and Jeongin immediately whips out his phone to FaceTime his mom.

“Mom, Mom, guess what! Guess who just kissed Mommy for the first time! Look at him!” Jeongin’s excitement is contagious as he shows your son’s adorable face on the screen.

The baby, now snuggling back into your chest, yawns, and then gives you another tiny kiss on your cheek, this time even more adorable than before.

“Mommy,” he says softly, his voice still tiny, but clear.

“That’s it. You're his favorite now. There’s no going back,” Jeongin teases, making a dramatic face.

He kisses your forehead, then leans in to kiss Sungheon's head, full of soft affection.

“But, I’m still your favorite, right?” He asks you with a cheeky grin.

You smile up at Jeongin, holding Sungheon close.

“Of course, Daddy. But just so you know, I think we both know who’s going to steal all the kisses from now on.”

Jeongin dramatically pouts for a second before playfully laughing. “Okay, fine. But you know I’m still the best when it comes to kisses, right?”

You kiss his cheek, teasing back. “We’ll see, Daddy. We’ll see.”

--------------

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Dad!SKZ Taglist:

@butterflydemons @hhjlvr @smiileflower

[s-brant]

The Calm Before the Storm

With the family coming from Dragonstone to visit after the birth of Y/N’s first child, Aemond must control his impulses and be civil with the Velaryon boys for the sake of his wife. (or judas part five).

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, targcest, lactation kink, oral sex (male receiving), facefucking, switch aemond, strong language, hints of yandere (so basically canon) aemond, death, and referenced violence.

-

Their footsteps echo in the hallway as they make their way to the private rooms her mother and father are staying in for the next few days. Her husband's shoulders are squared, his posture straight, the entire way there. Ever since he woke up this morning with the knowledge that Daemon, Rhaenyra, Jace, and Lucerys are here, he hasn't allowed himself a moment to relax. If it weren't for the three-week-old babe clutched against her chest, she'd reach out to take his hand or rub up and down his back.

Without turning her head to look at him, she says, "You need not worry. My brothers simply wish to meet their niece."

The doors to their chambers come closer and closer—

"I am not worried," he says. "Your half-brothers pose no threat to me."

The long conversation they shared last night as the babe suckled at her mother's breast proved otherwise. It was late enough that their servants had gone to sleep, so neither of them felt the need to speak in the language of their ancestors to keep anyone from overhearing. They spoke quietly in the common tongue to not wake their daughter from her milk-drunk trance.

He confided in her that he didn't feel comfortable having his daughter around her half-brothers without him present in the room. At first, she had been offended. She looked at him like he had struck her and bit her tongue as she fought the urge to say the first nasty thing that came to mind. It had to do with his brother. It was a snarky comment regarding her reluctance to allow their daughter to be alone in his presence, but she stopped herself before she could say it. No matter how much she loved them, he had reason to be wary of them after what they did.

The guards hold the doors open for them and announce their presence as the couple enters the room. The first thing Y/N sees is her mother and father standing together, the former with a hand cradled on the underside of her heavily pregnant belly. Then, it's her half-brothers sitting on the couch behind them. And, finally, her youngest brothers, Viserys and Aegon, play together on the carpet-covered floor.

"My sweet girl," Rhaenyra says in greeting with a bright smile and holds out her arms.

Aemond, ever the attentive husband contrary to the assumptions from her side of the family, is already reaching to take the babe from her arms to allow her the chance to embrace her mother. A quiet, "Thank you, my love," is muttered under her breath as she passes their daughter off to him, trying not to ogle him in the presence of her family. Seeing him with Daenaera, cradling their small child against the body she knows so intimately, never fails to make her stomach flutter.

What she doesn't notice due to her preoccupation with her mother is that her brothers are staring daggers at Aemond from where they lounge on the couch. As always, he doesn't miss a thing.

Jacaerys in particular has the more sour expression between the two of them, seeing that he is older and more knowledgeable about the ins and outs of marriage, but it does little to intimidate her husband. Aemond simply stares back with a blank face, daring him to say or do anything to provoke him in the presence of his wife and child.

Next, he turns his attention to Lucerys while Y/N is greeting her parents. The younger of the two is less angry and more frightened. Ever since what happened between them at Driftmark, they've never been able to let their guards down around one another. And now that the young boy he maimed has grown into a man, one who rides the largest dragon alive and has bested Criston Cole with a sword, Lucerys has often anticipated retaliation of some sort whenever they meet again.

But he made a vow to his wife. He swore that he would not harm either of her brothers, and it was not something he took lightly. It wasn't a means to end their argument, it was real. For her, he would leave them be...unless they swung first. In that circumstance, he cannot deny that he would revel in the opportunity to get revenge. His vow to her did not mean that he would befriend her brothers, or that he cared about them. It only means that he cares more for her and their daughter.

Aemond never breaks his eye contact with Lucerys as he stands by in silence. The mischievous glint in his remaining eye seems to say, "I won." The tiny, shifting weight of the newborn cooing in his arms is proof of that.

Before anything can be said between the two of them, Y/N pulls away from the embrace shared with her parents and turns to him to say sweetly, "Māzigon, valzȳrys. Ivestragī zirȳ rhaenagon zirȳla." Come, husband. Let them meet her.

The little girl fusses in his grasp when he walks over to the three of them without speaking a word, and this causes Y/N's brows to pinch together in concern. Her hand comes up to stroke the top of her head, fuzzy with wisps of silver hair, to soothe her as Aemond hands the babe off to her grandsire. Although he does not cry, his eyes become glassy at the sight of his daughter's child.

Daemon says, allowing her little fingers to curl around his pinky, "Gevie." Beautiful. His eyes shift to look back and forth between Y/N and Aemond before finally settling on the former. "She has your lips and nose." A pause, and then he looks at Aemond. His tender expression hardens a little, but he keeps it contained. "I see you in her as well."

He hums in appreciation of the comment—a rare compliment, perhaps—but is quick to correct him.

"She is the image of her mother," he says softly and valiantly fights a smile when his eye abandons his uncle to look upon her little face.

The harshness that is always present in Daemon's gaze when Aemond is near softens at this as though he has been presented with a new side of him. Throughout their marriage, Daemon has made no secret of his distaste for her husband. Not only because of his scheming grandsire but because of his history with her half-brothers. With every raven sent to King's Landing from Dragonstone, he made a point to ask her how he had been treating her, promising that he would be there on Caraxes with haste should he mistreat her. But this...Even though she has told him countless times that she is happy with her marriage, this is the first time he has truly seen it.

Next, Rhaenyra holds her. It's almost effortless how she falls back into the motherly role once a babe is placed in her arms. Having birthed five children that survived beyond the womb, it is second nature to her, and it won't be long before the sixth comes along.

"What is her name?" her mother asks.

This brings a smile to Y/N's face.

"Daenaera."

-

Dinner with the entire family, both the Green and Black sides, is never a dull event.

She sits with Aemond to her right and Daemon to her left, little Daenaera sleeping with her head on her shoulder. Both Alicent and Rhaenyra advised her to give the babe to a servant to allow herself to enjoy the night, but she politely refused. Her little girl often had trouble if neither she nor Aemond was near, so she is held to her chest with one arm while the other reaches for the fork beside her plate.

The last time they had a dinner all together was before she married him. It's a little different tonight seeing that Viserys is not well enough to attend, but there's a new member of the family to bind both sides together this time, so the night has progressed without issue thus far. How could anyone be compelled to argue or incite violence with an infant present at the dinner table.

It was a calculated decision on her part, which Aemond clocked instantly. His lips fought the urge to turn up at the ends in a slight smirk when she insisted upon keeping the babe with her. She knew that he would refrain from any impulsive behavior regarding her brothers with her at the table. His cunning, devoted lady.

Aemond watches her as she struggles to hold their daughter up with one arm while she reaches for her cup of wine. He's readying to scoot back from the table and take Daenaera from her arms, but he's halted by the sound of her brother's voice.

"Sister, if you won't let the servants help, please allow me to hold her while you eat."

His one eye shifts its focus away from her to find the source of the offer.

Rhaenyra says, "How kind of you, Jacaerys." She then turns to look at her daughter past Daemon, leaning forward into the table. "You should take him up on the offer, my love, you must be tired."

The younger princess hesitates for a second and glances at her husband as though to tell him to keep his composure, then nods.

"Here, let me bring her to you," she says to her brother who was already prepared to walk around the table to their side. "If she wakes, she will not be easily soothed by anyone but her father."

It is true. For some reason, only the Gods may know, she is most comfortable being held and talked to by him when she's crying in the dead of night. Y/N is a close second, but no one makes her feel quite as safe as her kepa does. Even now, when she's too little to speak or walk or show a hint of personality, she knows that he will cross any line imaginable to safeguard her and her mother's lives.

The comment brings him pride, and it's difficult to refrain from smiling to himself when he hears it. Despite all their attempts to frame him in their minds as an uncaring husband—he didn't pretend not to see the comments Daemon made in letters she left out in the open for him to find—he has proven otherwise. He knows it must pain them, especially her father, that there are no excuses for them to look down upon him.

"You must support the back of her head with your hand or your arm," she says softly to her younger brother as she transfers the babe into his possession. "There—like that."

It takes little time for her to circle back around to their side of the table and take her seat beside her husband. From a glance, she can tell that his body has tenses from the sight of Jacaerys holding Daenaera. It isn't as though he's deluded enough to think her brother would wish to harm their child or act in an unbecoming way in her presence, despite his grudge he knows his nephew well enough to know that. Yet, it makes him squirm in discomfort all the same.

What if he accidentally hurts her? What if she wakes from her nap to see a new, strange man holding her and is frightened? Would anything be able to stop him from taking his child from his arms and glaring at him for inadvertently upsetting her?

It isn't until Aemond feels his wife's right hand settle atop his clothed thigh under the table that he is snapped out of his thoughts. Gods, he feels so unlike himself when he takes a step back and analyzes his thoughts at the present moment.

He always swore to himself that he would not care this deeply when the time came for him to take a wife and sow his seed, but, as he has been forced to realize again and again, he does care. In fact, he cares so deeply that he doesn't know what to do with himself when anyone is close to either one of them. It's possible that his vow to remain detached from his feelings, to focus solely on his duty as a husband and father without complicating things, was another defense mechanism unknowingly put in place to protect the part of him that always cared too much.

As the others talk amongst themselves and pick at their food, she leans in to say softly, opting for the native language of their family over the common tongue to keep it as private as can be, "Nyke gīmigon bisa iksis qopsa syt ao." I know this is hard for you. Her eyes soften, and she can feel the hard muscle of his thigh relax a little when she strokes it gently with her thumb. "Yn emā gaomagon sȳz." But you have done well. There's a pause, and then she mutters quietly enough that no one else can hear, "Perhaps I may express my gratitude after dinner."

This makes his body go still.

Since it is his blind eye that is closest to her, he cranes his neck a little to allow him to see her face. The expression he wears is virtually unreadable to everyone else in the room, but she can see the fire she lit within his body from gazing at him alone. Seeing that their lives have been consumed with doting on Daenaera in the time since she gave birth, only opting to hand her off to servants for the night to allow them time to rest, they haven't had the energy or urge to engage in any sexual activities. Not that she can be on the receiving end of anything for two moons, but that doesn't mean she cannot satisfy him.

Aemond's brows furrow a little, then he mutters, chancing a glance around the table to ensure nobody is listening, "We cannot."

Her lips twitch up on both ends into a slight smile.

"There are other ways," she says softly, careful to keep her tone hushed and words ambiguous in meaning.

From the outside looking in, they appear to be a happy couple, so taken with one another that they are lost in a conversation that causes them to ignore their surroundings. In a way, that perception is true, but the topic being discussed isn't what anyone would guess.

He doesn't respond to this verbally.

Instead, he hums to himself and turns his focus back across the table to where her brother is cradling their daughter in his arms, but she knows she got under his skin. A second after he looks away, his hand finds the one she is resting on his thigh, and he weaves their fingers together. The sole reason he didn't say anything back to her was because he knew he wouldn't be able to control what would come out of his mouth if he let himself speak. As peacefully he and Daemon have managed to co-exist today, Aemond does not think he could say any of the things he says in the privacy of their bedchamber in his presence without causing a brawl.

Jace smiles down at the babe and says, not to anyone in particular, "She'll make a fine queen, will she not?"

Rhaenyra's head turns to look upon the two of them, and it's clear to see the warmth this brings to their mother's heart.

It's Alicent, however, who responds.

"Yes." She looks at Rhaenyra, saying, "We have had our share of difficulties, as all families do, but Daenaera is a blessing."

The effect it has on her mother is clear in her. Y/N's eyes linger on her for the better part of a moment before they find Otto sitting next to her, doing his best to mask the displeasure evident in his expression at the notion of Rhaenyra or her children ascending the throne. Aegon, on the other hand, seems as though he couldn't care less. Although they rarely dwell on the matter of succession to avoid fighting, she and Aemond have both agreed that he does not want the position or the duty it entails. He would be content to live the rest of his days as he does now, drinking himself into oblivion and fondling any servant girl left alone with him for too long.

The hand resting on Aemond's thigh squeezes at the rare sight of their mothers getting along.

Rhaenyra says earnestly, fighting off a smile, "It gladdens my heart to know that we are both grandmothers to this beautiful babe."

There's a distant flash of longing in her eyes in the second she takes to pause, then rise from her seat with her cup raised. The last time she toasted someone at dinner, it was to Alicent, but, this time, she turns toward where her daughter is sitting beside her husband.

"I raise my cup to you, brother," she begins. "For your devotion to my sweet girl. As the Queen said, we have had our difficulties as a family in years past. Yet, I find I can sleep soundly at Dragonstone knowing my only daughter and grandchild are undoubtedly safe and contented at your side." Her cup is raised higher. "To Prince Aemond. You have my gratitude."

At first, he is frozen in his seat and unsure of what he hears. How could this be the same woman who demanded he be "sharply questioned" after one of her bastard sons maimed him for life? Then, as he takes in what she says, he has to fight the urge to doubt them. His immediate assumption is that this is a facade being put on for the sake of bettering her appearance, but when has his half-sister ever cared for appearances? One glance across the table at Jace's dark brown hair answers the question for him. So, he thinks, if it isn't to make herself appear gracious, seeing that she is too confident in her position as heir to deem it threatened by anything she does, it must be genuine in some way.

It goes against everything he knows to admit to himself that Rhaenyra is being anything but ambivalent toward him or Aegon, and yet...He inclines his head to her in a gesture of acknowledgment and gratitude. It's all he can think to do until words find him, and they eventually do. A lengthy moment passes then—

"You have my gratitude as well, sister," he says, although strained, to Rhaenyra. It comes as a surprise to everyone watching after all that has transpired in the past. He then looks upon his wife with a tenderness few ever receive from him. "For having her."

-

As soon as the door shuts behind the servant who gently took Daenaera from her arms, Y/N has Aemond pushed up against it with her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, and their lips connected in a kiss.

After they dined, Rhaenyra felt a sensation in her body that she knew all too well and apologized to her daughter for having to hurry back to Dragonstone on such short notice. She made certain to apologize to the Queen, asking her to pass along the message to the ailing, bedridden King Viserys if possible. This saddened Y/N, of course, but she cares for the comfort and health of her mother. She agreed it was better that they return to their ancestral home at the first sign of her impending labors. Seeing that this was a possibility, they brought her midwife along for the trip, so the Princess is soothed by the knowledge that her mother is to be well taken care of on the journey home.

Her mother is the last thing on her mind now, though. All she can seem to think about is the man she has trapped between her body and the door to their chambers.

Aemond kisses her hungrily, his hand cupping the back of her neck and head to keep her from pulling away as he delves his tongue into her mouth. He is careful when touching her, however. His hands slide down the sides of her hips to gently squeeze her bottom, but not too forcefully. She gave birth three and a half weeks ago, and the maesters were strict in their instructions to wait five at the very least to encourage healing.

Knowing this, he feels compelled to stop her despite the ache of his erection pushing at the fabric of his breeches.

He parts from her for a second to murmur, "I will not bed you in this condition," before lurching back in to kiss her again.

It almost makes her chuckle into his mouth, and she flattens her palm against his chest. It descends against the taut, muscled abdomen hidden beneath his clothes and continues until it reaches what she seeks. Beneath her palm, he pulses with need after three weeks of nothing but the comfort of his own hand.

"Mmm," she hums against his lips as her own tilt up at the ends in a grin, "I'm afraid your body does not know that, my love"—The tips of her fingers reach for his belt with a confidence she does not have to question—"and, as I said, there are other ways."

As if to punctuate her statement, she unclasps his belt in a matter of seconds and pulls from the buckle until the leather band comes free from the loops of his pants. The very same belt that he instructed her to bite down on the last time he fucked her. The sound of the buckle clattering on the floor echoes through the spacious room as she moves to sink to her knees, but he stops her.

Her brows raise in a silent question directed toward him. His answer is equally as silent.

Aemond begins to undress her, starting with the top layer of her dress and patiently working his way down to her underclothes until she is standing nude before him. She knows without having to ask that he does not intend to push the boundaries of their agreement with the maesters by taking her too soon after giving birth. He simply wishes to see her in her entirety. If he will be laid bare, so will she.

Once her clothes all lie in a pile on the floor, she returns the favor. Her gentle touch lights a fire in the pit of his abdomen, but he holds still and watches her undo the buttons of his doublet until the garment comes loose around his torso. It takes little time for the pile of clothes on the floor to grow, and she cannot help but stare at his nakedness with flushed cheeks as though she hasn't seen him like this countless times. Now that there are no more layers left to separate their bodies, he leans in to kiss her again. Slowly, drawing it out for the sake of savoring the moment.

To her surprise, he lays a sweet peck on her lips, then dips his face into the crook of her neck.

"Aemond—" she warns, not wanting to become too aroused without a way to satisfy herself, but he is too starved from not touching her for the past three weeks to care.

His teeth nip at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving a mark visible for everyone to see as he sucks at the sweet spot that never fails to draw a breathy moan from her. She can feel his mouth curling up into a smirk when she, as though on cue, lets a stifled sound of pleasure escape. It isn't the first time he's left a love bite somewhere that couldn't be hidden beneath her clothes. Every other time, she was quick to scold him once the blissful haze of post-orgasmic bliss receded, but she doesn't feel so angry this time.

It's been far too long since she's had the opportunity to get upset over something like this.

Those desperate kisses descend the length of her fragile neck and go down, down, down until he's crouching to take one of her nipples into his mouth.

"Wait," she says, whining in sensitivity, and braces a hand against his chest. "It's going to—"

His arms pull tightly around her waist to keep her from moving away before the first drops of it touch his lips. The relief of the milk letting down causes her to let out a sigh, but paired with the inherent eroticism of him doing this, she has to press her thighs together to quell the dull ache felt between them for the first time in weeks. Her hand had fallen to his chest with the intention of pushing him away out of embarrassment, but the sound of him groaning in approval gives her a reason to pause.

Does this...arouse him? He has always had a fixation with her breasts since before she was pregnant, but perhaps it's shifted into something stronger with the changes in her body after birthing a child. She cannot deny that it feels good—not only due to the relief it provides after going all day without feeding the babe but because of how perverse it feels.

The hand on his chest moves to slip her fingers beneath the leather strap of his eyepatch and toss it to the side. Then, she cradles the back of his head with it, playing with the soft strands of silver hair as he continues to suckle at her breast. It's a strangely thrilling sensation. Her lips part to allow her a shaky inhale, and she feels the hands gripping her waist squeeze hard enough to leave a bruise behind.

Ignited with a new sense of confidence from having a typically strong, dominant man in a position of vulnerability, she asks, "This is what the rider of the largest dragon in the world enjoys behind the comfort of closed doors? Feeding from his wife's teat like a helpless babe?" There's a second of pause, then—"Hmm."

He can hear a smugness in the tone of her soft "Hmm" he would often fuck out of her or swat his hand against her ass as punishment for, but he cannot bring himself to do anything about it at the present moment. No, he just lets her nipple slip from his mouth and moves on to the other. The sweet taste of her breastmilk on his tongue makes his cock twitch where it sits, heavy and hard, against her belly. While he is distracted, she reaches down to grasp it.

The sudden stimulation makes him suck harder at her breast in response, and she chuckles under her breath. Her thumb brushes over the tip of him a few times, just for the sake of teasing him, before she begins to pump him at a pace that never fails to send all of his blood rushing down. The hand cupping the back of his head pushes his face harshly into her chest in a desperate bid to bring them as close as possible without having him inside of her.

Another moment passes, yet the lust surging through her has yet to be sated by what they're doing. It matters little to her that she won't be getting anything in return. With how rare physical intimacy is for them as of late, she is eager to indulge in everything they've been kept away from.

"This isn't enough," she says through a sigh.

Her fingers slip into his hair to get a good grip, then tug to pull it taut from his scalp in a way he's done to her many times. This brings him far enough from her breast for their gazes to meet across the limited space between them, and his eye widens a little at her impertinence. As quickly as it widened, it narrows at her. Now that he isn't preoccupied with her breasts, which are no longer as heavy and full with milk as they had been before he worshipped them, he can think clearly enough to decide that she needs to be put in her rightful place.

All it takes is a pointed glare from him for her grip on his hair to release. With how quickly she retracts her hand, one would think he burned her, yet he just looked at her. He remains silent and straightens his spine to bring him back to his full height. This only intimidates her more. With him looming over her, his eye not blinking as he stares, she cannot resist the urge to look away from him.

To this, he makes a quiet "Tsk," sound at her.

Her chin is quickly snatched up by his callused hand, forcing her to meet his gaze and hear what he has to say next. Their faces inch closer until—

"Kneel."

Her knees are kissing the cold floor in a matter of seconds. His hand never leaves her chin, keeping it tilted up to prevent her from breaking eye contact.

He nods at her in encouragement, then drops the hand holding her chin back to his side.

"Go on," Aemond commands.

Not wanting to provoke him any more than she already has, Y/N wraps her fingers around his thick cock to help guide it past her lips. But, first, she takes a moment to stroke him, keeping the fire blazing within him burning in the time it takes her to let a string of spit drip from her mouth onto his tip. It makes the movement of her hand pumping up and down the length of him much smoother. The hand that fell back to his side reaches for the back of her head, though, so she keeps her hand firm around the base of his length and dips her head down to put her mouth on him before he grows impatient.

A muscle in his jaw clenches as he watches those pretty lips wrap around the tip, smeared with a mixture of his precome and her spit, and sucks just hard enough to elicit a quiet moan. Then, slowly, never looking away from him, she takes as much of him as she can fit into her mouth until she feels him in her throat.

When she first did this, she thought it quite awkward. Although he assured her he had enjoyed himself, she knew she wasn't keeping the correct rhythm the whole time, and she had to take a few breaks to breathe. After the first time, she decided to make it her mission to perfect the vulgar act. It only felt fair considering how skilled he was with his face between her thighs. So, she did it all of the time—waking him from sleep with her throat clenched around him, dropping to her knees in a secluded corner of the library, and, most often, when she dragged him back to their chambers after watching him train with Ser Criston.

Somehow, he had been foolish enough to admit to his older brother how frequently his insatiable wife does this. Aegon had goaded him into it, imploring him to accompany him to the Street of Silk night after night. He droned on about the things these low-born whores would do for the right sum of coin. At last, after hearing him comment on how they are more willing than their wives to partake in such "undignified" behavior, Aemond said under his breath, "Speak for yourself." Although he was pestered for more details, he refused to provide them. Naturally, Aegon made all sorts of teasing remarks for the next couple of days and hasn't been able to look at Y/N the same since.

The hand wrapped around him pumps what remains of him that she cannot fit in her mouth, her other hand gently cupping his stones and stroking them the way he likes. With ample experience under her belt since they were wed, she breathes calmly through her nostrils without having to pull away to allow herself to rest. This allows her to fully devote herself to his pleasure.

And while she is singlemindedly focused on what she is doing, Aemond is losing himself in the haze of warm, wet pleasure.

Targaryens have always been likened to Gods walking amongst men, and how could he deny such a claim with how he feels at this moment? Not only did Vhagar choose to bind herself to him but so did this beautiful creature kneeling before him. Most of the people inhabiting this keep pray on their knees to the Seven, but she prays to him, and with every caress of her mouth, he is pushed a touch closer to the heavens.

Her head bobs in a practiced rhythm, and when she pulls away, leaving just the tip between her lips, she hollows her cheeks to suck harder. If she could, she would smile in satisfaction at how his head tips back in a groan.

"Aōha relgos iksis bē hae sȳz hae aōha orvorta," he says. Your mouth is almost as good as your cunt. High praise as far as she's concerned. He has made it clear to her on many occasions that his favorite place to be at any given moment is inside of her. "Fuck..."

The last bit was muttered under his breath as he pushed her head further down his length until the tip of her nose grazed his stomach. He can feel her gagging, throat clenching and unclenching around his cock, and forces her to remain this way for another second before releasing her. Yet, even after this, she doesn't retreat to take a breath. She simply opens her eyes to look back up at him and relaxes her jaw to open her mouth to him as much as she can.

He knows without having to communicate verbally what she's urging him to do, and it's a wonder he doesn't spill into her mouth in a matter of seconds at the mere thought of it. There's a glint of mischief in her eyes—which he responds to with enthusiasm, taking hold of both sides of her head and guiding every fluid movement. It's more gentle at first. Rather than roughly fucking her mouth the second she gives him the go-ahead, he takes the time to enjoy it and commit every sensation to memory. There's something intoxicating about the power she allows him to hold over her.

Both of her hands slide up his thighs to seek stability, her fingertips digging into the muscular flesh hard enough for her nails to leave crescent-shaped indents in his pale skin. With each thrust, his pace picks up, and soon her spit is drooling out of her mouth onto his sack. Those once gentle thrusts turn rough and unforgiving the longer he spends trapped within the warm, wet channel of her throat. And though he is the one leading, she looks just as hungry for it as she had when she set the pace. If anything, having him hold her head in place to rut into her mouth like a wild beast makes the lust wreaking havoc on her healing body worse. What truly makes it insufferable, however, is knowing that she cannot have him after this. Not to the extent that she craves so badly.

Her lashes flutter with the effort it takes to keep looking up at him like he's a God while she gags on him and takes deep breaths in through her nostrils. Her spit is dripping from the corners of her mouth and onto the floor, his manhood entirely soaked in it too. All the while, Aemond is making noises unlike anything she has heard before. Due to his naturally reserved disposition, he often stifles the moans and grunts that try to leave his lips. But, sometimes, when he's too overwhelmed with pleasure to recall the world that exists beyond it, all of those lovely noises flow freely.

Right now, as she reaches up to give his stones a squeeze with her free hand, he's whimpering, gasping, and grunting all at once. Not only is he a feast for her eyes, he's a feast for her ears as well. Gods, she has never wanted anything as badly as she wants him right now, and the frustration of knowing she cannot do more than this drives her to work even harder. To perform for him as though she's getting paid.

The vibration of her soft moaning around his cock pushes him closer, dangerously closer, to the climax threatening to barrel into him at a moment's notice. Somehow, he hangs on. Not for anyone's sake but his. It has been too long since he has been allowed the privilege of being intimate with his wife, so he tries to stave it off for as long as possible. But, fuck, she's making it difficult—with those sultry eyes looking up at him through her lashes, cheeks hot to the touch under his palms, and mouth swallowing around him on the upstroke of every thrust. He cannot bring himself to look away from her, and that is what brings him to the edge.

"I'm—" he tries to give her a warning, but she doesn't need nor want it.

She continues at this pace for another ten or so seconds, intent on milking him dry, until his cock begins to twitch in her mouth with the onset of his climax.

Her lips remain closed around him, determined to catch every drop as his seed spurts into her mouth in pulses of warmth that trickle down her throat. As it always is, the taste is slightly salty, though not unpleasant enough that she can't swallow it all. It isn't until he is grabbing her by the shoulders and guiding her away that she removes herself from him, letting it slip out of her mouth as it softens, still shining in the dim light with her saliva.

When she looks up at him, it is clear to see that he is utterly spent. A job well done as far as she is concerned. Aemond tends to have an impressive amount of stamina when he fucks her, and sometimes they can continue round after round without him having to stop, but she managed to subdue him with her mouth alone tonight.

His chest rises and falls with the rapid pace of his breathing, and she can see by looking into his eyes that it'll take a moment for him to come back down from such a high. It's as though he's in a trance of some sort, staring down at her and panting for air. It only takes a second or so for the trance to break at the sound of her voice.

Her delicate hand slides up the length of his thigh and over his abdomen as she asks in a doting voice, "Do you feel better, my love?"

Without answering, he dips down to heft her into his arms, lifting her and holding her against his body with one hand on the small of her back and the other beneath her right thigh.

As he walks in the direction of their bed, she is giggling and asking him what he is doing, yet he offers no reply. Not until he has her laid down on the mattress. A second later, she feels the bed shift with his weight when he crawls in beside her and pulls the sheet up to their waists. The warmth of his body, solid with lean muscle against her soft, womanly figure, instantly keeps the breeze blowing in from the open windows at bay.

"Hold me," he says, already moving to lay his head atop her breast. "Kostilus." Please.

A second later, one of her arms is wrapping around him, keeping him cradled as close to her as physically possible, and she can feel him loose a heavy sigh of relief he's been holding onto all day. His head fits perfectly into the crook of her neck. Every few seconds, she lifts her hand to rake her fingers through his hair. The silver strands are silken beneath her touch, scented with a hint of lavender from the bath they shared before falling asleep last night. Noticing that it is still tied back in his typical, half-up fashion, on her next pass through, she pulls it free and combs gently until there are no tangled pieces left.

For a while, they lay together with nothing to fill the silence but the sound of their quiet breathing. His head rises with every inhale, her breast a soft cushion for his cheek to nuzzle up against. Neither of them wants to be the one to speak first for fear of ruining the peaceful moment, but, inevitably, she gives in.

His neck cranes to allow him a glimpse of her face before she starts speaking as though they share one mind, as though he knows what she'll say or do before she does it. When she thinks about it, they've always been that way.

"I'm proud of you...You have every right to feel slighted by them all for what happened at Driftmark, I will not deny that," she says, pausing for a beat afterward. The tip of her thumb brushes across his lower lip as she looks down at him with nothing but love in her eyes. "And you still didn't let it stop you from enjoying our time together as a family."

Hearing her lavish him with such praise brings a flush to his pale face, and he must resist the urge to avert his gaze sheepishly. He manages, though. After all, he's faced much more daunting challenges than looking at his wife as she tells him how proud she is of him. If these are the only challenges he has to endure in this new chapter of his life, he'll be eternally grateful. He has spent his whole life yearning to prove himself—as a son, a dragon rider, a prince, a swordsman, and now a father. Because of this, her approval and praise mean more to him than she'll ever know.

The thumb pressed to his lips is given a tender kiss before he moves on to her index finger, then the next, the next, and the next. His larger hand is clasped around her wrist with his thumb pressing into the center of her palm to allow him to maneuver her hand however he sees fit. Once the last kiss is placed against the small pad of her pinky finger, he releases her wrist from his grasp to lace their fingers together. Aemond holds on as though she is the anchor keeping him grounded to their world, always there to draw him back before he disappears too far into the darkness that has dwelled within him since the day he claimed Vhagar.

Unable to accept it without diverting some of the attention away from himself, he takes it as his turn to praise her.

"You were clever in keeping Daenaera at the table for dinner," he says. A half second later, he utters the next words into the soft skin of her breast. "You see right through me."

Although he can barely see it from the corner of his eye, her lips curve up at the ends in a soft smile.

"I always have, haven't I?"

To this, he responds with his usual hum of acknowledgment and brushes his nose against her peaked nipple. His lips press against the skin just beneath it in another kiss, but he's careful not to stimulate her. It would be cruel to arouse her even further with no way of sating her desires. The next two weeks will pass, albeit slowly, and then he can properly bed her the way he wishes to tonight.

His arms pull tightly around her waist. If she had any hopes of escaping his embrace tonight, it's now clear he has no intentions of entertaining them. No, he will hold her prisoner if he has to. He will do whatever he must do so long as it means he gets to keep her, and the thought of this brings a barely-there smile of relief to his face.

"Sleep," he murmurs, pulling the sheet further up to keep their bare, entangled bodies warm. "Tomorrow, when the babe is taken for her nap, I will take you to visit Vermithor. You cannot ride him yet, but he will be glad to see you. It's been too long. The dragonkeepers have told me he has grown restless."

This makes her smile too.

"I would quite enjoy that."

With that, she relaxes beneath the weight of her husband's body lying atop her and nuzzles her face into the pillow the way he had her breast a moment ago.

It takes little time for the pair to be pulled beneath the veil of consciousness, their breathing evening out into slow inhales and exhales that are hardly audible over the fire crackling in their hearth. For once, all is peaceful in the Keep. Their families dined together as one, the children have been put to sleep by their nursemaids, and the night has descended into a type of quiet so rarely found in a place like King's Landing.

As night descends upon them, the only people still awake within the walls of the Keep are the servants readying themselves for bed after a day of tireless work. While the royal family had been served platters of freshly cooked meats and goblets of the most expensive wine, the smallfolk working beneath them quiet the rumbling in their stomachs with whatever scraps remain if they are so lucky. If not, they eat a plain stew of some sort, accompanied by slightly stale bread and a cup of ale to wash it down. But even that is considered generous as far as lowborn citizens of King's Landing are concerned. Servants within the keep live comfortably compared to peasants living in the city beyond the walls.

Far from where the servants reside, in the stillness and silence of the night, King Viserys slips further into a state of delirium where he lays alone in his room in Maegor's Holdfast. Since his lady wife, Queen Alicent, left to retire to her chambers for the night, he has been muttering into the empty room and talking to ghosts. At last his frail, trembling hand lifts from his chest and toward the sky, reaching for what he could not have as long as he remained alive. With his last breath, he calls out for his love, Aemma, and his suffering is ended at long last as the Stranger comes to take him.

Despite this, the night remains quiet and peaceful. For no one can know that Viserys has passed in his sleep until the servants come to wake him in the early hours of the morning, but, once news breaks among the staff and Queen Alicent is informed of her husband's death, the calm before the storm comes to an end. Soon, dragons will dance, and she will not waste any time in securing her eldest son's birthright. Not after her husband spoke his name in his final hours.

It isn't until an hour after sunrise that Y/N is roused from a deep sleep by the light shining in through the windows that remained open all night.

She sighs and presses her cheek into the pillow in defiance of her current state of consciousness, wanting to steal another couple of moments of rest before she's ushered into the bath by her bright-eyed young handmaidens. But, after lying there for a second or so, her eyes flutter open. The sun has fully risen, she realizes with a sense of urgency. Her feet quickly kick the sheet from her body. Her hand reaches behind her to feel where her husband should be resting beside her only to find the mattress cold and empty.

How had she not felt or heard him leave?

"Aemond?" she calls out drowsily and pushes herself up into a sitting position, looking around the room in confusion.

No answer.

"Nyla?"

No answer.

Nyla is always the first to arrive and aid her in getting dressed for the day, intricately braiding her hair to her head in the fashion her mother wears, not that which Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena prefer. But the sun has already risen, she should have come in to wake her and Aemond already if they had not risen on their own accord...

Y/N abandons the bed and makes for the chair her robe, a rich shade of red embroidered with accents of gold and black, is draped over. Seeing that she is nude, it's the quickest way for her to cover herself and protect her modesty before leaving the room to inquire about why no one thought to wake her as they have every morning since her wedding. Something is wrong, that much she knows. She feels it in her gut and the very air surrounding her.

Rather than find Aemond, she'll first head to the nursery where Daenaera has been sleeping all night. Her husband is capable of taking care of himself, their daughter not so much. If something truly is amiss as her intuition is telling her, the babe comes before her husband—he made her come to that agreement the day she was born.

But when she tries to pull the doors to their chambers open, they do not budge. Thinking it a mistake of some kind, she tries again, and they refuse to open no matter how hard she pulls at them.

Her closed fist begins to knock at the door, soft at first, then harder and harder until she is forced to bang on it in hopes that someone will come.

"Hello?" she yells, pounding on the door with both fists. The thought that she is trapped, forced to stay away from her weeks-old child...It makes her efforts double in intensity. "Why have I been trapped in my room?"

No answer.

"I need to see my daughter! Let me out—"

The sound of Ser Erryk's voice interrupting her plea for freedom pulls a deep sigh of relief from her chest. Of all the men sworn to protect their family, he and his brother have proven the most loyal and kind. Surely Erryk will help her.

"My sincere apologies, Princess," he says, "We have been instructed to keep everyone confined to their rooms until further notice. One of your ladies will be up to bring you breakfast and dress you soon."

Her brows furrow at this.

"And under whose authority am I to be held prisoner in my own home?"

There's a long, drawn-out stretch of silence that follows, and it makes her stomach churn with dread. Something is wrong. This is not normal.

When he does not respond after a moment, she calls, "Ser Erryk?"

He clears his throat.

"Our lord hand is the one responsible, my lady. I am only doing as I've been told."

It takes her the better half of a moment to conjure a response. She is too shocked to put anything into words at first, but, then, her mind runs wild.

"What has happened? What could possibly warrant this?" she asks. After another dreadful stretch of silence, she resorts to shouting. "Tell me! That is an order from your Princess, an heir to the throne no less!"

Despite being strictly ordered not to divulge any critical information to anyone aside from the Hand, Queen Alicent, and her children, he cannot allow her to sit here and suffer in a prison of her making. He has watched her grow up and served her since he was first sworn into the kingsguard. She deserves the truth even if she cannot be freed from her room to do anything about it.

"The king has died. Princess Rhaenys is confined to her room as well by the orders of the Hand. I cannot say more. Forgive me, my lady."

Before she can even process what he has said, Erryk turns and walks away from her door, leaving her frozen in her place with her closed fists hanging at her sides. They have been anticipating this for the past five years, yet hearing it still shocks her.

The king has died, which warrants every lord and lady in his court to be kept out of the way as they make the necessary preparations before it is announced to the city...but it does not warrant the imprisonment of any members of the royal family. Surely, this is a mistake. Surely, there has been a miscommunication regarding who is to be kept from roaming the keep. If Aemond is not here, he must be permitted to go where he pleases, so why cannot she? Why cannot Rhaenys?

A cold chill runs down her spine when the realization of what's happening hits her.

Her feet are carrying her across the room before she can blink, bringing her to the opened windows that overlook the courtyard where people come in and out of the gates to the Keep. What she finds, she does not want to believe, but she's witnessing it with her own two eyes. Lord Caswell is being ripped from his horse by members of the Kingsguard and dragged like a dog through the dirt in the direction of the castle doors.

There is no other explanation for why Aemond is allowed to roam free while she and Rhaenys are held prisoner. There is no other explanation for Lord Caswell to be violently assaulted by the kingsguard for trying to leave the Keep on horseback. There is no other explanation for Ser Erryk apologizing to her. He wasn't just apologizing for locking her in her rooms...

They are usurping the throne.

-

Oh it’s about to get goooood. Let me know if you liked this chapter. I’ve had it in the works since before season two aired but I wanted to wait to finish/post it.

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravenart, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, @fan-goddess, @glame, @muthafuckingstargirl, @barnes70stark, and @shintax-error.

[writingsofwesteros]

Could you do a fic with viserys being like obsessed with his second wife after aemma and they have like dozens of kids pls?

AN: Hi, i hope you like it x

“Is the heir to the throne bothering you, Tyland?” Viserys whispered from his seat at the top of the table. The sight at the other end had amusement on many faces in the room as the little four year old climbed in the chair; already reaching for his favourite toy, which unfortunately for Tyland was the ball he was a little too attached with. “No..no, of course not, your grace.” The worried Lord whispered out as the young babe only reached for the ball again and this time was able to keep a hold of it. Viserys could only smile with complete warmth as his cup was filled. Rhaenyra smiled down at her father as she fought against the giggle that threatened to escape her at her brother’s antics.

Viserys’ gaze softened as he observed his children, the future of the realm, and he felt a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos of rulership. “Perhaps,” Viserys mused, his voice carrying the hint of a chuckle, “young Aegon is preparing for his future duties.” Aegon only clapped his hands at the words coming from his father. Tyland managed a nervous smile as he rested back into the chair; allowing the young Prince to keep his prize.

“My queen –.” The voice of a king’s guard moved into the room as the large, wooden doors fell open. Viserys’ smile widened completely as he slowly sat up straighter. The mere sight of his wife had happiness radiating from him. The red of his house hugged her curves as she gracefully stepped into the room. The Queen’s eyes scanned the room, pausing briefly on each familiar face, before settling on her husband. A soft, knowing smile played on her lips as she made her way towards the head of the table. The room seemed to light up with her arrival, in Viserys’ eyes that was as the murmurs of the Lords present quieted in respect.

“My love,” Viserys greeted her with a warmth that many had suspected would never reach his eyes again after the loss of his first wife. Still, it was clear to see as he rose to his feet. “You grace us with your presence.” She inclined her head slightly, her smile never wavering. “I could not resist joining my family this morning.” Aegon, momentarily distracted from his prized ball, looked up at his mother with a gleeful exclamation. “Mother!” Rhaenyra moved to greet her stepmother as well; her previous amusement giving way to genuine affection. It warmed Viserys’ heart once more to see such an interaction; he had worried about his daughter’s reaction to a new wife for her father.

Alas, there was no worry to be needed as his daughter enjoyed the presence of his Queen nearly as much as he did. She gently cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek and lent in to press a soft kiss to her cheek in greeting. “It seems I’ve missed some excitement already,” she remarked, subtly looking towards Tyland, who still looked somewhat flustered. Viserys chuckled. “Just a small lesson in patience for Lord Tyland.” The King looked back towards the struggling prince as he fought to stand. The queen could only giggle; her hand moving towards the small bump of hers that seemed to be growing each day before she gracefully stepped towards her young son. His hands reached out eagerly towards her.

She gently brushed Aegon’s cheek. “Good morning, my little sun,” she said softly, eyes full of warmth and love. Aegon giggled, clutching his ball tightly with one hand whilst the other found its way into his mother’s grasp. Viserys watched the tender exchange with his heart full. His eyes moving towards his wife’s bump to his children. Rhaenyra stood nearby; her smile warm as she observed the scene. Moments like these were her favourite as titles and responsibilities melted away. The Queen rose, lifting Aegon into her arms with practised ease. “I shall take this little one to his lessons now. I do believe you have had too much fun so early.”

Aegon pouted slightly but clung to his mother, understanding his playtime was over for the moment. “But mother…” He began, his protests trailing off as he saw the gentle but firm look in her eyes. Viserys chuckled softly. “Listen to your mother, Aegon. She knows what is best.” The King had made his way back to the seat whilst his eyes had never left her. The Queen ducked her head; a soft pink coming over her cheeks as she shifted Aegon more comfortably on her hip. Rhaenyra stepped forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from Aegon’s forehead. “I’ll come visit you soon.” The Princess promised much to the little boy’s delight. 

“You would like to see your brother and sister, hmm?” She whispered; pressing a kiss to Aegon’s head before looking over her shoulder once more as the doors to the council room fell shut. His small arms wrapped around her neck as he nodded with enthusiasm, his early reluctance now completely forgotten about.

~

“I love you,” Viserys whispered into her hair; their naked bodies glowing in the aftermath of love as the covers slowly fell from their bodies. She only nestled closer to him as a soft smile played on her lips. “I love you, my King,” she murmured back, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. The intimacy of the moment wrapped around them. Viserys gently tilted her chin up, his eyes meeting hers with complete tenderness. “You give me the courage to face each day. Your love…your strength.” His words had her reaching to stroke his cheek as she gently shushed him. “You are stronger than you know.” The Queen whispered as she leaned in; brushing their noses together.

His hand gently reached for her soft bump; gently stroking whilst the Queen could only look down and smile. “I think we may have all the children we need, hmm?” She teased, which only caused the King to chuckle and shake his head. “No..not nearly enough.” He replied, his voice filled with affection. “Each one is a blessing.” 

His hand slowly moved between her thighs now, cupping her sweet, wet pussy. “And you seem to enjoy the process, hmm?” A smirk tugged on his lips as his thumb began to brush over her pretty, sensitive clit. The night was far from over as his desire only built.

[eternally-racing]

racer girl | lando norris

pairing: dad! Lando x wife! reader (+ their adorable little kiddo)

wc: 1.3k

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: Lando's more than apprehensive when his daughter wants to try karting for the first time, but luckily you're there to hold his hand through it all.

note: this fic is part of the racer girl collection but can also be read as a stand alone !

----- The request came on the list your daughter, Piper, wrote for Santa, and as soon as you saw it you ran to go show your husband, Lando. “Go karting” was written in scraggly letters.

You had anticipated it to be a joyous event in the Norris household. None of you ever put any pressure on your daughter to follow in either of your footsteps, but the image of your little girl in a racing suit just like her daddy made you smile. You surprised Lando with the when you both were cleaning up after dinner, but the reaction you got is nothing like what you expected.

“She’s not going karting. End of story”

“It’s what she wants, Lan, and I think it makes perfect sense.” 

“It’s TOO dangerous. That’s my little girl out there.” 

You’ve never seen Lando look this serious in his life. He’s not being overdramatic or overzealous, but there’s a fire behind his eyes that tells you that he’s dead set on this. 

“Do you think your mother was ecstatic when she found out her son was in love with one of the most dangerous sports in the world? Probably not, but she let you do it anyway. Because you loved it, and who knows, maybe Piper’s gonna love it like her daddy.” 

This is why Lando loves you. You're always realistic and you keep him grounded while he floats away into overthinking on situations like this.

“I guess I’m just scared for her,” Lando says more quietly, taking a seat on the couch and curling in on himself. You’re quick to join him and cuddle into his side.

“You’ve seen what I’ve been through Y/N - the training, the crashes, the missed birthdays and weddings, the mental toll, how can you still say you want her to do this knowing all of that?”  

You sigh as you take Lando’s hands in yours. You rub your thumb over the back of his hands while you ask him your next question.

“Looking back, do you regret anything, Lan? Would you give up racing entirely if you had the chance to start all over again?”

He shakes his head in denial instantly, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as you lay with one another.

“We’re not committing to her becoming a Formula 1 driver, babe. She just grew up seeing her daddy do this really cool thing and wants to give it a try, and I don’t think it’s the worst thing if we let her.”

Lando buries himself further into your neck and he mumbles his next words. “Our little girl is growing up, isn’t she?” 

You don’t reply back with your words, but Lando understands you perfectly as you cuddle further into his side. 

- - - - - - 

It’s a rare instance when Lando tosses you the keys to drive to the track. He protects his McLaren like it’s his second child, but from the way his knee is bouncing in the passenger seat you know that he’s in no state to drive. It’s a perfectly mild cloudy day, yet Lando is wearing these ridiculous wide rimmed sunglasses that you can only assume he found in a hurry while foraging through your shared bathroom. While you may not tease him much for it since you know they’re covering his teary eyes, your daughter is still just as merciless and cheeky as her father usually is. Lando teaches her the word “allergies” on the drive down as he’s coming up with excuses for his sniffly state. 

When Piper first gets a helmet, she runs right past you to get her daddy to put it on her. She’s serious when she tells him not to make it “tew tight”, but Lando’s hands are shaking so much that he can hardly get the buckles done up anyways. She barely spares you both a second glance and Lando has to pull her back to give her a quick kiss on the helmet before she goes off. You both wrap her in your embrace and give her a squeeze until she’s telling you it’s time to let go, and Lando only gets halfway through his dad talk of “we can leave at any time if you get scared and I’m gonna be standing right here supporting you” before she’s already dashing away again. Piper is barely going past a crawling speed in the kart but something about the sight tugs at your heart. You’re used to this feeling, watching half your heart racing away while you’re on the sidelines, but you realize this is the first time Lando’s been in this position instead of being the one in the car. You reach for his hand and hold it tight as you lay your head on his shoulder. You two had so many “firsts” with your daughter: first steps, first time you left her at home, first words, and so much more, but none of them compared to this feeling of watching her karting for the first time. 

The first time Piper bumps into a wall Lando says that he thinks he’s gonna throw up and you have to almost physically hold him back from running out there to her. Once you see a big thumbs up from your daughter to confirm she’s okay, the whole situation earns a little giggle from you and you reply back with Lando with “imagine instead of going into the wall at 3km/h it’s actually 313km/h and you’re watching the father of your children crash.” 

Lando’s never seen your point of view before like this. You spent years on the paddock as the worried girlfriend, then as the worried fiance, then as the worried wife, and then finally as the worried pregnant wife (probably the worst situation of all since you were already nauseous anyways). You never once pushed him into retiring for the sake of your family - you could see the joy the sport brought him and he always appreciated your respect for that. He thinks having to watch on the sidelines might be even harder than actually being on the track, and he looks at you with a newfound appreciation for your strength as you cheer on your daughter.

“Thank you.” Lando whispers to you with a little crack in his voice.

It’s more than a thank you for convincing him to let Piper do this - it’s a thank you for supporting him all these years, through all the ups and downs of his racing career. You only hold onto him tighter as a response, pulling out your phone too to capture the moment. Whether Piper continues in motorsport or not, you know this is a moment that you’ll both treasure forever. 

That night Piper begs for you both to put on the home video of Lando’s first karting win while she eats her supper. You’ve never seen your daughter this happy before, and you know from the look on Lando’s face that he thinks the same. It’s only after she retells her experience in karting from start to finish for the 4th time over that you’re able to finally bargain with her to go to sleep. Her one concession is that she sleep with her helmet in her bed, an action that brings the tears right back to the forefront of Lando’s eyes since that was something he did as a kid too.

“Our baby girl is going to be the first ever female driver in formula 1” he cooes as you both stand at the foot of her bed. “Typical Lando” you call out, not surprised one bit that he’s gone from banning his daughter from stepping foot into a kart to imagining her future in motorsport history all within the span of a couple of days. You have to slow him down before he starts going off on a tangent about the best places to train and the moments he can’t wait for her to experience in the sport. But at the end of the day you’re so happy that Lando came around on this (an “i told you so” or two sometimes slip out when the topic comes up), and you know that it’s going to be a fun journey being karting parents for as long as Piper wants to do so. 

----

author's note: this was such a fun one to write <3 you'll probably see a lot more dad! Lando on my page in the future! If you have any dad! Lando scenarios (or any scenarios really) that you want me to write, feel free to drop them in my ask box! Until next time <3 - Em

[thesongoficeandfir3]

Dark!Aegon i x reader

A/n: 18+ ONLY! reader is a Baratheon but race is NOT mentioned however the reader does have the features of a Baratheon (blue eyes and black hair), reader is female with female anatomy

Warnings: SMUT, DC, power imbalance, age gap (reader is of age), innocence kink? Lmk if I missed any

Would rate 🖤 out of three on dark scale

Would rate 🌶️🌶️ out of five on smut scale

This is my first time writhing smut so sorry if it’s shit 🙃

Might do a dark Maegor or Young Tywin next

- Aegon had always prided himself as being a good man or more so a good man if compared to the many of the corrupt men in Westeros

- He would believe he did not have any darkness in him however, this resolve started to crumble when he met you.

- You were married to one of your father’s vassal houses and had a son however, your husband died fighting one of the many battles in attempt to take over Dorne, and due to the laws your son was sent to live with his paternal family thus leaving you alone once again like before getting married.

- You were still young and fertile and it was not uncommon for a highborn widow to be married again, thus why Orys decided to bring you to the capital where he spent so much time being the king’s hand. The capital always had highborns coming in and out so it was a possibility one of them may be your new husband

- When Aegon first saw you, he immediately was enticed by your beauty. Your hair as dark as the soils of Highgarden flowing down your back, sitting atop your head your mother’s sapphire diadem brought even more attention to your blue eyes, and the gold and black gown you wore clinging to your body beautifully

- He burned the image into his brain the way you nervously dipped your head down when meeting him, your blue eyes scanning his face desperate for his approval. It was almost comical to him how opposite you were to Orys, who was the embodiment of your house sigil as large and intimidating as a stag whereas you looked more like a fawn about to be slaughtered by its prey but he found it amusing none the less

- You would be in KL for many weeks but his obsession would be nothing more than a small flame, simply just admiring you from afar, but the small flame would turn into a roaring blaze when he saw you taking care of his son Aenys.

- You often found yourself alone and bored in the Redkeep since you hardly knew anyone there, so to keep you occupied your father arranged for you to take care of Aenys who was only a babe. You did miss taking care of your son who was now with his father’s family, so it was a sweet reminder

- One day after a stressful meeting Aegon was headed to his chambers for a much needed bath when he passed you in the gardens rocking and singing to a giggling Aenys, all the anger and stress vanished in an instant and calmness washed over him. It had been so long since he felt that way almost forgetting the feeling. That day he also felt a switch within him and a strong desire to keep seeing you like that

- He couldn’t help but use the same power he prided himself not abusing to abuse it to keep seeing you do that. He ordered that you become the sole caretaker and wet nurse to Aenys, making claims that the babe was so much calmer in your presence. You were so blinded by the fact that you missed your own son to see how odd his decision was

- Aegon was swift and discrete in chasing away any potential suitors who looked your way, also giving your father, his hand, more work than usual in attempt for him not to notice how much time the king spent with his daughter

- Convincing you to put Aeny’s crib in your room claiming it would be easier for you to take care of him, but it was more for him being able to walk into your chambers whenever he wishes and he could easily hide his reasoning just wanting to see his son

- When you start to feed Aenys, Aegon would often be nearby, watching with a mixture of peace and lust within him. The peaceful feeling coming from the knowledge that you are providing life-sustaining nourishment for his heir and the lustful feeling coming from what if you continued being the one to nurture and further his bloodline

- He would continue to stare when you place the babe down, your chest momentarily still exposed as you prioritize making Aenys comfortable first before fixing yourself. He would start to daydreaming what it would be like for you to be under him bare like that as his seed dripped from you after he’d taken you

- Things were going well for him soon enough suitors stopped talking with your father about potential proposals and you were always so obedient at his side without protest or rather you didn’t think you were allowed to.

- Panic starts to rise in Aegon when one day while having a drink, Orys mentions he wants to take you back to Storm’s End since he can’t find a match for you here, whereas in Storm’s End there was already possibility of three lords.

- That night Aegon summoned you to his chamber during the hour of the wolf you were about to grab his son thinking Aegon wanted to see him as that was always the case, but but the maid who called for you stopped you and said he only wanted to see you. You were extremely confused but obeyed the king’s command not having the slightest clue what was to happen.

NSFW below 18+ ONLY

You let out a strained gasp and whimper as Aegon’s body was pressed on top of you thrusting himself into you without warning. He squeezes his eyes shut at the way your walls immediately tighten around him making his brain turn into mush. He tries desperately to regain control of his spinning mind, burying his face into your neck and mumbling out calming words and hushes in a poor attempt to calm you as well as regain control of himself.

His body shakes as he tries his best not to thrust himself into you again for he knew if he did he’ll be finished before you two even get anywhere. You then hear him mumbling something over and over again in what you assumed was his mother tongue. Fortunately for you his temporary lack of movement allowed you to get used to his size but you still couldn’t help the soft whimper that slip past your lips.

His platinum blond hair already slick with sweat sticking to his forehead and pressing against your jaw.

He then slightly raised his head, his dark violet eyes scanning your features devouring you with just one look that made you feel butterflies in your stomach. It didn’t help when he moves a hand to caress your cheek, the feeling of it was callous due to the years of wielding blackfyre.

“Are you ready to please your king?” He says through a husky voice.

“Y-yes” you squeak out, surprising yourself with how high an octave your voice went.

With the conformation he doesn’t hesitate to begin rocking himself into immediately finding a rhythm. His movements fast yet calculated, as he was with most things in his life.

You nearly choked on your spit as your body involuntarily sucked in sharply the feeling of ecstasy being new to you. The few times you did lay with your now deceased husband was uncomfortable and quick as he valued his own pleasure over your own. Mewls and incoherent words start to slip past your lips. Embarrassed by this you slap your mouth shut with your hands but Aegon is quick to stop that.

Using one hands to keep himself propped up, he uses the other to restrain your arms above your head. He then rest his forhead on yours, his breathing coming out in pants as he continues his movements.

“You look so beautiful taking care of my sweet boy” he says between strained grunts “he needs a mother badly, he needs you to be the mother he lost” he says almost desperately his pace picking up

You hardly registered his words your back arches aching to meet his increased paced all you could get out was a ‘yes my king’ through a broken moan

Aegon can feel himself getting closer and buried his face back to your neck the sound of his grunts increasing.

“No, call me by my name.” He manages to say through them.

“Aegon” you say almost uncertain and soft, the word being foreign to you as you’ve gotten too used to calling him my king or your highness.

The volume dissatisfied him so he moves the hand that was restraining you bringing it down to your bud rubbing against it in a circular motion with his fingers to cause more friction along with his slamming hips.

“You will call me by my name when we are like this… You will scream it while I take you as mine” he says it like a command his tone booming with authority, a sharp reminder you were truly being taken by the king.

At the sudden added friction his name leave your lips faster than you can think it in a loud and desperate moan followed by curses no highborn lady should ever repeat. Yourself a few hours ago before you were summoned to the king’s chambers would be shocked that you had it in yourself to say that.

He lets out a hiss as he forces himself out of you, getting off the bed to stand at the edge of it before grabbing your hips and dragging you to the edge. You were still lying on your back as Aegon stood, preparing to position himself between your legs once more. First taking just a moment to admire you.

You didn’t have the slightest idea how badly Aegon wanted you below him as he pumped you full of himself, how during all those months how he’d dream about every part of you, how his need for you nearly went out of control when he saw you feeding his son motherhood looked so natural on you.

Aegon the cocky bastard knew you would be his eventually he was a conqueror after all, but his first plan was longer and would take time. It was foiled however when one drunk night with Orys, the man said he was going to take you back to Storm’s End as he couldn’t find a single match for you but already found three at your ancestral home.

The conqueror panicked and for the first time he had acted out irrationally. He wished your first time would be at your wedding you wrapped around the black and red cloaks of house Targaryen, a roaring sign of his success.

He is brought back to reality when he feels you arch your back causing your entrance to meet his tip, a moan escaping from the both of you. He grips your hips slamming back into you , his movements a lot more rougher and deeper with the new found stability.

“You should be honored Lady Baratheon, soon enough you will be carrying the seed of the conqueror and bear me many dragons” the headboard slams against the stonewall the loud slams almost challenges the screams of your pleasure and the begging of his name “you will be the queen” his thrust deeper than the last “you will be my queen.”

It doesn’t take long for you both to reach climax, his seed felt warm as it shot inside of you making you shudder. He desperately wanted to stay there but his body jerked and shook to his avail forcing him out.

As you come down from your high realization finally starts to settle in at what you just had done. A widowed woman of your position lying with a man who was not her husband. To fuel to the fire a married man, a married man who was the king. If word got out you would put great shame and mockery upon not only yourself but your house, the house your innocent father had worked so hard to claim.

Aegon senses the shift in your expression and when you try to get up he pushes you back to the soft bed.

“I’m sorry Aeg—, my king but-“ you try to speak out but Aegon silenced you.

“Shhh it’s ok” he mumbles out climbing back on top of you, his limp member rubbing against your sore entrance blood immediately rushing to it causing it to be hard again. “I’ll deal with Orys he’s a prideful man anyways all he’ll see is his blood on the throne so just relax for now” he says completely drunk on lust he’s not even sure of what he’s saying and his movements are sloppy and uncoordinated all he knew was that he needed to feel that over and over again.

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.03

The hour was late, and there was not a soul aside from yourself and Prince Jacaerys in the guest house in Winterfell, so you were able to speak freely with each other away from any prying eyes. Your nephew's most recent revelation causes unexpected feelings of grief and sympathy to unfold.

The poisonous actions of your own family had spread so far it caused Rhaenyra to go into premature labor. “My condolences, Jacaerys. I did not know your mother had lost her babe.”

“Did word not reach the keep?”

“If it did, I was not informed.” You sigh, “Losing a babe is a lonely experience. I wouldn’t wish on my worst foe.”

“You speak as if you know this from experience?”

You feel a sudden chill; the only light in the room was from the candles on the table and the flames from the fireplace. Even in the dim light, you can make out the glossiness in his eyes; he was fighting to hold back tears. “A few years ago I had a babe that came early, a girl. I was going to call her Visenya.” You scoff, “Perhaps the name is cursed.”

“I’m sorry.”

The dead girl's birth was more painful than Maitland’s. The maester had no understanding of what caused the premature birth; the only thing you knew for sure was that you were completely alone. “I couldn’t bring myself to say it,” your voice begins to crack. “At her funeral, I couldn’t bear the thought of my own dragon being the one to set my tiny daughter pyre on fire, so Aegon commanded Sunfyre to do it.”

The mention of your brother causes Jacaerys to tense up. He looks furious.

“I know you think he is a monster, but he was the only one who helped me through my grief.”

Confused, he asks, “What about your mother, husband, or Helaena?”

You sit back in the hard wooden chair and smile at the mention of your sister. “Helaena is the most kindhearted and gentle of us, but she doesn’t cope well with death. It took her three moons for her to speak with me again, and even then my sweet sister only spoke in riddles.”

“What about Alicent?”

You lift the cup of wine sitting you had yet to touch to your lips in a poor attempt to hide the involuntary scoff. You rarely saw eye to eye with your husband, but your mother being untrustworthy was something you always agreed upon. “I have kept her at arm’s length and have for many years, trusting nought that she says.”

Jacaerys looks horrified. He was struggling to understand what it must be like to have a family that did not care much for one another.

“Do not fret, my prince,” you say reassuringly. “Not all mothers can care for their children in the way they perhaps wish they could.”

“Was Aemond not there to comfort you?”

Visenya’s death is what completely shattered your marriage. The broken feeling of sitting in your bedchamber alone after the silent sisters came for your daughter still haunted you. Not only should Aemond have been mourning with you, if he was there, they wouldn’t have taken Visenya away from you so soon. You prayed he would burst through the door when the midwives ripped the dead babe you had been cradling from your arms, but he never came.

He was with his whore, missing everything.

When Aemond returned and the maester told him what happened, he beat his knuckles bloody against the wall and only stopped when Ser Criston managed to restrain him.

“No, he was not,” you finally take a large gulp of the bitter-smelling wine. “My brother Daeron is kind, but he lives in OldTown. He wrote to me more than usual, but it was only Aegon who visited me when I was inconsolable.”

Jace says nothing.

“It’s not Aegon’s fault; all of this was my grandsire, Criston, and the men that sit in their council. They were the ones who plotted for years.”

“And your mother? Was she not the ringleader of the rightful queen being usurped?”

“My mother thinks she has a voice in the council, but she is yet to see that it was only possible previously because the king allowed it.”

“How did King Viserys die? Daemon thinks he was poisoned.”

“Perhaps he was.” You look down at the smallest candle and watch as the last of the wax melts away. “Will the queen be merciful when she sits upon the throne? Will she spare Helaena?”

“If you bend the knee, she will gladly take you into her heart, all of you. Our family doesn’t need to be torn apart.”

“It's not only our family who’s been affected. We’ve turned brother against brother. Ser Erryk is on Dragonstone while Ser Arryk remains in the keep. The kingdom's divide has already begun within the kingsguard. I dread to see what will become of the small folk.”

“When my mother takes kings landing, Daemon’s first act will be to hang all those who betrayed her, including the kingsguard who remain loyal to Aegon.”

“It’s not so simple, Jacaerys. Ser Arryk, he only stayed because he’s sworn to me, to my son. Not because he agrees with what happened. Everyone knows my father chose his line of succession; he wanted Rhaenyra on the throne then for you to be king.” You lean your arm over the table and take Jacaerys hand. “If I tell you something of value, you must promise that you’ll never say you heard it from me.”

“What—”

“Swear it.”

He nods, “Yes, I swear it.”

You let go of his hand; tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “On the day he was crowned king, Aegon tried to flee. And he has considered doing it again, but my mother and grandsire have the keep-on lockdown. But it may be possible if someone helps him.”

“Who… you would help him leave?”

It felt like a betrayal discussing Aegon in such detail with another, but you needed Jacaerys to understand the blacks weren’t the only threat to your family. “I would, and not because I don’t believe your mother would spare his life if he bent the knee, but because I know what would happen if he did.”

A look of understanding passes his features. “His own men would turn on him.”

“If Aegon is gone, his son Jaehaerys is next in line. Healena does not want this for him; she will gladly hand the city over to Rhaenyra, and without bloodshed.”

“I have the feeling you are still withholding.”

“Of course I am,” you chuckle lightly as the tears you fought so hard to hold back finally fall. “I do not wish to send my own brother to death. I want to save him from being crushed under the weight of a crown he did not ask for.”

“Do you really think he’d leave his wife and children?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. “He cares for the twins, but it didn’t stop him from trying to leave before.”

Jacaerys looks uncertain, but how could he not be? There were things you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t begin to explain that you’ve seen the threat from the north, his mother sitting on the iron throne. The death of thousands by the hands of dragon flames. How you just knew your mother would betray Aegon one day.

“It’s late,” Jacaerys stands up. “We should both sleep and speak again tomorrow. Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight, nephew.”

When Jace leaves and you are alone, you begin to crumble. You desperately try to hide the sobs escaping your mouth; exhaustion and pent-up emotions are finally catching up. You pick up the small wooden toy sitting on the table and hold it tightly. Maitland had many toys, and you hope he wouldn’t seek the one you took to feel close to him until you return.

Hearing a soft knock at the door, you rub at your eyes, and presuming it’s Jacaerys, you open the door and are taken aback when it’s not him. “Lord Stark,” you step back to let him in. “Forgive my unladylike appearance; if I had known you were coming, I would have dressed more appropriately.”

Being in a nightgown and robe with only Jacaerys as company didn’t phase you, but in front of the Lord of Winterfell it was rather embarrassing.

“Forgive me, I saw the candlelight and presumed you were still awake... We can speak in the morrow.”

“No, my lord,” you cross your arms over your chest and smile. “It’s fine.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before continuing. “From the moment I returned to my chambers, my son has been all over me. Apparently he’s going to meet the bronze fury.

You smile. “He asked today if he could come with me to see the dragons, but I wanted to check with you first.”

“I—can you assure he won’t get hurt?”

“No dragon can ever be completely tamed, but their emotions are entwined with their riders. And since I hold no ill-will towards your son, he’ll be safe.”

“Okay, he may go with you.” He reaches to open the door. “I best be going; try and get what little sleep I can, as I’m sure Rickon will be up early with excitement.”

“Goodnight, Lord Stark.”

“Cregan,” he locks eyes with you. “When it’s just us, you can call me my first name.”

Mother above, you could only imagine the look on the dowager queen's face if she heard a lord give you leave to speak his name.

“And when it’s just us, you may still refer to me as princess, Cregan.”

He smirks at your teasing. “I’ll see you in the morrow, princess.”

—

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳. 𝘎𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺—𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺.

𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦.

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘷𝘪. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮’𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 ����𝘸𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯.

𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵, “𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦. “𝘔𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺—”

𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?”

“𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘦𝘭. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦.”

“𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦?” 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

"𝘕𝘰, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦; 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯, “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘐 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵? 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳. “𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵; 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘨. 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯?

“𝘕𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦; 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦,” 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘭𝘺.

“𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦,” 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴.

𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥.

“𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯?”

“𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘝𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭,” 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺. “𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.”

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴, “𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵; 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘝𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.”

“𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

—

“As you say it’s difficult with sons, I dare say I spoil my boy. He’s inherited most things from me, even the things I wish he did not.” You lean against the wooden bannister, standing beside Lord Stark, watching as Rickon plays with his direwolf on the snow below. “Your son, Rickon, is a very kind boy; you must be proud.”

“Northerners are born hardened; it’s in our nature, but I do sometimes regret my son not having the softness of a woman to help guide him. But as you say, he is kind, and that’s all I could ask for.” Hearing the Lord of Winterfell speak of his son in such a way was bittersweet. You didn’t doubt Aemond’s love for Maitland, but your son being kind wouldn’t be high on his priority. “And I’m sure the young prince is lucky to have a mother who loves him dearly.”

You clear your throat. “I find it rather fascinating how different things are outside the city I grew up in. A young lord or lady not marrying soon after their spouse dies is almost unheard of.”

“I could have,” he muses. “My marriage was political, but I was lucky; I grew to love my wife, Arra. She was soft-spoken and would sing a lot. I did not believe it would be possible to find another like her or anyone so deeply devoted to loving another woman’s son. The ladies I entertained with the idea of marrying showed little to no interest in Rickon, so I chose not to bring them into his life.”

You turn to face him and say, “Not many men would say that. Most of them would put desire above love and duty without a second thought.”

Cregan rests his arms beside you on the bannister and leans in ever so slightly, a mischievous smile pulling on his lips. “Tis possible for both to exist; even the most dutiful of men and women still have desires, princess.”

Heat creeps into your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile. “You wouldn’t have fared well growing up in the keep as a lady, my lord. I was taught if a woman had improper desires or urges, they were to go pray in the sept for forgiveness.”

You feel the warmth from his body when his broad shoulder brushes against your own. His voice is lower than before when he says, “Winterfell doesn’t have a sept to pray in.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Vermithor landing just outside the walls of Winterfell.

“I believe it’s time for Rickon to meet my dragon.”

—

True to your word, Rickon was unharmed when you took him to greet the bronze fury up close. You even flew around the outskirts of Winterfell three times before Vermithor landed beside Silverwing from the same location you left.

Rickon took your hand and excitedly pulled you through the castle grounds until he spotted Lord Stark and the maester, who were patiently waiting on him. As you watch the young boy go to attend his lessons, you jump, hearing a voice beside you.

“A morning he will never forget.”

“Nephew,” you take in his appearance. “Are you going hunting?”

“Yes, I’ve been invited to join several of the lords; however, I reckon whatever I catch will be devoured by Vermax.”

Jacaerys offers you his arm, which you take. “Very ill-tempered for a little thing, I imagine he will be formidable when fully grown.”

“Big enough to saddle two, so the dragon keepers say. I wanted to let you know the queen has written; she has refused Aegon’s terms.”

“What terms?”

He narrows his eyes, “the ones your grandsire, Otto Hightower, spoke of when he stepped foot on Dragonstone. Did you not know?”

“I was unaware he had even left the keep at any point.”

“The former queen claims me and my brothers will be treated kindly; after my own mother bends the knee.”

“Alicent speaks with two tongues.”

“I suspected as much. She spent years calling us bastards.” When you reach the stables where the other lord's horses are being prepared, he lets go of your arm. “Lord Stark isn’t going; I believe he is staying so he can speak with you in private.”

“I won’t go back on my word. I will do what I can to help your mother sit on the throne.”

He nods and begins to walk towards the stables.

“Jacaerys,” you call after him. “It’s true you don’t share the same features as your mother, but that does not make you a bastard.”

“Do not jest,” he says defensively.

“People will believe what they wish and may whisper behind your back, but it doesn’t change the fact you are of blood and fire,” you cup his cheek. “Ser Harwin had blue eyes. You have brown eyes, as did Ser Laenor.”

You almost feel guilty seeing the look in his eyes. Had the young boy not thought of this before? The rumors of Rhaenyra’s sons being bastards were most likely started, but those on the Green Council as another way to belittle and discredit a woman in a position of power. It is known Aegon has bastards, but not once has it ever been mentioned at court.

You are caught off guard when you turn to walk in the opposite direction, and Cregan is waiting for you. Smiling, you walk towards him, “my lord.”

“Princess, I was wondering if you care to join me in the godswood.”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad; I believe we have much to discuss.”