#SHE LOVES HER DRAMA KING SON

[fideidefenswhore]

Had circumstances been just a little different, Anne Boleyn might still have lived. Had she produced a son, Jane would have been a passing distraction, Anne's enemies would have been silenced, and her fiery character might again have seemed, at least at times, beguiling to Henry. During the course of their brief marriage, which lasted just over three years, there had been many fluctuations. After the final miscarriage, Anne fought back, saying she had been frightened by Henry's accident, but also broken-hearted at his paying attention to another woman. This kind of criticism was not something Henry was prepared to tolerate in a wife; one of Katherine's strengths, as she herself acknowledged, was that she had never shown any sign of animosity or distress in response to the king's infidelities. Henry and Anne's relationship had been a genuine love-match, however, and the volatility which helped bring about the extraordinary events of the break with Rome remained a part of their relationship ever after.

Henry VIII, Lucy Wooding

[sunderwight]

Thinking about SV demons potentially having a cultural thing where it's gauche to tell someone directly that you love them, but acceptable to tell everyone else that you do, with the idea being that you're supposed to deduce some of the state of the other's regard for you when the information is delivered by a third party.

In a lot of stories/legends/myths/etc in the relevant demon cultures, this social standard is sometimes used to sow disinformation and stir up drama, sometimes emphasizing the importance of verifying your info through multiple sources and figuring out who is unbiased. Like there's a legend of some incident where a bride finds out from her sister that the groom has never spoken of her love for her even once, and in a fit of despair she kills him, only for it to turn out that the sister was lying out of jealousy and etc etc.

Or parents trying to arrange a match lie and tell their only son that his betrothed has been assuring everyone else that she loves him, but then she ditches him on the wedding night to run off with her actual lover because it turns out that she wasn't interested after all, humiliating the entire clan.

Anyway. Luo Binghe learns of this tradition and while he thinks the "tell absolutely everyone that you love your spouse" bit is rad, he immediately disregards the "don't directly tell your spouse" part. Mobei Jun at one point attempts to explain to him that he's being extremely cringe, and Luo Binghe is just like, no you don't get it, if he doesn't hear it from me he will never believe it. It will not penetrate.

So at first MBJ is like, wow Consort Shen is thick I guess, but then a day later he's in the middle of going over some of his correspondence and Shang Qinghua is explaining some cultural miscommunication or other and the light goes on.

What if Consort Shen isn't thick?

What if this is a human thing?

But he can't just tell Shang Qinghua to his face that he loves him, especially if he's misunderstood. He has to figure it out indirectly before he knows if he needs to work up the nerve to do go that far. So he decides to talk around it instead, and asks Shang Qinghua if Consort Shen is thick about matters of love.

Shang Qinghua's not expecting this change of topics but like, obviously the answer to that question is an emphatic yes, so what happened my king did he straight-zone another lovelorn admirer?

Mobei Jun internally wipes some sweat off of his brow at this answer.

Thank fuck, looks like he won't have to do anything as humiliating as straightforwardly confess his feelings after all!

[kashverse]

it is a rite of passage for every child to have a pet, and when it is finally babykuna’s turn, sukuna—being the extra man that he is—does not just take her to a normal pet shop. no, no, no. he takes her to an exotic pet shop. because why settle for a goldfish when she could have a tarantula named missy? or maybe a snake called george? wouldn’t a scorpion be so much cooler? apparently not. because out of all the fascinating, unique, and terrifying creatures in the shop, babykuna walks past them all—ignores the lizards, dismisses the sugar gliders, doesn’t even look at the parrot that screeches a greeting at her—

and stops dead in front of a massive maine coon that is currently squished into a cage far too small for its body. the cat—fluffy, fat, and looking seconds away from sighing like a disappointed victorian orphan—locks eyes with babykuna. babykuna gasps, pressing her tiny hands against the cage. "mama! papa! it’s him!"

sukuna furrows his brows. "what?"

"him! my pet! my baby! my everything!"

you squint at the cat. it looks back at you like it’s seen some shit. "baby, are you sure?" you ask gently, glancing at the other animals. "there are so many cool options, what about—"

"NO!"

babykuna throws herself onto the ground, wailing like she’s in a period drama. sukuna jumps in alarm. "oi, oi, what the fuck, don’t start—"

before he can finish, the cat in the cage suddenly lets out a long, tragic, soul-crushing howl—as if mourning a life it never got to live.

the entire store falls silent.

"…what the fuck was that," sukuna hisses, visibly unsettled. babykuna gasps again, sitting up. "mr pickles! papa said a bad word!"

"mr…pickles?" sukuna repeats, looking at the cat like it personally offended him. "why is its name mr pickles?"

"because he is my son," babykuna says matter-of-factly, wiping away her fake tears. “and my heart knows his true name.” you press your lips together to keep from laughing. "mr pickles is a cute name, love."

"no, it’s not," sukuna grumbles, rubbing his temples. "baby, listen, papa will get you anything else, okay? you want a wolfdog? a komodo dragon? a fucking capybara?"

babykuna sobs.

"I WANT MR PICKLESSSSSSSSSS—!"

mr pickles, from inside his cage, lets out a sorrowful “AAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOHHH—”

and that is how the fourth member of the family—a fat, depressed maine coon named mr pickles—came to be. turns out, despite his tragic victorian orphan appearance, mr pickles is actually a sweetheart. not only does he fulfill his feline duties—lounging around, occasionally chasing invisible ghosts, and knocking over things just for fun—he also doubles as babykuna’s personal weighted blanket. and let’s be honest, nothing has ever knocked babykuna out quite like mr pickles’ fluffy, oversized body. 

she sleeps like a brick, snoring so loudly that you once thought a grown man had somehow broken into the house and passed out in her room. but there she was—wrapped around mr pickles like a koala, drool dripping onto his fur, dead to the world. and mr pickles? he doesn’t complain even once. in fact, he doesn’t even move. just lies there, accepting his fate, staring blankly into the void while babykuna uses him as her personal mattress. what a versatile king. in fact, mr pickles has so many roles in this household.

a cat? yes.

a weighted blanket? absolutely.

a luxury aesthetic background for your new nail set photos? oh, you better believe it.

you take a picture of your freshly done nails—perfectly manicured, sitting against the soft, plush fur of mr pickles, the perfect neutral background. you send it to sukuna. he normally loves seeing your nails, but this time—his eyebrow twitches as he recognizes the background.

sukuna: are you using that fucking cat as a backdrop again you: mr pickles is an aesthetic marvel. sukuna: i will throw that thing in the washing machine

you report him to babykuna, who screeches in betrayal and slaps his arm like she’s defending her child from a monster. but let’s be real—the best thing about mr pickles? his impeccable manners.

the moment he finishes eating from his bowl, he delicately pushes it towards the sink—like some kind of distinguished gentleman disposing of his fine china. it is so polite that you almost want to give him a little bowtie. sukuna watches this with a blank face. “i feel like i should be impressed, but i also feel like i’m being manipulated.” and maybe, just maybe, he would grow to respect this cat.

except.

mr pickles is a hater. specifically, a sukuna hater. because whenever it comes to sukuna’s belongings? suddenly, mr pickles is the menace of the household.

one night, sukuna walks into the laundry room to grab his freshly washed, neatly pressed shirts, only to find mr pickles sprawled on top of them, looking at him with such deep, sorrowful eyes that sukuna physically cannot yell at him. he stares. mr pickles blinks slowly.

"…get the fuck off."

mr pickles closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.

"GET OFF."

the very next day, sukuna screams when he finds all of his socks shredded into oblivion—like someone went berserk with a pair of scissors. babykuna gasps, pointing at mr pickles. “papa! it was mr pickles!”

sukuna whirls to glare at the culprit. "you little shit—!"

mr pickles blinks at him, looking once again like a victorian boy with consumption.

sukuna’s rage stutters.

"…you think you’re funny, huh?"

mr pickles does not reply.

(but he does later eat an entire stack of sukuna’s important business papers™ and then vomits them out on the living room carpet.)

[aryaryxoxo]

#katsuki bakugou x neighbor!reader is giving grumpy and sunshine trope!!!

Prev

Imagine being the only one who gets to witness the King Explosion Murder being a total clumsy mess when he first entered your bedroom. You always visited his before this—like it was your second home. But how did you even manage to get his grumpy little ass to act like a well-behaved puppy around you?

By a simple bandage.

You, a 6-year-old tiny ball of sunshine, were just minding your business—throwing pebbles instead of coins into the empty park fountain, wishing for a new All Might coloring book. Then suddenly—you heard it.

Thud!

You turned around, curious, and spotted a blonde, spiky-haired kid on the ground. He was grunting, scowling at his scraped knee that was now gushing with blood like it had a personal vendetta. Drama much?

Concerned, you ran up to him and said, “Don’t touch it! You’ll make it worse!”

He muttered something rude like, “I’m fine, stupid!” but you didn’t mind. You just pouted, ignored his bad attitude, and gently pulled out your most prized possession—a sparkly All Might bandage from your tiny pocket.

With the brightest smile on your face, you handed it to him like it was some sacred offering.

“Here! Heals faster when All Might’s on it,” you chirped. And that’s how you won the heart of the angriest boy you met. 

By the time you finished sticking the bandage on for him, he was already pink in the face—and not from the wound.

You are shocked—and honestly kind of happy—to see him again when you and your family move into your new home.

He’s your new neighbor.

His mom—very sweet lady, actually, even with the matching scowl like his son—greeted your family with homemade food and warm smiles. Then she turned to her son and said with a sharp little squint: “Katsuki. Be nice to her. Make sure she doesn’t feel alone on her first day of school.”

He scowled. “Tch. Whatever.”

But the next day at school, he really took it to heart. All your worries about being the new kid, about sitting alone at lunch or not knowing anyone? Gone.

Because Bakugou Katsuki sat beside you like he’d been doing it forever—plopping his lunchbox down and muttering, “Tch. Everyone here’s annoying. You’re less annoying.”

Which, from him, was basically a love letter.

You were just about to wander around, maybe sit under a tree and daydream again, when he came stomping over—hands behind his back, scowl firmly in place, ears suspiciously pink.

Without a word, he held something out to you. An All Might coloring book.

Exactly like the one you were wishing for just last week, when you were tossing pebbles into that dry park fountain. 

“You can use my colors too… if you want.” He said, your eyes sparkled. “You have the glitter ones?!”

“Yea,” he muttered, ears turning pink. “Recess is almost over. If you wanna finish it, we can… do it at my house.”

And that was the beginning.

One coloring book afternoon at his house. You sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, brows furrowed in intense concentration, carefully coloring All Might’s cape like your life depended on not going out of the lines. And Bakugou? Sitting next to you, pretending not to stare.

His glitter crayons sat open between you two like a peace offering. Every time your hand reached out, he nudged the right color toward you—without even looking up. Like he knew what you’d need before you asked.

He’d never say it, but he thought it was kind of cool. How serious you got when coloring. How your nose scrunched a little when you were focused.

His mom, peeking in to call you both for snacks, froze.

Because there was her son—the same boy who used to scream at the neighbor kids for stepping on his side of the sidewalk—now sitting quietly, watching you, with the softest, most secret smile on his face.

He didn’t even notice she had her phone out.

Click.

She took a picture.

After that day, his mom got very used to seeing you around. Like clockwork.

At first, she’d greet you at the door with a smile and snacks. But after the fifth… maybe seventh coloring session, she waved her hand and said, “You don’t need to ring the doorbell anymore, sweetie. Just come right in. He’s in his room.”

Bakugou shouted from upstairs, “DON’T JUST TELL PEOPLE THAT—!!” You giggled. And kept visiting anyway.

One coloring session turned into building a volcano project together in middle school. (“Don’t mess up the lava part, dumbass.” “I’m not, Katsuki! You’re the one holding it sideways!”)

That turned into movie nights on weekends, where he claimed he “wasn’t crying, it’s just allergies” during the sad scenes and would immediately throw popcorn at you if you stared for too long.

Eventually, it became walking home from high school side by side.

Him picking you up from your school, still wearing his slightly unkept U.A. uniform, your backpack slung lazily over his shoulder, the both of you walking close—your hands brushing against each other with every step.

Now, the two of you stood in front of your house.

“If you’re free tomorrow afternoon… we could play Mario Kart,” he muttered, handing you your backpack like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Sure!” you beamed.

He watched as you gave him your usual goodbye—then stood there quietly until the door shut behind you.

Bakugou pulled out his phone, unlocking it with one hand. A new notification from the Class 1-A group chat popped up.

Denki: I’m TELLING YOU that man has a girlfriend.

He rolled his eyes. All because those three idiots couldn’t shut their mouths and spread it in the entire class what happened when they visited. And now, the entire class wouldn’t shut up. 

He rolled his eyes and locked his phone.

Then paused.

He turned it back on and stared at his wallpaper.

It was you and him on the floor, coloring the All Might book.

taglist: @magicalrainbowfish @vnstennis @g-cf2020 @kitwantsseconds @eliankm @xxchaosjojoxx @notellaxx @lipstainedgemini

a/n: if you have any ideas for this pairing, please send it in my inbox (˶˃⤙˂˶)

[dreamdragonkadia]

Could you pleasee write something about Xaden Riorson cause I just love that men and I love your writing💕

I saw this and immediately said, “Okay—but what kind of drama can we stir up with it?” So here we are. Thank you so much for your support. I promise there’s plenty more Xaden where that came from. x.riorson x tauri!reader Part Two

Was it a secret that the Princess of Navarre was spoiled?

Gods, no. Everyone knew it. The kingdom whispered it like a warning and a prayer, that the youngest of the first-borns, the only current Crown Princess, had everything handed to her on a gilded plate. Silk gowns, jeweled hairpins, tutors flown in from the capital and beyond.

But Cam—Cam was the only one you really got along with. The only one who saw an older sister.

And he was the one who told you the news. Who—offhandedly, as if it was just some political footnote—mentioned that your father was trying to marry you off to the King of Deverelli. ‘In good faith’ apparently.

So yes, you ran. Slipped through the palace halls like a shadow, packed only what you could carry, cut your hair to your shoulders with the same blade that now rested on your thigh.

And no one stopped you. Because no one suspected a thing.

To the kingdom, the Crown Princess didn’t vanish into the night—she fell “gravely ill,” too weak to be seen. Bedridden. A tragic occurrence in the aftermath of Prince Alic’s death. Oh, the royal family was surely cursed. Poor Crown Prince Halden. First his twin slain, now his twin sister withering away behind silk-curtained windows. The gossip was delicious.

But the truth?

You had slipped into the Riders Quadrant under a false name, a year older than the rest of your year, blending in with a cohort of freshbloods too busy trying to survive to ask many questions.

The leathers chafed at first. The hair against your neck felt foreign without its silk ribbons. But the sword on your hip? The dagger tucked into your boot? Those felt right.

And when your Red Swordtail picked you—when she looked at you and chose you—you knew you’d never go back. Not willingly.

Especially not when Xaden Riorson started looking at you like he saw straight through every layer of disguise.

Not even when you started looking back.

Because if the kingdom ever found out that their precious Crown Princess wasn’t just alive and well but fraternizing with the great betrayer’s son?

It would be the kind of scandal that topples monarchies.

But no one knew. Not even Xaden. Not really.

You hadn’t told a soul your real name. Not the other riders. Not your squad. Not the boy whose shadows curled too close whenever you got too hurt.

Only your dragon knew. She’d seen it all—your grief, your fear, your fury. And she'd kept your secrets with a glint in her eye that promised she'd burn the whole kingdom down before she'd ever let them take you back.

And Xaden?

It really hadn’t been that hard to fall for him.

Not when he spent your first month pretending he didn’t care whether you lived or died—as long as you didn’t drag the rest of the squad down with you.

Not when he coldly pointed out your weaknesses in front of everyone like he was reading a report.

Not when he muttered corrections under his breath during sparring drills, like he couldn’t help himself.

Gods, he was infuriating. And he was right.

Because that’s the thing—Xaden Riorson never wasted time. Not on pleasantries, not on weakness.

So when he started pulling you aside after hours, correcting your stance, showing you how to angle your weight to drive a blade home—

When he didn’t stop you from collapsing on the training mats but crouched beside you afterward, voice low and shadow-laced, saying, “Get up. You’re not done yet.”

That was when you knew.

Because Xaden didn’t waste time on things he didn’t think would survive. And he sure as hell didn’t teach people how to win unless he wanted them alive.

Which meant he wanted you alive.

And for the longest time, you didn’t know why.

Not until you started catching his gaze every time you won a challenge. The way his eyes lingered just a second too long—not impressed, but watching, like he was cataloging every move you made. Like he was memorizing you. Every strength you tried to hide, every weakness you refused to let show.

He never said anything. Never praised you. But his silence wasn’t the kind that dismissed—it was the kind that noticed.

Not until you started seeking him out on purpose. Going out of your way to say good morning, even when he rarely answered. Just to see if you could make him crack the smallest smile. And maybe once or twice, when no one else was looking, you did.

Not until you stopped flinching at the marks inked across everyone’s skin. Stopped pretending you didn’t know what they meant.

Even though you never understood—never could understand—how killing their parents was supposed to prove anything.

Because somewhere in the middle of all that distance and danger, something shifted.

It was in the way his voice changed when he spoke to you—still pointed, but no longer cruel. In the way his shadows hovered just a little closer after you got tossed during sparring, flickering against your wrist like they were checking for broken bones.

It was in the quiet between drills, when he stood closer than necessary. When his gaze dropped—not to assess, but to see.

Not until you found yourself backed against the cold stone of a shadow-laced hallway, breath catching as the air thickened around you.

He wasn’t touching you. Not yet. But his eyes were molten and unreadable, like he was waging a war inside himself and losing fast.

Then his mouth was on yours—rough and desperate and so careful, like he wasn’t sure he deserved this, but needed it all the same.

He kissed you like he was trying to breathe. Like he’d been holding his breath for months. Like you were the first thing that ever felt real.

And you kissed him back like you’d been waiting your whole life to be chosen—not for your crown or your name, but for you. For the girl who’d carved herself out of ashes and made a new name fit like armor.

He didn’t know your secrets. Didn’t know your bloodline or your history.

But he saw you. All of you.

And wanted you all the same.

And for a while, it had been perfect.

Not easy. Not gentle. But real—raw in a way that left you breathless and aching and desperate for more.

It started small. Stolen glances across the sparring mats. A hand on your back that lingered half a second too long. Shadows curling like smoke around your ankles when you were too still, too silent, too far away.

But then came the other things. The quiet things.

Xaden Riorson loved chocolate.

Like—actually loved it. Not just tolerated it, but hoarded it. Would trade for it in secret. Smuggled pieces back to you like it was contraband. You’d caught him once, sitting on the edge of your bed with a napkin-wrapped square of dark chocolate and a completely unbothered expression.

“What?” he said, when you stared. “I’m a grown man with stress. Let me have this.”

You learned that he slept with one arm thrown over his face, like he hated being vulnerable even in dreams. That he wasn’t a fan of the cold but would always give you his jacket without comment. That he preferred old books with cracked spines and spent hours sketching things he never let anyone else see—battle formations, dragons in flight, once even you when he thought you weren’t looking.

And gods, the way he touched you—always with control, always with intent. As if he didn’t want to want you, but couldn’t help it anymore.

He never pushed. Never took. Always asked.

But once you gave—once you pulled him in and whispered yes—He was devastating.

All rough hands and low groans, reverent kisses pressed to the hollow of your throat, like he couldn’t believe you were his. Like he needed to prove it with every touch.

And afterward, when you curled beneath the sheets and felt his shadows wrap around the both of you like smoke and silk, he would rest his forehead against yours and whisper things he’d never admit in daylight. Things like you scare the shit out of me and you make me forget I’m supposed to be careful.

Your dragons adjusted without a word. Red and Blue falling into step like they’d always flown together. As if they understood something binding had tethered their riders together.

And it was binding. Because he let you in. Let you see the boy beneath the shadows, the one who still mourned his father, who still carried the weight of a rebellion like it was stitched into his bones. And you—gods, you let yourself be seen. Fully. For the first time.

You weren’t a crown. You weren’t a name. You were just a girl, and he was just a boy who kissed you like you were his last chance at peace.

You should’ve known it couldn’t last.

Should’ve known the world would come clawing for you eventually.

It nearly unraveled when General Lilith’s daughter entered the quadrant. You hadn’t seen her in years—not since she was shoving Halden at court functions when no one was watching. Not since she caught you sneaking pastries and promised to keep your secret if you shared.

Her eyes landed on you like she was trying to solve a riddle she didn’t remember writing. But she never said anything. Just blinked.

Told herself the Crown Princess of Navarre was still bedridden. Still fading.

And your secret stayed safe.

For one more year.

Until Cam crossed the bridge and stepped into your room like the ghost of your past had come to life.

You didn’t even have time to speak before he was pulling you into his arms—arms that had grown stronger, taller, older while you’d been gone—and sobbing into your shoulder.

“Oh my gods,” he whispered, over and over again. “You’re not dead. You’re not dead.”

Your throat burned. “I tried to write,” you said, your voice cracking. “I couldn’t risk it. I’m sorry��I had to disappear. They were going to sell me off like a treaty, Cam. I had to go.”

“I thought I lost you too,” he choked out. “I thought I was alone.”

You buried your face into his shoulder then, shaking. Because even after everything—after all the lies, all the nights you cried yourself to sleep trying to remember how your real name sounded—this still felt like home.

But peace never lasted long.

Not in your life.

When Xaden arrived that weekend—under the pretense of Sgaeyl and Tairn needing a mandatory reunification flight—there was something about a book. Something about needing Cam’s help getting part of it. Something that should’ve been normal.

But then Cam’s eyes flicked to where Xaden stood beside you—where his hand had casually settled on your back, familiar, comfortable, intimate.

And something in Cam snapped.

His whole body went still. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

Cam’s voice was low, rough. “That’s him?”

You turned, your stomach lurching.

“That’s your little lover?” he hissed. “He’s the reason Alic is dead.”

The words hit like a blade between the ribs.

You froze.

And then Xaden—calm, cold, and unaware of the landmine he’d just stepped on—said, “Your brother was a craven, murderous prick.”

The air left your lungs.

Even if a part of you knew it was true—even if you’d known, in the quiet places of your mind, what Alic had become in the end—he was still your brother. And the truth still hurt.

“You…” The word stuck in your throat. “You killed my brother?”

Xaden blinked.

And that was when everything broke.

Violet watching you both like she was watching puzzle pieces slot into place, suddenly inhaled like she’d been struck.

“Oh my gods,” she whispered, wide-eyed. “You’re the crown princess.”

It felt like the entire hallway tilted.

The silence that followed wasn’t silent at all—it rang.

You didn’t wait.

Didn’t think.

You just ran.

Stormed down the corridor, every step echoing like a scream, barely holding yourself together. Your vision blurred with tears you refused to let fall. Your breath hitched as you reached out with everything—

“Please, come get me,” you whispered through your bond. To your dragon. Your constant. The only one who could carry you far enough away from this moment. “Please, I need you.”

But before you could reach the doors, footsteps thundered behind you. And then his hand—familiar, warm, calloused—closed around your arm.

“Wait—” Xaden’s voice cracked.

You turned.

And gods, he looked as wrecked as you felt.

Like someone had carved him open. Like he didn’t know whether to pull you close or fall apart entirely.

“You never told me,” he said, like it physically hurt. “You—gods, you never told me.”

“I know,” you whispered, your throat burning. “I know.”

His grip loosened, like he couldn’t bear to hold you if you didn’t want him to—but couldn’t let go, either.

You shook your head, blinking fast. “I can’t. Not right now.”

His eyes searched yours, desperate. “Just—tell me why. Tell me it wasn’t all a lie.”

And you almost broke then. Almost told him everything—about your father, the arranged marriage, the masks and how hard it had been to breathe before you met him.

But your heart was already splintering.

“I can’t talk about this,” you said, voice raw. “About Alic. About you killing him, and why, or what your reasoning was. I can’t do this now.”

He flinched. But he nodded.

And you—gods, you swallowed the sob threatening to rise as you stepped back.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” you said, barely audible. “I just—I need to breathe.”

Because at the end of the day, even after all of it—

You still loved him.

Were in love with him.

And that made everything hurt so much worse.

[kiyawritesforf1]

PADDOCK PROPOSAL - LANDO’S POV

Much appreciated imagine with Lando’s POV

Carlos POV here

⸻

Lando’s not saying he trained his son for this exact moment… but he is saying the kid’s clearly inherited his taste in women and his sense of drama.

It starts off as just another sunny afternoon in the paddock, mechanics humming around, chatter buzzing through the garages, and somewhere in the chaos, his three-year-old tornado of a son is off playing with Carlos’s daughter again.

No surprise there — those two have been inseparable since they were old enough to waddle. Today, though? Today is special. Because his son, his legend of a three-year-old, just took a plastic diamond ring from the hotel jewelry box and gave it to Isabella Sainz.

Lando sees it from across the paddock — her tiny hands waving the ring in the air, curly hair bouncing as she runs toward her parents.

“Mamá, mamá! Look what Theo gave me! We’re getting married!”

Lando chokes on his water.

Carlos turns like he’s just been told Ferrari’s making him team principal — slow, stiff, and with a face already halfway between confusion and cardiac arrest.

Lando sets his bottle down and folds his arms, biting back the smug grin crawling onto his face. His wife leans in slightly beside him.

“Is that… the fake ring from my nightstand?”

“Yup,” he says proudly. “That’s the one. He nicked it this morning while I was brushing his hair. Slipped it in his pocket like a pro.”

Carlos is spiraling now — trying to make sense of the toddler-sized proposal, pointing at the ring, mumbling to Y/N, and glancing around like someone’s about to jump out and tell him it’s all a prank.

It is not a prank. It is, in fact, the best thing Lando’s ever witnessed.

“God, I hope there’s a photographer around,” Lando murmurs, already pulling his phone out just in case.

From a few feet away, Isabella’s still twirling, flashing the plastic ring on her tiny finger like she just left a Tiffany’s. And Theo? Theo is standing there with his hands on his hips, chest puffed out, beaming like he just sealed a contract with Mercedes.

Lando’s heart practically melts.

“That’s my boy,” he whispers. “Look at him. Cool. Confident. Committed. Kid’s three and already got a future wife lined up.”

His wife’s trying not to laugh. “Carlos looks like he’s going to pass out.”

“He’ll survive,” Lando grins. “Barely.”

He strolls over casually, just in time to hear Isabella say it again — louder this time, to Carlos’s face.

“Look, Papa! Theo gave me this ring! I’m his girlfriend now!”

Carlos’s expression is priceless. A mix of horror and denial with a generous splash of dramatic suffering. The man looks like he’s been hit with a rogue tire.

Lando can’t help himself.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve got a wedding in the works,” he says, all innocent-like, arms folded as he takes in the chaos.

Carlos whips his head toward him, eyes wide. “A wedding? Lando, are you kidding me?”

He shrugs. “She said yes. What am I supposed to do — stop true love? I raised a respectful, romantic king.”

“You raised a menace,” Carlos snaps.

“Tomato, tomahto.”

He steps closer to Theo and ruffles his curls. “Proud of you, bud. You picked an amazing girl. Smart choice.”

Carlos looks ready to throw him into the McLaren hospitality fridge. “She’s three, Lando!”

“So is he. They’re perfectly matched.”

Carlos lets out a slow, dramatic breath through his nose. “This is your fault.”

Lando raises a brow. “Oh? And how’s that?”

“You bring him to the paddock. You let him run wild. You’re letting him propose to my daughter!”

Lando turns to Theo. “Did you ask her nicely, mate?”

Theo nods. “I said ‘you’re the prettiest girl ever, wanna be my wife?’”

Lando puts a hand on his heart. “Iconic.”

Carlos is spiraling again. “She’s calling him her boyfriend now! You’re not taking this seriously!”

“Oh, I’m taking it very seriously,” Lando says, all mock-gravitas. “I’m already picturing the guest list. Zak can officiate. Max can drive them to the reception in the RB20.”

Carlos groans.

Lando grins wider. “And obviously, Isabella will walk down the paddock with a bouquet made of tire warmers.”

“You think this is funny?” Carlos mutters, eyes closed in defeat.

“I think it’s beautiful. Childhood sweethearts. Paddock royalty. You should be honored, mate. They’re going to have fast kids.”

Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need a drink.”

Lando claps a hand on his shoulder, smirking. “Make it a double. It’s going to be a long engagement.”

He glances back at Theo and Isabella — now holding hands again, giggling like they’ve just conquered the world. And yeah, sure, it’s probably not legally binding or whatever, but Lando doesn’t care.

Because in this moment? He’s never been prouder.

His son is in love, Carlos is unraveling, and the paddock has never been more entertaining.

Best race weekend ever.

⸻

End.

[evilminji]

You know what Damian deserves?

A Grand Chunibyo Epic Drama Romance of his very own. Something to REALLY make his parents wince and take a good, long look in the mirror. Because... YEP. Yep that's definitely Their Son all right.

They suddenly feel like they should apologize to several long suffering individuals.

Just?

Damian needs to meet a Fellow Dramatic, Too Serious, Feral Gremlin, "I AM The Heir Apparent! My Blood Is Mighty And My Heritage Noble!" Little NERD? Someone who matchs him, beat for beat, with all the flamboyant Stabby Drama and rooftop dramatic chase scenes of his parents but now?

With Ghost Powers!

Because she is a PRINCESS. In search of someone Worthy(tm) of her Hand(tm). Not because her DAD told her too, obviously, no no. She overheard some of the Ancients talking about how that's how THEY got married. And knows that princesses usually get spouses chosen for them. So SHES gonna chose!

Perfect plan.

And who BETTER? Then the Blood Son of... THE BAT*dramatic musical sting*! Prove yourself, Robin! *lunges with a blade!*

Obviously, love at first dramaticly back-lit monologs followed by sword fight and dramatic escape. She's a formidable opponent.

But? Who IS she? This dramatic Chunibyo WEEB of a child? She! Is Danny's SECOND Clone Daughter. It was discovered? The only way to truely, PERMANENTLY, stabilize Dani? Was to get cells from a stable Clone.

Meaning one that WASNT rapidly aged.

Danny was... conflicted. He was against creating a kid JUST for giving medical aid to his other kid. But? He WASN'T so against the idea of having a kid? Like... a baby. Doing Dad Stuff. Cause... cause he wasn't 14 anymore. He's just graduated college. Has a stable job.

Dani suggested they go for it. But only if they were sure it wouldn't hurt the kiddo.

And it didnt!

She was and is PERFECT. The light of their lives. A delightfully ghost raised little Stabby Feral Honey Badger Gremlin of a young lady! But she's ALSO? Missing! And Danny, king of the Infinte Realms, is Losing His SHIT.

WHERE IS HIS BABY!?

Dramaticly martial arts fighting in the rain, DUH dad! She has to defeat the boy she likes, drop a symbolic gift at his feet, then leave with a cryptic but Cool And Meaningful Statement! You wouldn't GET IT, you're so OLD!

Dick blames Bruce for this. You see this? Do you Bruce? This is YOUR genetics at play! You added AL GHUL DRAMA to your nonsense and now he's discovered dating!! Look at him! He's pining! Dramaticly training in early hours! He's gotten JON involved!

Just? Let JLA Dark have FUN for once. Let them see THE princess of basicly EVERYTHING... harrasing Batman... by trying to date his obviously willing son... and just go "Read at 12:37" sorry Bruce! Looks like they're out of the office! Doing.... uuuuh.... MAGIC STUFF *sounds of popcorn being popped* YEP! Maaaagic! He he he >:D

@lolottes @ailithnight @nerdpoe @hdgnj @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[novaursa]

Hello Nova! I'd love to read an explicit, romance + smut + drama, Sandor x reader where the reader is Jon's twin sister, and it's a forced/arranged marriage trope.

I think the plot where it's as a punishment by Joffrey, but that's kinda cliché, so how about:

Reader had been married before to some Northerner lord, but he died or had it annulled, and while discussing Sansa and Joffrey's marriage with Cat, Cersei comes up with the idea to marry her off to the Hound, so she could "breed" the next gen of the kingsguard, promising if she had girls they'd have a place in court or be married to worthy suitors.

Cat obviously wants her away, and Robert or Cat can convince Ned it's a good idea since nobody else wants to marry reader.

Idk if it's too crazy, but I can't wait to read it. I am obsessed with your writing. Keep up the good work! ♡

A Dog's Honor

Requests are closed

- Summary: You never belonged anywhere. Not in the North, not with your family. But you might belong with him.

- Pairing: snow!reader/Sandor Clegane

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: This ones is fresh from the oven. I hope I've managed to write everything you had in mind. ☺️

The godswood had not changed in all the years since your childhood, nor had the bitter chill in its air dulled with age or memory. The red leaves of the heart tree still whispered above the quiet pool, still bled their sap in the likeness of weeping. You sat beneath it now, wrapped in a cloak of grey and white, your breath fogging in the cold as you tried to lose yourself in the old gods and your own thoughts. But they would not leave you be. Not when the castle was teeming with southern strangers, golden lions and oiled courtiers who eyed you with a mixture of polite disdain and open curiosity. You, a Snow, a widow with no remnant of a title save what had briefly been granted through your dead husband’s name, and a Stark only in blood and shadow.

Voices carried from the great hall beyond the trees. Loud, boisterous—Robert’s laugh, like the roar of a bear. Then Cersei’s cutting tone, low and biting. You flinched before you even heard your name.

“…And what would you have us do with her, Lady Catelyn? Leave her to become a silent sister? Or let her wither away here, haunting these halls like some northern ghost?”

You heard your step-mother’s voice, quiet and clipped, trying to hold firm against the lioness’s derision. “She is still mourning. Y/N’s husband died only last year.”

“Yes, and no new offers have come since, have they?” Cersei drawled, amusement coiling in her words like a snake. “Pretty enough, in a cold sort of way, but too Stark to tempt a southern lord. Too quiet. Too solemn. And now too old to dangle in front of a noble boy with his cock still wet.”

“Cersei,” Eddard said, warning thick in his tone, “That is enough.”

But the queen only smiled. You knew it without seeing. That smile was a blade sheathed in velvet.

“I have a proposal, if your northern honor allows some sense,” she said. “Let the girl be wed again. To one who will not care for her sharp tongue or her wintry silences. One who will breed loyalty, if not beauty.”

You felt it then—the pause. The cold hush of something heavy falling into place.

“To Sandor,” Cersei said at last. “My son’s dog. He is no knight, but he serves better than most who wear the title. And we’ve always spoken of what should come after. The next generation of the Kingsguard must be stronger than the last, especially if they are to serve Joffrey when he is king. A Snow and a Clegane—harsh stock, but strong. She would breed warriors. Sons for the sword, daughters for the court. Perhaps one might even wed a knight or a minor lord. It is more than she has now.”

Your blood had frozen. You rose from the godswood without a sound, the trees no longer speaking to you.

Inside, the hearth roared as if in mockery of the cold that had taken root in your chest. You stepped through the doorway as your father turned sharply, his face white with fury.

“She is not some broodmare to be bartered for steel,” Eddard snapped.

“No,” Cersei agreed sweetly, turning to you now. “She is a widow with no prospects. Unless you have a better suggestion, Lord Stark?”

Robert, red-cheeked from wine and the hunt, waved a hand. “It makes sense, Ned. She’s not likely to find better, and Sandor has served Joff well. Let him have something of his own at last. She’s your daughter by blood, not your name. And she’s of age. Let them be married before we leave for King’s Landing.”

You stood at the edge of the hall, every eye on you. Your breath shallow, your mouth dry. Sandor Clegane was there too, leaning against a stone pillar in the shadow of the firelight. His expression unreadable, though his eyes burned like coals beneath his brow.

“You’d marry me off to a dog?” you asked, voice low but steady.

Cersei tilted her head. “Better a dog than no master at all.”

“Enough,” Eddard said, rising now, voice as hard as ice. “You will not speak of her that way again, Cersei. She is of my blood.”

“She is of no house,” Cersei replied. “You know it. That is why it fits.”

You turned your eyes to your father, your true father, who had always loved you as his own. Eddard’s mouth was pressed into a grim line, his jaw tight.

“Y/N,” he said at last, soft and solemn, “It may not be what you wanted. But I would not see you waste away here. And Robert… is not wrong. There may not be another offer. Not one that protects you.”

You did not speak again until long after the feast, after the queen had smirked her way through supper, after Robert had poured more wine into his beard than his cup, after Sansa had clung to the idea of marrying her prince like a child with a doll. You found yourself in the stables, your fingers stroking the mane of your mare, trying to ignore the ache behind your eyes.

“You’re too proud for this place,” came a gruff voice at your back.

You turned. Sandor stood in the doorway, face half-shadowed, half-burned. His eyes flicked over you, not with lust or cruelty, but with something bordering on pity.

“I don’t need pity,” you said quietly.

“I didn’t offer it,” he replied. “Just telling you what I see.”

You studied him. He was not handsome, not gentle, not kind. But he had never lied to you, not once. Never dressed his words in honey.

“You don’t want this,” you said.

He gave a grunt of laughter. “What man wouldn’t want a Stark girl in his bed, hm? Pretty enough. Strong hips. But I’m not fool enough to think you want it either.”

“I don’t,” you whispered. “But I won’t be caged here like a relic.”

He stepped closer. The scent of leather, of horse and steel and smoke clung to him like a second skin. He loomed, tall and scarred and brutal, but not cruel.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, voice low. “Not unless you ask for it. And I won’t chase you in your bed. Not until you tell me to.”

You stared up at him, and something inside you shifted. Not surrender, but a kind of grim acceptance.

“I’ll never love you,” you said.

“Good,” Sandor muttered. “Love’s for fools and bards.”

And when he turned and left, leaving you alone in the silence of the stables, you realized you didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

The wedding had been cold in all but weather. The gods had not smiled, though the sun had shone brightly over Winterfell’s courtyard where Cersei Lannister presided like a vulture draped in silk, offering venomous smiles and mocking toasts. You had worn silver and grey, a gown stitched with direwolves and lined with pale fur, but it might as well have been a shroud. The words were said quickly, without warmth or joy—your father’s voice strained, your hand stiff in Sandor’s gloved grip. When the maester had called for a kiss to seal the vows, Sandor only dipped his head and let the edge of his mouth brush your temple. He had not touched your lips, not claimed you with the hunger you half-expected. Just a brush, a breath, and a step away.

Catelyn had watched it all with a tight, triumphant smile, as though your removal from her household had been a long-awaited purge. She had hugged Sansa too tightly afterward, whispering too loudly that "your sister will be fine, she was never meant for the North." You had seen the way her eyes avoided yours during the feast, heard the way her voice grew more cheerful the further you were from her sight. And Jon—gods, your twin had looked ready to throw his goblet at the queen when the toasts began, red-faced and shaking, but he had no power to stop it. No title. No name. Just a bastard like you once were, before widowhood had offered you a different kind of prison.

The bedding had been skipped, at your insistence, and for once even the queen had relented. "Let her scurry off with her beast in peace," Cersei had murmured with false kindness. "We’ve had our amusement for one day."

Now, inside the old bedchamber the servants had hurried to prepare, you stood with your back to the heavy door. Sandor had not lit the hearth yet, but the faint light from a cluster of candles painted your silhouette across the stone wall. You could still smell wine and pine needles from the feast, the ghosts of winter mingling in your lungs as you breathed slowly, deliberately.

He stood near the window, half in shadow, unfastening the black surcoat that had been brushed clean for the wedding. You watched his scarred face from the side, the way the firelight licked the ruined skin, how his eyes were darker than you'd remembered, full of watchfulness instead of hunger.

"You don’t have to be afraid," Sandor said finally, voice rough like gravel, but quieter now. Almost hesitant.

“I’m not,” you replied, turning to face him.

His eyes flicked to you, then away. “I told you before. I won’t force you. You’re not some whore the Lannisters threw at me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your hands moved to your waist, untying the laces of your gown with stiff fingers. The fabric sighed as it slipped from your shoulders, pooling around your feet like mist. Beneath it, your chemise clung to your skin, thin and silken, more southern than northern in its cut. You saw the way his gaze shifted—his jaw clenched, his fingers flexed—but he didn’t move toward you.

“I know you won’t force me,” you said softly. “That’s why I’m not afraid.”

You stepped out of the dress fully, baring yourself to the cold and to him. Your hair hung loose down your back, the ends brushing your hips. You shivered, but not from fear.

“Let’s just get it over with,” you said, lifting your chin. “Isn’t that what’s expected?”

He made a sound in his throat, not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. He crossed the room slowly, each step heavy, until he stood before you. Not touching. Just looking. You wondered if he would be cruel, if the roughness in his voice would translate to violence in his hands—but instead, he touched your wrist, just a brush of callused fingers. Then your collarbone. Then the slope of your jaw.

“You think I want to hurt you?” he asked, not quite a question.

“I think you know how,” you replied, staring up at him.

He barked a laugh at that—harsh, humorless. “Aye. I know how. But I won’t.”

His hands were large, the palms broad and scarred, but when they cupped your waist, they were gentle. Almost reverent. You let yourself lean into him, closing your eyes as he lowered his mouth to yours. His kiss wasn’t practiced, not soft or sweet like a bard’s tale. But it was real. Earnest. Solid. You clung to him with surprising desperation, your breath caught in your chest.

He undressed slowly, letting you see every inch of him—the fire-scarred skin on his shoulder, the crisscross of old wounds, the strength in his arms and chest. When he took you to bed, it wasn’t hurried or brutal. He laid you down carefully, the mattress creaking beneath your bodies. The cold didn’t seem to reach you anymore.

There was pain at first, yes. But he murmured something against your ear—low and gruff, but soothing. One of his hands tangled in your hair, the other braced beside your head, never pinning you, never pressing too hard. And when he moved inside you, slow and careful, it was more considerate than you had ever imagined him capable of. You bit your lip, breath hitching, but you didn’t cry out. You didn’t need to. He read the tension in your limbs, the way your fingers gripped his back, and adjusted to you without a word.

After, you lay half-covered by the furs, staring at the timbered ceiling, heart still beating too fast. He rested beside you, eyes half-closed, one arm slung across your waist.

“You were gentler than I thought you’d be,” you murmured.

He snorted, but there was no scorn in it. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

You turned to face him. “Why’d you agree to it? The marriage.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Because they would’ve married me off to some court lady otherwise. Or given you to some fat old fool with gout. I figured if we had to be used, might as well be by each other.”

You blinked, stunned by the rough honesty. Then he shifted closer, his heat wrapping around you.

“I’ll keep you safe, girl,” he said against your hair. “You and any babes that come from this. No one will touch you, not while I live.”

You believed him. And for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to exhale.

[madamabelladonna]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐀𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝: House Dayne of Starfall, bearing the sigil of a white falling star and a sword on a field of lavender. Though sparse in men and coin, House Dayne is renowned as one of the oldest in Westeros. Sworn to House Martell, under the decree of their liege lord, Lord Julius Dayne dispatched the Sword of the Morning, his second son, Ser Merek Dayne, along with his only daughter, to King’s Landing as emissaries of Dorne. Little did they know, the twinkle of a star could ignite the passions of men, dragons, and wolves alike. 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Romance, Angst, Love Triangle, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Drama, Coming-of-Age, Explicit Content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Violence, Gore, War, Reader eating cheerios with Luke and Helaena while Jace, Cregan, and Aemond duke it out 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞 Young Lady Dayne never truly grasped what it meant to be a high-born lady; her mother and father had sheltered her from the vipers lurking in the shadows. Yet, as fate would have it, their protection could only shield her for so long before she was cast into a den brimming with treachery. Green or Black? The choice is hers, but she finds herself drawn to the hue of violet…

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 Young Lady Dayne, finds herself adjusting to her new life at the capital. A gift from Starfall, a steed with a mane like freshly fallen snow. As she immerses herself in the pages of her books, a small figure unexpectedly scampers into her chamber—a boy lost in the game of hide and seek. She finds herself teaching the boy how to read. Only to be seated in the company of Princess Rhaenyra and her small family, sharing a quiet tea.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐀𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫 Young Lady Dayne, awaiting Jacaerys' lesson's end, enjoys tea with Princess Rhaenyra, who grants her access to the Royal Library due to her rare gifts. As she reads beneath the heart tree, a prince in green watches her, sparking jealousy within the eldest son of Rhaenyra. With Jacaerys' eighth name day nearing, their growing relationship seems to be all the court can talk about.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕: 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐡𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 Young Lady Dayne captivated the feast held by King Viserys in honor of his grandson, her presence and dance stirring much interest among the court. The murmurs of a possible union between the Seven Kingdoms and The Principality of Dorne swirled in the air, though beneath the revelry, rumors threatened to unravel such hopes.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕: 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧 𝐈𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 Young Lady Dayne knew survival in the Red Keep required more than caution—it demanded influence. After keeping her distance from Jacaerys, she finally accepted his apology, truly forgiving him. But as he left, she realized it might be long before she saw him again. In his place, a prince in green awaited.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐈: 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦 Young Lady Dayne watched the Red Keep, no longer as crimson as it once had been, now draped in the creeping embrace of ivy and moss. It looked more like an overgrown garden than a fortress of kings. Only Aemond, with his hard gaze and sharper tongue, stirred no sympathy. But Helaena—sweet Helaena—her heart ached for the gentle princess. Such a delicate flower, doomed to marry the vile Aegon. How cruel the gods could be.

[More in pending...]

This is my first post so I hope you like it, personally, House Dayne is my favorite and I hope it gets more recognition in the next book.

Taglist: (If you want to be added, please click here)

@yohanseyebrowmole @radiantdanvers @accidentpronedork @marvel-mistress-padawan @tabathastan @deltamoon666 @hotdhoe @cosmosnkaz @dragonamongwolves @r-3dlips @ghizlana @boiolay @gardenfaeries @ilymoonie @mellylla @omgsuperstarg @idohknow @beskardroids @buckystevelove @plainxlazy @gwaynehightower @beebeechaos @milksde @saintkittykat @cornbreadwithcheese @pinkb00bsocks @agoldenwoe @moonliightbabes @day2dream @geminizmoonz

[michelleleewise]

Fire and Ash...

A Long Live The King Tale

Pairing: King Jotun Loki × Asgardian female reader

Warnings: there shall be angst here, not so much this time though, self doubt, accusations, political drama, self esteem issues, breastfeeding. I think that's it, if I missed anything let me know.

Summary: you hoped the birth of your son would bring you and Loki closer together, but as he continues to pull away you know he's hiding something from you.

A/n- I'm a bit rusty with all of this, be gentle 😁💚

Part one ~ Part two-

You rolled to your side gripping your stomach, your eyes shooting open as your incision throbbed. "Norns!" You whisper yelled hearing someone coming towards you. "My lady, do you need something for the pain?" You heard, looking up seeing Norendra standing over you, concern lacing her face "y...yes, please, this is....unbearable." You gritted trying to breath through the pain. "I'll be right back my lady." She said with a soft smile before hurrying off.

As she left a soft coo sounded from the corner of the room, turning your head you saw Loki, dressed every bit the king he was, in his long flowing forest green cape, and his perfectly fitted tunic and leather pants sitting straight up "does he ever relax?" You whispered as your eyes traveled up seeing his head slumped forward, when a small green bundle held firmly in his arms moved catching your attention making you look down into his lap. "Vali." You whispered, smiling see his full head of black hair, his bright azure skin glowing under the soft candle light.

"Alright my lady, I have something for the pain." You heard, unable to pull your eyes away from Loki and your son "how long has he been here?" You asked feeling a tear escape your eye traveling to your hair "the king has been here since you slept my lady." She said making your head snap to look at her "he hasn't left?" You asked scrunching your eyebrows together "no my lady, not once." She said uncorking a small glass vial "now drink this, it will help." Noreandra said holding the bottle out to you "thank the norns, you are an angel." You said grabbing it, downing it all on one gulp. "Good, now rest you will need your strength." She said taking the bottle from you. "Thank you norendra." You said looking back to the two most important people in your life "it is my pleasure my lady." You heard her say as your eye lids began to droop, feeling sleep begin to take you "I love you....both of you." You sighed as your eyes closed, sleep taking you away.

One month later-

You rolled to your back, the soft cries from the other side of the room pulling you from your sleep "loki...would you..." you trailed off reaching your hand out to find the bed empty, the sheets cold telling you he had been gone for quite some time. "Loki." You called out slowly sitting up as the cries became louder. "Alright little one, I'm awake." You sighed rubbing your eyes you pulled the furs back swinging your legs over the side. Standing up you shuffled across the room peeking into the crib "vali dear what's wrong?" You cooed rubbing his belly when his small crimson eyes opened looking up at you full of tears. "Come here sweet boy." You cooed gently picking him up you cradled him in your arms rocking him back and forth.

Is someone hungry?" You asked hearing him whimper "ok, let mommy get settled." You said taking a seat in the chair by the fire when you heard a knock on the door "come in." You called out when Alrik came in holding a tray "I have brought you breakfast my queen." He said setting the tray on the bed "is everything alright?" He asked looking you over "yes, he's just hungry...would you hand me that?" You asked pointing to a small green blanket on the bed. He walked over picking it up holding it out to you "I can go if you wish." He said as you draped the blanket over your shoulder "no...please stay." You said looking up at him seeing him smile "very well." He said taking a seat on the bed.

The two of you sat in silence as you helped vali get settled "where is he?" You asked plainly, looking up seeing Alrik looking everywhere but you "he is with king Thor in the throne room my queen." He said making you sigh "well, atleast he's here I suppose." You said when Alrik's head snapped to you "he hasn't spoken to you has he?" He asked fidgeting with his tunic "about what Alrik?" You asked furrowing your eyebrows "it's not my place to say my queen, you must ask him." He said looking down. "Well when will he be done with thor?" You asked seeing him squirm "they have had a bit to drink, the king is rather full at the moment so I am unsure." He said looking up at you "unacceptable." You said standing up, pulling little Vali from under the blanket "here, burp him and I shall return in a moment." You said gently handing your son to Alrik "i....I am unsure..." He said hesitantly cradling your sons head in his large hand

"It's easy, here I'll show you." You smiled positioning Vali on his chest, his head resting on his shoulder "now gently pat his back, ill be right back." You said as Alrik nodded. You walked to the wardrobe seeing every shade of green imaginable, smiling at the memory "a queen must wear her kings colors my love." He had said winking before pulling you into a deep kiss. "That feels like an eternity ago." You sighed, running your fingers across the silk and lace, remembering how things were when you first returned to jotunhiem after the battle with odin. "Why have things changed Loki?" You whispered feeling resentment begin to fill you "well If you can disregard me, I can do the same." You said pushing aside all the green seeing a deep purple velvet dress with fur accents you had had made shortly after your return "perfect." You said smiling, slipping it over your head you looked in the mirror seeing it still fit perfectly, your eyes traveling to your hair seeing it a mess "well that won't do." You said grabbing Loki's brush off the vanity you did your best to make yourself look presentable.

"Well, that's as good as it's going to get I think." You said tossing the brush down walking out seeing Vali asleep on Alrik's shoulder "well, how do I look?" You asked holding your arms out "stunning as always my queen." He said smiling "flattery will get you everywhere." You said hearing him laugh. "I'm off to bring the king back, by whatever means necessary." You said putting your fur slippers on Alrik had made you "a...are you sure? It may be unwise to..." He trailed off as you glared at him "yes my queen, I shall stay here with the little one." He said settling back "thank you Alrik, wish me luck." You said walking to the door "he is the one who needs the luck." You heard him say as you walked out gently closing the door behind you "a force indeed." He said gently rocking Vali hearing him coo "I believe your daddy may not survive this night." He said hearing a soft giggle come from the sleeping babe.

You stormed towards the throne room, anger building in you with every step you took. "If he does not want me here, he is going to tell me." You said to yourself coming up to the huge wooden double doors when two guards stopped you "I'm sorry my lady, but the king is entertaining king Thor at the moment." They said standing in front of you "You will let me in, that is not a request." You said standing firm. "We have orders not to let anyone in my lady." The other one said as you looked between them. "As your queen, I demand you move." You said as the other leaned down "the king has not married you, and even if he had, you are no queen of ours." He said standing back up as you took a step back "I beg your pardon!" You yelled seeing the other guard jump "You may have given the king an heir, but that does not make you a queen, it makes you a harlot." The other one said as you stood speechless.

"I swear to the norns, if you do not open that door you will see Valhalla tonight!" You yelled stepping forward when the doors flew open "what is going on out here?" You heard, looking down seeing Loki standing behind the guards, his hair disheveled and his tunic loosened at the top "your moronic guards refuse to let me in." You said crossing your arms "what did you need y/n? I am quite busy." Loki said looking you up and down "drinking with thor does not constitute you being busy." You said seeing the guards look at ecahother "come inside, I will not discuss this in front of my men." He said stepping aside. "Yes, wouldn't want them knowing how much of a lush their king is." You snarked feeling his hand grab your elbow "y/n. Inside." He said pulling you in slamming the doors behind him. "What is the meaning of this?" He asked turning back to you.

"Well, your son woke me up, and to my surprise my....I don't even know what we are....was not in bed with me." You said waving your arms. "I am your king." He said matter of factly crossing his arms "but what more then that?!" You yelled pacing back and forth "You have not married me, you avoid me at every opportunity, you clearly aren't sleeping in bed with me, and you haven't touched me in months!" You yelled as Loki grabbed your shoulder "y/n. Keep it down, others do not..." He started when you pushed him off "do not what? Need to hear that I am merely a bed warmer? A nanny for your heir?" You asked feeling tears well in your eyes "no! Of course not, I love you." Loki said taking a step towards you. "Then why are you avoiding me Loki, what is happening to us?" You said feeling a tear slide down your cheek.

"Have you found another who is more suitable?" You asked as Loki grabbed your shoulders again "that is preposterous, no one can compare to you my queen." He said looking into your eyes, the bright rubies as beautiful as the first day you saw them "then what is going on?" You asked hearing him sigh. "I am sorry I have not been as attentive as I should be as of late, there is something I need to discuss with you which in honesty I've been avoiding." He said sliding his hands down your arms.

"Discuss what with me Loki? Talk to me please!" You pleaded watching him look to the ground. "Y/n, i..." Loki started looking into your eyes when a large bang sounded from further in the room "brother! Are we not celebrating anymore?" A loud booming voice yelled, turning seeing Thor leaned back in a chair, his leg propped on the table in front of him. "Not now thor!" Loki yelled as you turned back to him. "Celebrating what?" You asked as he shifted back and forth. "I do not wish to discuss it now y/n, we will speak later when I return to our chamber." Loki said walking to the door "Loki, if you do not wish me here I will leave." You said crossing your arms as his head snapped back to you "I have never said I don't want you here love." He said, his eyes softening as you walked towards the door.

"My king, I will not continue this charade...your men do not repsrect me, you do not seem to desire me anymore, and you spend more time with Thor then you do me." You sighed grabbing the handle of the door "y/n, my love let me explain." He said as you put your hand up "I will be expecting you in our chambers within the hour, and you will tell me what you aren't." You said opened the door "You must decide what it is you truly want Loki, and if it isn't I and your son then let me go." You said feeling tears building In your eyes "y/n, please..." He said taking a step towards you "we will talk withing the hour Loki." You said gently placing your hand on his chest, your finger tips feeling his heart racing "go deal with thor, ill be expecting you." You said quickly turning and walking out of the throne room.

You headed towards your chambers ringing your hands together "what if he doesn't choose us..." You said to yourself looking down the hall, the walls draped with tapestries of history long past "what if I am not enough for him?" You said making it to the door of your chambers "what shall we do vali?" You whispered closing your eyes you opened the door, walking inside you crossed the room, slowly peeking into the bed chamber seeing Alrik asleep holding vali tightly in his hands, soft snores coming from both of them. Smiling you quietly closed the door, sighing as you walked towards the fire, sitting on the chaise you once called your bed you looked into the fire dreading the conversation that you were about to have. "Better to know now I suppose." You said sitting back waiting for what was to come.....

@loz-3 @mochie85 @vbecker10 @jaidenhawke @crimson25 @mjsthrillernp @realmamabear79 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @libby-bibby @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @aniar4wniak @vileepponine @thegodofnotknowing @gruftiela @irishhappiness @prettymandy @emarich7 @buttercupcookies-blog @janineb86 @kittenhawkk @lovingchoices14 @dangerousblizzarddreamer @kathren1sky-blog @wolfsmom1 @kikster606 @francescaanoya @godofstoriesandtime-rp @sinsandguilt

[btsfests]

Daddy's Home Fest

There's no better time than when daddy is home.

DILF BTS is coming to a Tumblr near you Spring 2024!

♡ Title: Before, Now and After

♡ Pairing: Alpha Gang Boss!Yoongi x Omega Maid!Seokjin

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: gang au, dead dove, parent au, a/b/o | angst, fluff, smut

♡ Summary: As the leader of the infamous Bangtan, Yoongi is untouchable and lives life as he pleases. He thinks he has it all until the tall and broad shoulder omegan maid, Kim Seokjin walks into his office and makes Yoongi second guess what he wants in life.

by @sweetestofchaos

Daddy Yoongi and Daddy Seokjin came home June 2. Read Here

♡ Title: Daddy, Daughter, and Dewey Decimals

♡ Pairing: Single Dad!Namjoon x (f)reader

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: Parent AU, Fluff, Smut, Mutual Pining

♡ Summary: I adored the daddy and daughter duo that came to visit me every week at the library. Sunhee was cute and vivacious and her dad was every single woman's dream. A simple request, one late night, and a slip of the tongue revealing it wasn't just one-sided attraction.

by @remedyx

♡ Title: Dirty Laundry

♡ Pairing: Seokjin x f. reader

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: Slice of life, established married couple, PWP

♡ Summary: When you come across your daughter and Seokjin having a princess-themed tea party, you can't help but fall in love with your husband a little more. It helps that you find him absolutely ravishing in the little pink dress he wears too.

by @sailoryooons

♡ Title: Love Blooms

♡ Pairing: Jin x Hoseok

♡ Rating: MA

♡ Genre: Divorced, single father AU | angst, fluff, smut

♡ Summary: Summary: Divorced and lost, Jin grapples with self-discovery and single fatherhood. Then, sunshine arrives in the form of Hoseok, helping him explore his desires and build a found family. Their love faces challenges - ex-wife drama, societal disapproval - but together they prove love and acceptance can bloom even in unexpected gardens

by @downbad4yoongi

Daddy Hoseok and Daddy Seokjin came home April 26. Read here!

♡ Title: Lose You to Love Me

♡ Pairing: Yoongi x f! Reader

♡ Rating: 🔞

♡ Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

♡ Summary: Yoongi thought he had everything. The woman of his dreams whom he gave everything for. The sweetest Princess who became his whole world the minute she was born and a career he can say he's happy in but what happens when it all comes crumbling down when one small secret blows his marriage open?

by @jmvore

♡ Title: Off Limits

♡ Pairing: Female Reader x Seokjin

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: smut, porn with very little plot

♡ Summary: You are visiting your family over spring break and discover that the family you used to babysit for are separated. Does this mean Mister Kim is no longer off limits?

by @theharrowing

♡ Title: podcast

♡ Pairing: single father!Namjoon x f! reader

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: single father AU | fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

♡ Summary: You and Namjoon keep bumping into each other at multiple instances, as if destined to. In a world where past loves and current responsibilities intertwine, Namjoon navigates the complexities of single fatherhood, cherishing the moments with his daughter, Nari, while reflecting on lost love through his popular podcast, "A Loveless Lover." A chance encounter at a daycare center brings him face to face with you, sparking a connection rooted in compassion and shared moments of vulnerability. As their worlds collide, the possibility of new beginnings looms, challenging Namjoon and you to confront the past and consider the future with newfound hope.

by @hobipaint

♡ Title: sakura 🌸

♡ Pairing: king!yoongi x (f) reader

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: mature, fluff, angst, pining

♡ Summary: yoongi could never figure out how could a sakura tree bloom right on his son’s seventh birthday. logically, atleast, for his kingdom’s soil wasn't blessed enough for beautiful flora; however, when his inspection rounds reveal a trip totally unexpected, and in a crescendo of buried memories, his love for the tree gets as bright as the petals of the blossom.

by @liveyun

♡ Title: Shatter With Me

♡ Pairing: Model!Jungkook x Surrogate!f.Reader

♡ Rating: MA 18+

♡ Genre: Best Friend's Husband, Surrogacy AU | heavy angst, smut, mild fluff

♡ Summary: Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure.

by @colormepurplex2

Daddy Jungkook came home April 24. Read here!

♡ Title: Since Day One

♡ Pairing: teacher!jimin x teacher! f. reader

♡ rating: 18+

♡ Genre: enemies to lovers, coworker au, single father au

♡ Summary: Being a Pre-K teacher is no easy feat, but Jimin is always up for the challenge. However, on his first day on the job, he makes an enemy in the parking lot before he even sets foot inside the building. Looks like this school year won’t be all sunshine and rainbows after all.

by @jjungkookislife

Daddy Jimin came home April 6. Read here!

♡ Title: baby fangs

♡ Pairing: Jimin x Jungkook

♡ Rating: Explicit/18+

♡ Genre: Urban fantasy, vampires, strangers to lovers, angst, smut

♡ Summary: As a human, Jungkook thought life was meaningless. It isn’t until he dies that he finds something worth living for: the family he never had.

by @gimmethatagustd

[xoxorory]

More than Jealousy !

Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader Fanfic(Daughter of Aphrodite)

Genre: Humor | Fluff | add +18 jokes from Percy

Universe: Percy Jackson & The Olympians

Word Count: 2K~

Established relationship!

Warnings: none

A/N: HI!! I finally posted something lol,tomorrow I will check it and make it aesthethic. I wrote it on my phone okay? Be patient 💔

I. Percy Jackson is a Drama King™

Percy had many admirable qualities: he was brave, loyal, funny… But he also had the terrible habit of being a dramatic boyfriend.

“I don’t get what she sees in him,” he grumbled, stirring his drink with a plastic straw with an intensity that was downright scary.

Nico di Angelo, sitting across from him with his usual “I’m too tired of life” expression, didn’t even bother to look at him.

“Not this again…”

“Yes, this again,” Percy said, crossing his arms and frowning in your direction and Marcus, the son of Apollo you’d been spending a lot of time with lately.

Nico sighed.

“Marcus isn’t trying to flirt with her.”

“Oh, he’s not? Then why is he laughing so much with her?”

“Because she’s funny.”

“And why is he looking at her like he wants to eat her whole?”

Nico almost spit out his juice.

“Gods, Jackson, calm down. Marcus isn’t in love with your girlfriend.”

“He is. I know it. I can smell it.”

Nico rolled his eyes.

“Please tell me you’re not sitting here sniffing the air like a jealous dog.”

“Nico, you don’t understand. That guy—”

“That guy just wants flirting advice, and if you used two brain cells at once, you’d realize he’s not interested in your girlfriend.”

Percy eyed him suspiciously.

“And how can you be so sure?”

Nico rolled his eyes and stood up from the table.

“When you’re done being an idiot, let me know.”

And with that, he left.

Percy, however, stayed with his brow furrowed.

Because he knew Marcus was up to something.

And Percy Jackson wasn’t going to let it slide without a fight.

⸻

II. Operation “Marking Territory”

Percy wasn’t a strategist like Annabeth, but he had instincts.

And at that moment, his instinct told him he needed to make it clear that you were his girlfriend.

So, when he found you with Marcus in the training arena, he decided to take action.

“Princess!”

You turned just in time for Percy to catch you by the waist and lift you off the ground like you weighed nothing.

“Percy!” you exclaimed with laughter as he spun you in the air.

Marcus blinked.

“Uh… Am I interrupting something?”

Percy slowly set you down and slid a hand to your ass in the process.

“Yes,” he said with an innocent smile.

Marcus made a face of “what the hell,” but didn’t say anything.

You, however, looked at him suspiciously.

“What’s your deal?”

Percy smiled even more.

“Nothing, just properly greeting my girlfriend.”

Marcus grimaced and looked away.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see anything. Catch you later!”

When Marcus walked away, Percy smiled triumphantly.

You looked at him in disbelief.

“Really, Jackson?”

“What?”

“You grabbed my ass just to mark territory.”

“Technically, my territory.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, a dry voice sounded behind you.

“If you’re gonna have sex in the middle of camp, let me know so I can leave.”

Both of you turned to find Nico with his arms crossed and an expression of “I’m way too dead for this.”

“Nico!” you protested, blushing.

Percy just smiled.

“Hey, bro, good you showed up.”

Nico looked at him like he wanted to throw him to the Underworld.

“If you keep acting like a caveman, bro, I’m gonna summon an army of dead people to drag you away from here.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“You’re holding your girlfriend like she’s a trophy.”

“She’s my trophy.”

Nico sighed deeply.

“Gods, give me patience…”

⸻

III. Percy Jackson’s Worst Discovery

Percy kept up with his plan. He’d sit in your lap when Marcus was around, make suggestive comments about how “busy” they’d be after the campfire, and even bit your neck during a training session.

But the straw that broke the camel’s back was when Marcus came up to you on the beach.

“Hey, girly, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Before you could respond, Percy dropped his head in your lap and sighed dramatically.

“He can’t, Marcus. We’re in a very important activity.”

Marcus frowned.

“What activity?”

Percy lifted his head seriously.

“Sex.”

You almost choked him.

“PER-CY!”

Marcus grimaced.

“Dude, I didn’t want that image in my head.”

“Then don’t interrupt our intimate sessions.”

“Gods, that’s disgusting.”

Marcus sighed and crossed his arms.

“Look, I really need to talk to her. It’s about her brother.”

Percy tensed.

“What about her brother?”

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I wanted to ask for advice because… I like him.”

There was a long silence.

Nico, who was nearby, almost choked on his own saliva.

“WHAT?”

You widened your eyes in surprise before bursting out laughing.

“Oh, gods! Was all this because you thought Marcus was after me?”

Percy stayed silent.

“Wait… you like her brother?”

Marcus blushed.

“Yeah.”

Nico looked at them with panic.

“Oh, no.”

Percy looked at Marcus, then at you, then at Nico.

“The sexy brother of my girlfriend?”

“PERCY!”

“The one who’s basically a male version of her?”

Marcus nodded.

“Yeah.”

Percy opened his mouth… then flopped onto his back in the sand.

“For the love of Poseidon, I’m a complete idiot.”

Nico crossed his arms.

“Finally, you say something sensible.”

You leaned over Percy, amused.

“Well, we already knew that.”

Percy shot you a look, but before he could respond, Marcus snapped his fingers.

“So, are you gonna help me or not?”

Percy growled.

“I don’t know if I want you dating her brother.”

“It’s not like you’re gonna say yes right away.”

Nico rubbed his temples.

“I’m gonna need therapy.”

You sighed and smiled at Marcus.

“Fine, I’ll help you. But maybe later, Percy seems like he will drown you in the lake.”

“Oh, I’ll do that anyway,” Percy chimed in.

Marcus rolled his eyes.

“Thanks for the trust, guys.”

Percy sighed as he watched him walk away.

“I still don’t like him.”

Nico looked at him.

“Neither do I.”

You kissed Percy on the cheek.

“You’re an adorable jealous guy.”

Percy looked at you with narrowed eyes.

“Adorable, huh? I’m making you pay for that later.”

“You’re disgusting, please.”

And, by the way Percy looked at you, you knew you’d be very busy later.

I’m not very fanatic of this writing,but I really wanted to post something 😓😓

[kckt88]

Longed For.

Summary:

Aemond and his wife have been blessed in abundance with six sons, and whilst he is thankful that his legacy will endure, the one eyed Prince longs for a daughter-

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, P in V, Pregnant Sex, Child Birth.

AEMOND x O.C NIECE

Word Count: 10390.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @zenka69 @aemondsbabygirl @aphroditesblunt @iamtoriasworld @persephonerinyes

Prince Aemond Targaryen lay back against the pillows in his chambers in the Red Keep, his hand resting gently on the swell of his wife Vaelirra’s stomach.

His long fingers moved tenderly over her round belly, and he felt the unmistakable flutter of life within. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as the babe stirred, a gentle reminder of the seventh child growing inside her.

The firelight danced along the stone walls, casting shadows across the room, but Aemond's gaze remained fixed on Vaelirra, who was resting peacefully by his side.

Vaelirra had already borne him six sons—Aerion, Rhaegar, Vhalarr, Caelan, Baelon, and Daemion—each one healthy, strong, and a source of pride.

His brother Aegon had teased him often, saying that Aemond had more than enough heirs and that having another child was totally unnecessary and he didn’t need to keep sticking it in her.

But Aemond had never cared for Aegon’s jests. He and Vaelirra had agreed early in their marriage that they wanted a large family, as many children as the gods would grant them.

And it seemed the gods had blessed their union abundantly. Thirteen years of marriage had proven that Aemond had no difficulty in siring children upon his fertile wife, and each new pregnancy only deepened his love for her.

As his hand lingered on her stomach, he could not help but think of his own childhood. His father, King Viserys, had never shown much affection for him or his siblings, except for Rhaenyra, the King's favoured daughter.

Aemond had learned to grow without his father’s love or guidance, and he had vowed that none of his children would ever feel that same cold indifference.

He would not repeat his father’s mistakes.

His sons knew him well; they knew his love, his care, and his presence. He read to them, spent time with them, and trained them as soon as they were old enough to wield a sword. They would never be neglected, and never forgotten, as he had once been.

Yet despite the pride he took in his sons, Aemond’s heart now longed for something more—something different.

A daughter. He yearned for a sweet little princess, a child with her mother’s beauty and grace, a daughter he could hold close and protect.

 He could already picture her in his mind—a girl with Vaelirra’s dark curly hair and violet eyes, a delicate creature to balance the boisterous nature of her brothers.

Every day he prayed in the sept, asking the gods to grant him this one wish. After so many sons, he longed to cradle a daughter in his arms, to be the father she deserved.

As Vaelirra stirred beside him, her hand finding his, Aemond bent down to press a kiss to her temple.

“The babe is moving,” he whispered softly, his voice filled with reverence.

Vaelirra smiled, her eyes heavy with sleep but warm with affection. “Eager to meet their father,” she murmured, her hand covering his where it rested on her stomach.

Aemond chuckled lowly, his heart full. "Perhaps this time," he said, his voice laced with hope, "This babe will be a daughter."

Vaelirra gave him a soft smile, her fingers entwining with his. "Whatever the gods will, my love. Boy or girl, they will be ours."

Aemond nodded, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. But still, he silently prayed, his thoughts drifting to the little girl he hoped was on her way

Aemond stood in the training yard of the Red Keep, his hand firm on the hilt of his sword as he sparred with his eldest son, Aerion.

At twelve name days old, Aerion was already a skilled swordsman, his movements precise and measured. His focus was unwavering as he parried each strike his father sent his way, sweat beading on his brow but his determination never faltering.

Aemond's one good eye watched his son closely, pride swelling in his chest. Aerion was a dedicated student, and Aemond could see himself in the boy’s fiery resolve.

To the side, his other sons, Rhaegar and Vhalarr, stood eagerly awaiting their turn.

At only ten and eight respectively, they were both showing remarkable talent for their ages. Rhaegar, with his lithe frame and sharp instincts, was quick on his feet, while Vhalarr wielded his wooden training sword with surprising strength for a boy of his years.

Even little Caelan, only six, refused to be left out. He stood among his older brothers, his small face set with determination as he watched Aerion with wide, eager eyes, clutching his own practice sword.

The boy had a fire in him, a relentless will that Aemond admired. It was a trait shared by his younger brothers, four-year-old Baelon and two-year-old Daemion, who were already starting to follow Caelan’s lead, determined to keep up despite their tender years.

Aemond's laughter rumbled as he playfully deflected one of Aerion’s strikes, causing his eldest to frown with frustration. “Stay focused, Aerion,” he said, his tone firm but encouraging. “Your mind must be as sharp as your sword.”

Aerion nodded, wiping his brow and adjusting his stance. Aemond shifted his weight, moving smoothly across the sand, guiding Aerion through a series of strikes and parries that tested the boy’s growing skill.

From the corner of his eye, Aemond caught sight of Vaelirra standing at the edge of the yard, her hands resting gently on her rounded belly.

Her dark hair, caught by the light, shimmered in the sun, and a soft smile played on her lips as she watched her husband and sons. She looked radiant, a vision of Targaryen beauty, even as she bore the weight of their seventh child.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Aemond’s heart swelled as he looked at her. Initially, their marriage had been his father’s attempt to unite the two sides of their family, to heal the rift between his mother’s children and Rhaenyra’s.

Viserys had grown weary of the infighting, and he had believed that marriage could be the key to mending the wounds that had long festered in House Targaryen.

Aemond had been uncertain at first, and his mother, Alicent, had been openly resistant. Vaelirra’s legitimacy had been questioned—whispers of her father’s identity still lingered in the corridors of the Red Keep—but in the end, none of that had mattered.

She was Rhaenyra’s daughter, a Targaryen by blood and name, and no one could deny her dragon heritage.

As Aemond crossed swords with his son, memories of their early marriage flitted through his mind. His grandsire, Otto Hightower, had once harboured other plans, schemes to place Aegon on the Iron Throne instead of Rhaenyra.

But those plans had been shattered, and Otto had paid for his treason with his head, along with others who had conspired against the crown. Once that rot had been excised, the realm had begun to heal.

House Targaryen had flourished under the rule of Rhaenyra and her line, and even more dragons soared through the skies of Westeros.

Aemond’s own life had flourished as well. His marriage to Vaelirra had blossomed into something far more than a political arrangement.

Thirteen years of marriage had brought them six sons, and soon, a seventh child. Aemond's love for her had grown beyond any expectations, and she had given him the family he had longed for.

He stepped back, calling an end to his sparring with Aerion. “You’ve done well, my son,” he said, clapping the boy on the shoulder. “But we’re not done yet. Rhaegar, Vhalarr, step forward.”

The two boys eagerly took their places, wooden swords at the ready, their faces bright with excitement. Caelan, not wanting to be left behind, took a few steps forward as well, clutching his own smaller blade.

Aemond looked down at his youngest sparring partner with a smile. “Patience, Caelan. Your turn will come.”

The six-year-old huffed in frustration, but Aemond’s smile only widened. He admired Caelan’s determination, his unwillingness to be left out by his older brothers. It was a trait all his sons seemed to share—a fierce, unyielding spirit.

As he watched his sons, Aemond’s gaze drifted back to Vaelirra. She caught his eye and smiled, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. A silent understanding passed between them. Their family was everything. And no matter how many sons or daughters came into their lives, they would raise them with the love and guidance Aemond had once been denied.

“Shall we continue, boys?” Aemond asked, turning back to his sons with renewed vigor. He raised his sword once more, ready to guide them further in their training.

The flickering light of the hearth bathed Vaelirra in a warm glow as she sat beside her eldest son, Aerion, gently braiding his long silver hair. The day’s training had worn him out, but there was a peace in the quiet moments that followed.

The sounds of the other children, now bathed and waiting in their chambers, were distant echoes in the Red Keep as they waited for the call to dinner.

Vaelirra worked with care, her fingers deftly weaving strands of Aerion’s hair into a neat braid, while the boy sat still, his face lost in thought.

“Mother,” Aerion said softly, breaking the comfortable silence, “will I be King one day?”

Vaelirra paused, her fingers stilling in his hair as she considered his question. It wasn’t the first time the topic had come up, but there was a heaviness to his tone now, a weight that hadn’t been there before.

“As our first son, you are the future heir to the Iron Throne,” she began gently, resuming the careful work of braiding, “but if you do not wish to be King, my love, you do not have to be.”

Aerion furrowed his brow, thinking deeply as she spoke. “If I don’t,” he asked quietly, “-then who?”

Vaelirra smiled softly, tying the end of his braid before moving to his other side. “Rhaegar, most likely,” she replied, thinking of their second son, whose sharp wit and keen sense of duty made him a natural choice. “But nothing is set in stone, Aerion. The gods have their own plans for each of us.”

Aerion hesitated, then asked, “Are you scared of becoming Queen?”

Vaelirra let out a small, amused huff. “Of course,” she said with a chuckle, the sound light but laced with truth. “The thought of ruling the Seven Kingdoms terrifies me.” She resumed braiding his hair, her voice growing softer. “But we all have our roles to play. Is that what’s bothering you? Are you scared?”

For a moment, Aerion said nothing, then nodded, his voice quiet. “The septon keeps talking to me about the importance of my duty-my responsibility to the crown. And I realized-” His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “It means that one day, you and father will be gone. I don’t want to think about a time where you aren’t with me.”

Vaelirra’s heart clenched at his words, her hands pausing again. She set aside his braid for a moment and pulled him into a tight hug, as much as her swollen belly allowed. “Oh, my dearest love,” she whispered, stroking his cheek gently. “Your father and I will be here for many, many years to come. Knowing of your duty has always been the way, but those moldy, pious twats need to realize that you’re still a child. Such things can wait.”

Aerion let out a soft laugh at her words, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I am scared,” he admitted, his voice steadier now, “but I will do my duty when the time comes.”

Vaelirra smiled, her heart swelling with pride. “You sound just like your father,” she said with a soft chuckle, her fingers finishing the last braid and tying it off.

At the mention of Aemond, Aerion’s face lit up. “I admire Father,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “I wish to be like him in all the ways I can.”

Vaelirra’s smile softened as she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Just remember to be yourself, too, my sweet boy,” she said gently. “You will be a great man, in your own way.”

Aerion nodded, thoughtful but reassured. He stood, and with a careful embrace, hugged his mother, mindful of her growing belly. His arms wrapped around her as best they could, and he whispered, “Jorrāelagon ao, muña.” (Love you mother).

Vaelirra’s eyes softened as she kissed his cheek in return. “Se Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos,” she whispered back, her heart swelling with love for her firstborn. (And I love you my little dragon)

A soft knock at the door broke the moment, and a maid entered with a quiet bow. “It is time for dinner, my lady,” she said.

Vaelirra nodded, smoothing down Aerion’s hair one last time before offering him a smile. “Come. Let’s join the others for supper.”

With a final glance at his mother, Aerion smiled and followed her out of the room, the weight of his future still present, but lightened by the love and reassurance of the woman who had raised him.

The grand dining hall of the Red Keep buzzed with the lively chatter of House Targaryen.

Vaelirra sat at the head of the long oak table, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as a persistent backache reminded her of her advancing pregnancy. Her hands instinctively moved to her rounded stomach, feeling the gentle movements of the unborn child.

Despite the discomfort, she smiled as she listened to the animated conversations around her.

Her mother, Queen Rhaenyra, was deeply engaged in a conversation with Alicent, their voices weaving through the hum of the meal.

To Vaelirra’s right, Daemon laughed heartily at something Caelan had just said, the young boy perched confidently on his knee.

Nearby, Aegon was busy trying to coax Aemond to drink more wine, his persistence met with Aemond’s reluctant nods.

Helaena sat gracefully, chatting with her daughter Jaehaera, who couldn’t help but smile every time Aerion glanced her way.

Meanwhile, Aerion was preoccupied, attempting to scold Rhaegar for his constant teasing of Vhalarr.

The younger children, Baelon and Daemion, were not present, having their dinner in their chambers and now safely tucked up in bed. Jaehaerys and Maelor giggled from their seats, entertained by their sister Jaehaera’s attempts to capture Aerion’s attention.

Vaelirra ran a gentle hand over her stomach, feeling the life within.

Suddenly, Aegon’s loud voice cut through the conversation. “Is this the last, or will my brother be planting more of his seed?”

Aemond scwoled and elbowed Aegon sharply in the ribs, his expression darkening.

“Aegon,” he replied curtly, trying to maintain his composure.

Caelan, still sitting on Daemon’s knee, chimed in with innocent curiosity. “Is that how babes get in mama's tummy, Daddy puts his seed there?”

Aegon choked on his wine, laughing uncontrollably. Vaelirra couldn’t help but smile at the playful banter. “Mayhaps this conversation is more suited to the privacy of our chambers,” she suggested diplomatically.

Aegon grinned mischievously. “Yeah, isn’t where the planting happens.”

Aemond’s scowl deepened, but Caelan wasn’t done. “Grandpa Daddy has his mad face on,” he declared proudly.

Daemon chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, sometimes your Uncle Aegon says things he shouldn’t.”

But Caelan’s curiosity was insatiable. “But where does the seed come from and how does he put it inside mama?”

Aemond’s patience snapped. “See what you've started now, you drunken cur,” he growled, glaring at Aegon.

Aegon shrugged nonchalantly. “What? The kid has to learn sometime.”

Vaelirra intervened gently. “He is six name days old. He’s still a child.”

Aegon rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, but Aerion is almost thirteen. You remember your thirteenth name day, brother.”

Aemond’s voice turned icy. “You dare take my son to that place, and I will skin you alive.”

Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, I was only joking.”

Queen Rhaenyra swiftly laid a hand down on the table, silencing the room. “Enough of this foolishness, Aegon. Let us enjoy our meal.”

Aegon huffed, taking another swig of wine until Alicent swiftly snatched the jug away. “I think you’ve had enough,” she declared firmly.

Rhaegar leaned forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “Uncle Egg, why are you so silly?”

Aegon grinned. “It’s a gift, kid-”

Vhalarr couldn’t resist adding his own comment. “You make Father angry.”

Aegon shot back with a mock frown. “Everything makes your Father angry.”

Caelan interjected sweetly, “Not, Mama. She makes him smile.”

Aegon smirked. “Yeah, I bet I know how.”

Aemond, unable to contain his frustration any longer, banged his fist sharply on the table and stood up abruptly.

Vaelirra struggled to rise with him, placing a calming hand on his arm as she whispered, "Māzigon valzȳrys, ivestragī īlva jikagon syt se bantis" (Come, husband, let us go for the night).

Aemond took a deep breath, then turned back to the table, placing a hand on Vaelirra’s stomach. "Iksis ziry se rūs?” he asked softly (Is it the babe?)

Vaelirra replied with a weary sigh, "Nyke mazverdagon ēdrugī hen aōha mittys hen iā lēkia" (I grow tired of your fool of a brother).

Aemond nodded resolutely and addressed his sons. “Aerion, Rhaegar, Vhalarr, Caelan—come”

Without hesitation, the boys moved to his side, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. Aemond gave a brief nod to the remaining family members, signaling it was time to leave.

“Goodnight, everyone,” he said firmly before taking Vaelirra’s hand and guiding her, along with their sons, out of the room.

As they walked away, Vhalarr couldn’t resist one last jab, turning and sticking his tongue out at Aegon.

Earning a quiet chuckle from Daemon.

The crackling of the fire in their chambers filled the quiet air as Aemond paced restlessly, his mind still aflame with anger. He muttered under his breath about Aegon, the wine, and the foolhardy things his brother had said in front of their sons.

“A drunken fool,” he growled. “How dare he say such things in front of them.”

Vaelirra, sitting calmly on their bed, watched him with a soft smile. She knew this side of her husband—fiercely protective of their family, his temper easily provoked when it came to his brother.

But she had long since learned how to soothe him. "Aemond," she called gently, drawing his attention. "Come help me undress."

At the sound of her voice, Aemond immediately halted, his anger dissipating in an instant. He crossed the room quickly, taking her hand and helping her to her feet, his gaze softening as he looked at her.

She loosened the laces of her gown, and then turned, presenting her back to him. Aemond’s fingers deftly slipped the fabric from her shoulders, and the soft material fell in a pool at her feet.

With a patient tenderness, he helped her pull her shift over her head, until she stood completely bare before him. She exhaled softly as she felt his arms wrap around her from behind, his strong hands coming to rest on her swollen stomach, lifting the heavy burden of their child. Vaelirra leaned back against him, her head falling to his shoulder as she sighed in pure contentment.

A low, appreciative moan escaped her lips as the relief of having the weight lifted from her belly washed over her. “Does that feel better, my love?” Aemond murmured, his voice soft, filled with concern.

“Oh, Aemond,” Vaelirra breathed, nodding, “it really does.”

For several moments, they stood in the flickering firelight, Aemond’s hands holding her, supporting her as she enjoyed the sensation of her burden lightened.

But eventually, he gently lowered her stomach again, his hands caressing her skin in slow, soothing motions. His touch was reverent, full of love and care, as his hands roamed over the soft curves of her body.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and quiet as he turned her to face him, searching her eyes.

Vaelirra nodded, her hand resting over his heart. “I feel like it might be soon,” she whispered, her eyes full of meaning. “-Aemond. I need you to-to help things along.”

Aemond understood immediately what she was asking of him. There was a moment of silent communication between them, a deep understanding that had grown over their years together.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his lips grazing her forehead softly. “I will do whatever it takes to ensure your comfort,” he whispered, his voice full of devotion.

With care, Aemond helped Vaelirra onto the bed, his hands gentle and sure. Once she was settled, he stripped off his own clothes, his movements steady, though his gaze never left hers.

Kneeling between her parted legs, he placed his hands on her thighs, his touch filled with tenderness.

His hand moved down her body, he slid two long fingers into her cunny and speared them in and out of her at a slow gentle pace. His palm bumped against her clit with each movement of his hand.

“Oh, Aemond” moaned Vaelirra desperately.

Aemond withdrew his hand from her wet centre and manoeuvred himself down the bed, leaving a trail of wet kisses on her skin, as he reached his desired destination he hooked his hands around her thighs, and his mouth descended on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into her core with his tongue. Vaelirra clutched at his head with one hand, whilst her other hand fisted the sheet.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast, and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunny.

Vaelirra ground down on Aemond, his tongue speared deeper inside her, as she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

Yet Aemond withdrew and Vaelirra whimpered with frustration at the denial of her peak.

“So wet for me” muttered Aemond, his voice husky.

"P-Please Aemond. I-I need you” moaned Vaelirra.

Aemond smiled as he turned her over to her side and began suckling on her exposed neck.

"I want to feel you come all over my cock" growled Aemond as he laid behind her.

Aemond lifted her leg and slowly slid his cock into her cunny.

Vaelirra grabbed hold of the sheet, and closed her eyes, letting out a gratifying moan.

Reaching back, she entwined her fingers into his long silver hair and whimpered, "More, Give me more".

Once Aemond was fully sheathed, he carefully grasped hold of her waist and started to slowly thrust into her.

"Vaelirra, my sweet wife. How I love the feeling of your wet cunny squeezing my cock” exclaimed Aemond, his hot breath caressing her neck.

Vaelirra was so wet that he almost lost his grip and slipped out, but he managed to remain ensconced within her as he continued to thrust into her sweet cunt.

The sweat off her back rubbed against his chest and her moans and muffled groans were sweet music to his ears.

Aemond snaked a hand between her legs and rubbed her clit repeatedly until the rise of heat engulfed her and toppled her right off the edge.

"Aemond, don't stop, my love" gasped Vaelirra, her cunny clenching his cock.

“Fuck, Vaelirra. Yes, that’s it” moaned Aemond thrusting one final time as he exploded deep inside her, rope after rope of his seed painting her inner walls.

Aemond buried his face in her long dark hair and breathed in her familiar scent.

As he went to pull his softened cock from her, Vaelirra stopped him.

“Let’s just stay like this a little longer. Please”

Aemond nodded and pressed closer to his wife’s warm body.

A feeling of pure love shot through him, as he nuzzled the back of her neck with his nose.

As the night deepened, the soft glow of the fire cast long shadows across the room. Vaelirra slept peacefully, her breathing steady, the soft rise and fall of her chest almost rhythmic.

Aemond lay beside her, but his mind was restless, his thoughts consumed by the life they had created together. He gazed at her serene face for a moment, admiring the way the firelight softened her features, before his eyes drifted to her swollen belly, the gentle curve that held their unborn child.

Carefully, so as not to disturb her, Aemond shifted down the bed. His hand brushed gently over her stomach before he lowered his head, pressing his face against the swell of her belly.

The warmth of her skin, taut from carrying their child, was a comfort to him. He kissed her softly, his lips grazing the delicate skin, pressing a series of tender kisses that were meant only for the babe within.

A smile tugged at his lips when he felt a small but distinct movement in response.

"I hope you are healthy," he whispered, his voice soft, barely more than a breath. "And I will love you if you are another son, but know that I have prayed daily that you are a princess."

His hand caressed her belly as he spoke, feeling the slight shifts and kicks of the child within. "As a man, I am proud to have six sons to carry on my blood. Most men in the Seven Kingdoms are not so fortunate. But I do long for a sweet girl to protect, one who looks just like her mother."

Vaelirra stirred slightly in her sleep, shifting her body as if seeking a more comfortable position. Aemond paused, watching her with a tender gaze, waiting for her to settle again before he continued. Once she was still, he began whispering again, his words filled with affection and quiet reflection.

"Growing up, I didn’t know what love truly was. My father was indifferent, my family divided. But your mother," he paused, a smile touching his lips as his mind filled with memories of Vaelirra, "she showed me what love meant. Even after I lost my eye, when I thought myself deformed and monstrous, she never turned away from me. She never saw me as anything less than a man deserving of love."

He felt another movement from the babe and chuckled softly. "Your mother loved me for who I am, Not what I am. Even in times when I tried to push her away, convinced she couldn’t want someone like me—a broken wretch,—but she stayed. She persisted. And for that, I am truly grateful."

His voice grew softer, almost reverent. "Your mother is the light of my life, and I know you will be too, whether you are a son or a daughter. But if you are a girl, my sweet daughter, know that I have a wonderful name for you. And I have dreamed of the day I can hold you in my arms."

The babe kicked again, more forcefully this time, and Aemond couldn’t help but smile. He pressed one last kiss to Vaelirra’s belly before moving back up the bed.

Gently, he maneuvered her into his arms, cradling her as carefully as if she were made of glass. Vaelirra instinctively nestled closer to him, her face resting against his chest as he held her. Aemond pressed a kiss to her temple, his heart swelling with emotion.

"Avy jorrāelan, ñuha idaña perzys, dōrī henujagon nyke," he whispered into her hair. (I love you, my twin flame. Never leave me)

With Vaelirra safely in his arms, Aemond closed his eyes, the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders, knowing that whatever the future held, he had found his peace.

Aemond paced slowly around the library, his hands folded neatly behind his back as his sharp gaze surveyed his eldest sons seated at the long table before him.

The flicker of candlelight illuminated the old Valyrian tomes spread across the polished wood.

Aerion, Rhaegar, Vhalarr, and Caelan were engrossed in their learning, while their younger brothers, Baelon and Daemion, sat quietly on a rug nearby, listening to a septa who softly read to them.

Stopping behind Aerion, Aemond spoke in a clear, steady voice, “Aerion, kostōba isse magik, se zaldrīzes āeksio hen uēpa valyrio issi ivestretan emagon issare.” His tone was gentle but firm, expecting his son's understanding.

Aerion inhaled deeply, his eyes scanning the passage before him before he confidently replied, “Strong in magic, the dragon lords of old Valyria are said to have been-” His voice carried a sense of pride at getting it right.

Aemond nodded approvingly and continued his circuit around the table, his sharp boots clicking against the stone floor. When he reached Rhaegar, he rested his hand briefly on the back of his son's chair, watching as Rhaegar's fingers traced the ancient Valyrian script. “Lentor Belaerys istan mēre hen izulēpsa zaldrīzes āeksio hen Valyrio,” Aemond recited, waiting for his son's response.

Rhaegar furrowed his brow in concentration, searching for the correct translation. After a pause, he spoke, “House Belaerys was one of the forty dragon lord families of Valyria.” He glanced up at his father, hoping his answer was correct.

“Very good,” Aemond said, giving him a small nod before resuming his pacing, until he reached Vhalarr. "Jaenara vestās bona Sothoryos iksin hae rōva hae Essos se iā tegun mijegon mōris."

Vhalarr looked up, confidence in his young voice as he responded, "Jaenara said that Sothorie was as large as Essos and a land without end."

Aemond smiled, though he corrected gently, "It's Sothoryos, not Sothorie, but well done."

Finally, he stopped behind Caelan the youngest of the group seated at the table, whose legs barely reached the floor.

“Jaenara Belaerys brōztagon zirȳla zaldrīzes Terrax”

Caelan looked up at his father, then at the words on the page before him, his small voice clear and proud as he replied, “Jaenara Belaerys named her dragon Terrax.”

Aemond paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Called, not named. But it is a related word, very good”

Satisfied with his sons’ progress, Aemond moved to the head of the table and took his seat. His silver hair gleamed in the candlelight as his eye lingered on each of his boys.

He leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting to something more personal, more intimate. “Ñuha trēsi, kesā aderī emagon iā dubys se nyke jaelagon syt ao naejot dohaeragon aōha muña.” (My sons, you will soon have a sibling, and I wish for you to help your mother)

His words hung in the air for a moment, and the boys exchanged glances.

Aerion, being the oldest, looked at his siblings before turning to his father with a determined nod. “Kesi, kepa. Nyke kivio,” he promised, his voice steady and sure. (We will father, I promise).

The other boys nodded in agreement; their young faces serious with the weight of their father's request.

Aemond’s expression softened as he regarded them all. “I am proud of you all. Your progress is good.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and the bond between father and sons was strong and clear.

Just as a moment of peaceful quiet settled over the room, the door to the library burst open. A frazzled maid rushed in, her face flushed and her breath coming in gasps.

“Prince Aemond!” she called out, her voice high with urgency. “It’s your wife—her labours have begun!”

Aemond was on his feet instantly, his calm and measured demeanour breaking with a rush of emotion.

His heart pounded as the gravity of the words sank in. Without a second thought, he strode quickly toward the door, his eye focused.

“Aerion see yourself and your brothers back to your chambers” said Aemond, though his voice carried a sense of command rather than suggestion. “I will send word as soon as there is news.”

The corridor was filled with the agonizing sounds of their mother’s pained wails, echoing through the stone halls of the Red Keep.

Aerion, standing at the threshold of his chamber, tried to remain calm despite the growing anxiety gnawing at him. He glanced over his shoulder at his siblings already inside the room, his heart heavy with the weight of responsibility.

“Daemion, stop dawdling and get in here,” Aerion commanded, his voice firm but gentle as he tried to usher his youngest brother inside.

“I want Mama,” Daemion whimpered, his small voice trembling with fear as he stood frozen in the hallway.

Another of their mother’s tortured screams pierced the air, causing Daemion to flinch and bury his head into Aerion’s neck.

Aerion huffed softly, his patience tested but understanding the fear gripping his brother. He knelt and scooped Daemion up, holding him close. “I know you want her, but she’s in her birthing bed. We can’t go there right now.” His tone softened, but he remained firm, trying to reassure Daemion even as the cries from their mother made his own heart race.

Daemion, trembling and holding tightly to Aerion, nodded slightly as he was carried into the chamber. Rhaegar quickly shut the door behind them, though the muffled screams of their mother still seeped through the heavy wooden door, sending a chill through the room.

Near the window, Vhalarr sat with Baelon, clapping their hands together in a game to distract themselves, their faces tight with unease though they tried to pretend otherwise.

Rhaegar, restless and anxious, paced slightly before stopping near Aerion. “How long do you think we have to stay here?” he asked, his voice laced with impatience.

Aerion, still holding Daemion, answered curtly, “As long as it takes.”

Rhaegar furrowed his brow, clearly unhappy with the uncertainty. “What if we go see grandmother? Maybe she could help us pass the time.”

Caelan quickly shook his head, scrunching his face in distaste. “Nooo, not Granny Alicent. She’s boring.”

Vhalarr huffed from his place near the window, “She’s boring because she reads those Faith of the Seven books to us all the time.”

Rhaegar rolled his eyes, correcting, “I wasn’t talking about her. I meant Grandma Nyra. She’s more fun, and Grandpa will be there too.”

Aerion’s face tightened, his sense of duty overriding any temptation. “No, Father told us to stay here. We must do as he says.”

Just then, another of their mother’s anguished cries filled the room, louder this time, causing Daemion to burst into tears. Aerion winced, his heart squeezing painfully at the sound, but he steeled himself. He shifted Daemion in his arms and opened the door a crack, spotting Ser Erryk standing at his post outside.

“Ser Erryk,” Aerion called, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “Please, get our grandfather.”

Ser Erryk gave a quick nod, immediately turning to carry out the request.

Time seemed to crawl as they waited, Daemion’s soft sobs filling the air, until finally, the door creaked open, and Daemon entered the room. His presence, always larger than life, seemed to fill the space with a sense of security.

Without hesitation, he crossed the room to where Daemion sat sniffling and lifted him gently into his arms.

“Hush, little dragon,” Daemon murmured, his voice a soothing rumble. “Everything will be all right.”

Rhaegar, ever inquisitive, piped up, “Is Grandma Nyra coming too?”

Daemon shook his head, his expression softened with understanding. “She’s with your mother and father. Hopefully, it will be over soon.”

The boys, seeking comfort, began to gravitate toward Daemon, their need for reassurance clear in their wide eyes and fidgeting hands. Daemon allowed them to huddle close, offering them a sense of calm in the storm.

Aerion, however, remained near the door, his back straight, his arms folded behind him as he stared out into the hall, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Daemon watched him for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You look just like your father when you stand like that,” he remarked lightly.

Aerion nodded sharply, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t break his gaze from the door. His mind was on his mother—her screams of pain still fresh in his ears, and though his face betrayed little, the tension in his posture was unmistakable.

“Come here,” Daemon beckoned, his tone softer now, filled with understanding. “I know it’s hard, but we must wait.”

Aerion hesitated, his heart torn between staying vigilant and seeking comfort for himself. His fear for his mother, though unspoken, was clear in the tight line of his mouth and the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Another muffled scream echoed, and it was too much. He relented, slowly making his way to sit beside Daemon, the weight of the day finally catching up to him.

Daemon placed a hand on Aerion’s shoulder, the warmth and strength of his grip offering a silent promise. “She’s strong, Aerion,” Daemon said quietly. “She’ll be ok”

Aerion gave a small nod, though his mind still spun with worry. He stared ahead, the weight of his duty to protect his family heavy on his young shoulders, but for now, he sat in the warmth of his grandfather’s presence, waiting for news, clinging to hope.

Vaelirra clung desperately to Aemond, her fingers digging into his arm as he guided her through their chambers, her body wracked with pain as the contractions tore through her.

Sweat poured down her face, her breath labored and ragged, and every few steps, she doubled over, clutching her swollen belly.

“I can feel the babe coming,” she gasped, her voice trembling with both exhaustion and fear.

Aemond’s eyes widened, and without wasting a moment, he hastily helped her to a nearby chair. She sank into it with a groan, her entire body shaking from the intensity of the labour.

Rhaenyra was already at her side, holding her hand, while Aemond crouched down beside her, his hand gripping hers tightly.

Maester Gerardys moved swiftly to examine her, and after a moment, he looked up and nodded.

“Yes, I can feel the head,” Gerardys announced. “It’s time to push, Princess.”

Aemond, his face lined with concern, cupped Vaelirra’s face in his hands, his touch gentle despite the tension in his body. He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling as he whispered, “You can do this, my love. You’re strong.” He kissed her quickly, the warmth of his lips fleeting but full of love and reassurance.

Vaelirra took a deep breath, her body trembling as she began to push. Rhaenyra squeezed her hand, her voice soft but steady. “That’s it, good girl. Keep going. You’re doing so well.”

Vaelirra nodded weakly, her muscles screaming in protest, but she kept pushing, desperate to bring their child into the world.

The room felt heavy with tension, every eye on her as Maester Gerardys monitored the progress. He looked up after a moment and said, “The head is out, but I need you to stop. The cord is wrapped around the neck.”

“What?” Vaelirra gasped, her eyes wide with panic.

“Stay calm,” Gerardys advised, his voice calm but firm. “Just breathe, Princess.”

Aemond and Rhaenyra exchanged a glance of worry, but they quickly moved to reassure her. Aemond pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his voice a low murmur. “Breathe, love. You’re doing so well.”

Maester Gerardys worked quickly, using a small, sharpened blade to carefully cut the cord. After a moment, he gave a nod of encouragement. “You can push again now.”

Vaelirra’s breaths were shallow as she tried to steady herself, her body exhausted but her determination fierce.

Aemond glanced down between her legs, and his eye lit up with excitement. “The babe has dark hair,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

“They do?” Vaelirra gasped through her pain.

“Yes,” Aemond grinned, his excitement growing. “And by the looks of it, a lot of hair too.”

Despite the agony, Vaelirra laughed weakly, her heart swelling with love for the child she hadn’t even held yet.

With one final, desperate push, she felt the relief as the babe slid into the world. Maester Gerardys caught the child, and Vaelirra sagged back in the chair, completely spent.

But something was wrong.

The room fell silent, save for Vaelirra’s ragged breathing. Maester Gerardys worked quickly, rubbing the baby’s back, but no sound came from the child.

Aemond and Rhaenyra exchanged a look of fear. Vaelirra’s lip began to wobble, her eyes brimming with panic.

“Why isn’t the babe crying?” she asked, her voice quivering as her heart raced in her chest.

“It’s all right,” Rhaenyra tried to soothe, though the worry was clear in her voice. “Just give it a moment.”

Aemond, his hands shaking, lurched forward and cupped Vaelirra’s face, bringing her forehead to his once more. His voice was low, desperate, as he whispered, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay”

Vaelirra’s breath hitched, tears spilling from her eyes as her fear consumed her. Just as she was about to fall apart, a small, fragile cry echoed through the room.

The sound was like a balm, soothing the terror that had gripped her heart. Gerardys smiled, relief clear on his face as he gently rubbed the babe’s back. “There we go, little one. That’s it.”

Soon, the baby’s cries grew louder, filling the room with the most beautiful sound Vaelirra had ever heard. Maester Gerardys cleaned the babe swiftly before placing the child into Vaelirra’s arms.

Vaelirra sobbed with relief, cradling the tiny bundle against her chest, her whole body trembling as she held the babe for the first time. Aemond, his own tears falling freely now, wiped his eye as he knelt beside her.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

Vaelirra, still crying with joy and relief, gently moved the babe and looked down, a wide smile spreading across her face. “It’s a girl,” she whispered.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat, and he began sobbing openly, unable to hold back his tears. “A girl-” he repeated, his voice shaking. He pressed kiss after kiss to Vaelirra’s hair, her face, and her hands, his gratitude spilling from him in waves. “Thank the gods. Thank the gods.”

He kissed their newborn daughter on the forehead, his tears falling onto her dark hair. “She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder. “Just like her mother.”

Vaelirra smiled through her tears, cradling their daughter close as Aemond continued to kiss them both, overwhelmed with love for his family

Vaelirra suddenly lurched forward with a gasp, her hand flying to her stomach. "Something's wrong," she whispered, panic flickering across her face.

Rhaenyra, sitting beside her, quickly reached out and took the newborn from her arms, cradling the quiet babe as Maester Gerardys rushed over to examine Vaelirra again.

Gerardys' brows furrowed, and after a moment, his eyes widened in realization. "There is another babe coming," he announced, his voice a mixture of surprise and urgency.

"What?" Vaelirra gasped, her breath shallow as she stared at him in disbelief. "Twins?"

Gerardys nodded, turning swiftly to a midwife and whispering rapid-fire instructions.

Meanwhile, Vaelirra's shock turned into frustration, and she began swatting at Aemond with her free hand. "You fiend, you greedy cur! One babe wasn't enough for you, so you had to put two in there?"

Aemond, caught between awe and concern, winced as her hand struck him. “I didn’t mean to—” he started to say, but Vaelirra screamed, cutting him off.

“It’s coming!” she cried, her voice rising with the intensity of another contraction. “Gods, it’s coming out of me, I can feel it!”

Before Gerardys could make his way back across the room. Without hesitation, Aemond lunged forward, his arms instinctively moving to catch the babe as it emerged.

A second squalling cry filled the room, and Aemond found himself holding a much smaller, but healthy baby girl.

She was covered in blood, but he paid no mind to the mess. His heart hammered in his chest as he stared down at her, stunned and in awe.

"Another girl," Aemond whispered, a wide smile breaking across his face despite the shock. The tiny babe's wails echoed in the chamber, her voice strong despite her smaller size. He gently lifted her into Vaelirra’s waiting arms, his hands trembling as the weight of the moment sank in.

Gerardys, making his way over, smiled warmly. “Well done, Prince Aemond,” he said. Rhaenyra, still cradling the firstborn, nodded in agreement as she handed the baby back to Vaelirra.

The two girls, now in their mother’s arms, immediately began to calm, their tiny bodies relaxing against her warmth. Vaelirra, her chest heaving from the exertion, gazed down at them with tear-filled eyes.

Aemond knelt beside her, pressing gentle kisses to both of the newborns’ heads, unable to stop smiling.

Rhaenyra’s voice broke the peaceful silence. “What will you name them?”

Vaelirra, still overwhelmed, glanced up at her husband. “I thought it was going to be another boy,” she admitted with a breathless laugh. “I didn’t pick any girls’ names.”

Aemond’s eyes shone with pride. “I have names,” he said, his voice soft but steady. Vaelirra nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“Perhaps the first one can be called Sarea” Aemond said, his gaze softening as he looked down at the firstborn, her dark hair curling around her head like a halo. “And the second, Seraphine”

Vaelirra looked between the two girls, then back at Aemond, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Oh, they are perfect,” she whispered, her voice filled with love.

Aemond’s smile grew wider, but when Vaelirra asked if he wanted to hold his daughters, he seemed momentarily stunned.

For a moment, he remained silent, almost as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. The gods had not only answered his prayers, they had blessed him with two daughters.

Rhaenyra cleared her throat softly, breaking him from his trance, and she helped Vaelirra to place both girls into Aemond’s trembling arms. He looked down at them, his heart swelling with an emotion so deep it nearly overwhelmed him. The tears he had been holding back finally spilled over as he gazed at his daughters.

"Gods, they are so beautiful," he whispered, his voice breaking. Both babes were identical, yet unique in their own ways, each with delicate features that reminded him so much of their mother.

As he studied them closer, his breath caught—both girls had the violet eyes of their lineage, but Sarea’s eyes were much lighter, almost ethereal in their hue.

As Maester Gerardys attended to Vaelirra, helping with the afterbirth, the midwives worked quickly to clean her up and dress her in a fresh shift.

Once she was comfortable, nestled in a pile of soft pillows, they placed fresh towels on the bed and helped her lay down to rest.

Rhaenyra moved forward, carefully tucking her daughter into the bed. Vaelirra, exhausted but glowing with joy, whispered, “Mama,” her voice full of gratitude.

Rhaenyra smiled warmly, pressing a soft kiss to Vaelirra’s forehead. “I’ll give you some quiet time,” she said, her voice tender. “I’ll fetch the boys in a little while.”

Vaelirra smiled and nodded, her eyelids already growing heavy with fatigue. Aemond, still sitting in the armchair with his daughters cradled in his arms, glanced over at her, his eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

For a moment, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the two perfect babes in his arms—his daughters, his beautiful daughters.

When the twins stirred, Aemond gently rocked them, whispering soft reassurances. He couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop marveling at how perfect they were.

Each time he looked at them, he saw Vaelirra’s features reflected back at him, and it only made his heart swell more.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the gods, a tear slipping down his cheek. They had answered his prayers in the most beautiful way possible.

Aemond lay beside Vaelirra on the bed, his hand resting gently on her shoulder as she cradled their newborn twins. The room was peaceful, the air filled with the soft sound of the babes breathing and the occasional coo.

A tiny knock at the door broke the quiet moment, and Aemond raised his head.

“Come in,” he called, his voice soft but firm.

The door creaked open, and their six sons slowly entered the room, their faces a mix of curiosity and awe. Daemion, the youngest of the boys, was the first to speak, his small voice trembling with emotion. "Mama?"

Vaelirra smiled warmly, her eyes soft as she gazed at her little dragon. "It's okay, sweet one," she said gently. "Come and meet your sisters."

Rhaenyra, who had followed the boys into the room, lifted Daemion onto the bed, and he clambered towards his mother, eager to be close.

Aemond chuckled softly. "Careful now," he cautioned, his tone affectionate but protective.

Daemion’s eyes widened as he peered down at the twins in his mother’s arms. "Pwetty," he declared, his voice full of wonder. Leaning forward, he placed a delicate kiss on each of the babies' heads.

Satisfied, he clambered back off the bed, and Baelon and Caelan stepped up next, their faces lighting up as they saw their new sisters.

Vhalarr reached out, gently stroking their dark hair with a look of fascination. “They look like mother,” Rhaegar said softly, his gaze fixed on the twins.

But Aerion, the eldest, stood at the foot of the bed, his posture rigid, arms clasped behind his back. He made no move to come closer, his lips pressed into a tight line. His eyes flickered with something deeper, something unresolved.

Aemond noticed his son’s hesitation and called to him softly. “Come on, son. Come see your sisters.”

Aerion shook his head, his lip quivering slightly.

Vaelirra, sensing his distress, spoke gently to him “Skoros iksis ziry ñuha dōna valītsos?” (What is it, my sweet boy?)

Aerion’s voice cracked as he responded, his emotions bubbling to the surface. “Issare se uēpāje iksis qopsa, eman naejot sagon kostōba, yn tubī īlen nākostōbā” (Being the oldest is hard, I must be strong, but today I was weak.)

Vaelirra’s heart ached at his words. She shook her head, gently shifting the twins into Aemond’s arms. Then, opening her own arms wide, she said softly, “Māzigon kesīr” (Come here.)

Aerion hesitated, his inner turmoil clear on his face, but when Aemond cleared his throat, giving him a silent nudge of encouragement, Aerion slowly stepped forward. His brothers, sensing his need for privacy, were gently ushered away by Rhaenyra.

When Aerion reached the bedside, Vaelirra wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in her neck, his body trembling as he allowed himself to cry. She held him close, her hand stroking his back soothingly.

“You might be the oldest,” she whispered softly into his ear, “but you are still my baby. You always will be. Being the oldest doesn’t mean you have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel scared or upset.”

Aemond, still holding the twins, leaned forward slightly, his voice calm and reassuring. “Even adults get scared, Aerion. It’s not a weakness.”

Aerion lifted his head, his eyes red from crying. “Really?” he asked, his voice small and uncertain.

Aemond nodded. “Yes. There was a moment today where I was scared for your mother and the babes. But I didn’t feel weaker for it, and neither should you.”

Aerion wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, nodding slowly. “Okay,” he said, his voice steadier now.

Vaelirra smiled, her hand combing gently through Aerion’s long silver hair. “Ao gīmigon Avy jorrāelan ñuha zaldrītsos” (You know I love you, my little dragon.)

Aerion smiled through his tears. “Avy jorrāelan tolī muña, sīr olvie” (I love you too, mother, so much.)

At that moment, his brothers returned to him, sensing that the tension had passed. They surrounded him, hugging him all at once—a tangle of limbs and smiles, their love for their eldest brother clear in their eager embraces.

Aemond watched with a proud smile, his voice soft as he asked, “Now, do you wish to meet your sisters?”

Aerion, disentangling himself from his younger brothers, nodded. He stepped closer to the bed, his eyes filled with wonder as he gazed at the two tiny faces. “What are their names?” he asked quietly.

Aemond smiled and gestured to the twins. “This one is Sarea,” he said, pointing to the babe on the left, “-and that one is Seraphine.”

Aerion gently stroked Sarea’s cheek, and in that moment, her tiny hand reached out and grasped his finger tightly.

A soft smile spread across his face, and Vaelirra chuckled softly. “See? She knows her brother.”

Aemond leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for Aerion. “Once the others have gone to bed, how about you and I take a flight with Vhagar and Valerion?”

Aerion’s face lit up at the suggestion, and he nodded eagerly. “I would like that. Thank you, father.”

Aemond smiled, his heart swelling with pride. “You’re a good boy, Aerion,” he said, his voice warm and full of love. “Never forget that.”

Aerion smiled back, a newfound strength and calm settling over him as he gazed down at his new sisters, knowing that his brothers—his mother, father, and now these two precious girls—would always be there for him.

The night sky stretched endlessly above, a tapestry of stars twinkling against the dark velvet as Aemond and Aerion soared high above the clouds.

Vhagar’s massive wings beat rhythmically, carrying Aemond with a steady grace, while Valerion darted alongside them, her smaller, more agile form gliding effortlessly through the air.

Despite being only twelve, Aerion was already a capable dragon rider, his bond with Valerion strong and unshakable. The blue-scaled dragon was fiercely loyal to him, as wild and playful as her rider.

Aemond watched as Valerion darted ahead, showing off. She tucked her wings close to her body, diving towards the water below at an incredible speed.

Aemond's lips twitched in a faint smile as she pulled up at the last possible moment, her wings skimming the water’s surface, sending droplets flying in a shimmering trail behind her.

"Show off," Aemond muttered, shaking his head in mild amusement.

He could hear Aerion’s laughter echoing in the night air as Valerion rejoined Vhagar's side. Aemond glanced at his son, a quiet pride swelling in his chest.

Aerion had a natural gift for riding, and it was clear he relished every moment spent in the sky.

After a few minutes of flying in comfortable silence, Aemond leaned left, signalling Vhagar to turn. Aerion followed suit, guiding Valerion after them as they searched for a place to land.

Soon enough, they found a quiet meadow, far from the bustle of King’s Landing, the city’s lights now a distant memory on the horizon.

Aemond dismounted first, unhooking his saddle chains and climbing down Vhagar’s rope ladder with practiced ease. He waited for Aerion, who quickly followed, landing gracefully beside him.

Once they were both on solid ground, the quiet of the night enveloped them, the dragons settling nearby, their massive forms a shadowed presence in the moonlight.

Aemond turned to Aerion, his expression thoughtful. “Have I been a good father to you and your brothers?” he asked quietly, his voice carrying an unusual weight.

Aerion blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting the question. “Of course, Father. Why would you ask such a thing?”

Aemond sighed, running a hand through his long silver hair. “It is no secret that my own father was-lacking, in many ways. I’ve tried to be different, to overcompensate perhaps, in my efforts not to be like him. But in doing so, I fear I may have been too harsh on you and your brothers”

Aerion frowned, shaking his head. “Not at all, we know that you love us.” He smiled, his eyes bright with admiration. “You’re a good father. I hope to be like you when I’m grown, with a wife and children of my own.”

Aemond felt a surge of emotion at his son’s words. He smiled, placing a hand on Aerion’s shoulder. “I am honoured to hear that, Aerion.”

Aerion glanced up at his father, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I just want to make you proud.”

Aemond’s heart swelled, and he gave his son a warm smile. “You already do, my boy.”

Aerion hesitated, his face falling slightly. “Even after today?” he asked, his voice uncertain.

Aemond’s smile widened. “Especially after today.”

Aerion’s face brightened with a smile, and without warning, he threw his arms around Aemond, hugging him tightly. Aemond eagerly returned the embrace, his hand resting gently on the back of Aerion’s head, feeling the warmth of the bond between father and son.

"I’ve learned long ago," Aemond said softly, his voice a rumble in the quiet night, "that showing your emotions does not make you weak. It shows strength and resilience, qualities that a good King will need-"

Aerion pulled back slightly to look up at his father, his eyes searching. “Do you think I’ll be a good King one day?” he asked earnestly.

Aemond smiled, his eye gleaming in the dim light. “I know you will be a great King when the time comes,” he said confidently.

“And you will be a great King too,” Aerion added, his voice full of admiration.

Aemond’s smile softened. “That means a lot to me,” he said quietly, his words sincere.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, Aemond glanced toward the sky. “It’s time we head back,” he said gently, turning toward Vhagar. Aerion followed suit, moving toward Valerion, but he hesitated for a moment.

“Father?” Aerion asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes?” Aemond replied.

“When did you know that Mother was the one for you?” Aerion asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Aemond chuckled softly at the question. “When she refused to leave me alone,” he admitted, his tone warm with fondness. “Even after I was mean to her.”

Aerion looked surprised. “You were mean to her?”

Aemond nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yes. I was awful to her at first. But she remained steadfast, by my side. She saw me for who I was, not what I was.”

Aerion smiled at that, clearly moved by the story. He climbed back into Valerion’s saddle, looking at his father with newfound understanding.

As Aemond mounted Vhagar once more, he glanced over at Aerion, feeling a deep sense of pride in the boy he was raising—a boy who would one day grow to be a man, and a King, in his own right.

Vaelirra quietly opened the door to their chambers, slipping inside after a long afternoon spent catching up with her brother Jacaerys and Baela. She paused in the doorway, her breath catching slightly at the sight before her.

Aemond sat in his usual armchair by the fire, bare-chested, with their newborn twin daughters resting peacefully on his chest. Their tiny forms rose and fell with each soft breath, utterly content as their father read to them in High Valyrian.

His voice, smooth and deep, spoke the ancient language with a reverence that felt almost sacred, each word wrapping around their daughters like a lullaby.

Vaelirra couldn't help but smile at the tender scene, moving quietly across the room to sit in the chair opposite Aemond. He gently placed the book on the small table beside him, catching sight of her. His single violet eye softened, and his lips curled into a warm smile.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked, her voice light, though tiredness lingered around the edges.

Aemond’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment, his smile growing wider. “Just how beautiful you are.”

Vaelirra’s smile faltered, her hand drifting self-consciously to her middle. “No, I’m not,” she whispered.

Aemond’s brow furrowed, his expression turning serious. “Why would you say such a thing?”

Vaelirra sighed, her emotions raw and close to the surface. “My breasts are swollen and leaking, and they hurt so much. I’m still bleeding from the birth, and my stomach, it's all saggy now.” Her voice cracked as tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them.

Aemond watched her crumble, his heart aching for her. He carefully cradled the twins, rising from his chair with a steady grace. Walking to their cot, he gently laid the babes down, covering them with a soft blanket.

With the twins safely tucked in, Aemond knelt down in front of Vaelirra, his eye searching hers, full of love and reassurance.

"You have never been more beautiful to me," he said quietly, reaching for her hands. She avoided his gaze, her fingers fiddling with the laces of her dress in a nervous gesture.

Aemond took one of her hands in his, the warmth of his touch grounding her. His voice was tender as he continued, “You have birthed eight of my children, and nourished them all with your own body. You are the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms and beyond.”

Vaelirra blushed, her tears slowly drying as she met his gaze, soft and full of devotion. Aemond reached up, gently wiping away the remaining tears with his thumb. “I never thought I would have this,” Aemond murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Peace. Family. You.”

Vaerilla turned her head to look at him, her eyes gleaming with affection. “You deserve it,” she whispered. “All of it.”

Aemond smiled—soft and private, the kind he gave only to her. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. “You made me whole,” he said. “I spent so long believing I was nothing. Then you came along—furious, fearless—and refused to let me be anything but a man.”

Vaerilla chuckled softly. “You were so insufferable at first.”

“I still am,” he teased.

“But you are mine,” she whispered.

“And you are mine,” Aemond echoed, brushing a stray curl from her face. “My fire, my strength, and my heart.”

FIN.

[ressjeon]

I tried to make something cohesive.

Date: Yoongi

Genre: Pragma

Row: 9, Seats 2 & 8

Snack: Sour Patch Kids

pairing: prince!yoongi x witch!reader

summary: his return to the kingdom brought many surprises but nothing could've prepared Yoongi the moment he met you.

genre/au: angst, fantasy, drama, soulmate!au, romance

warnings/content: suggestive themes, implied smut, mentions of alleged witch hunts

a/n: and i appreciate you very much for doing so 😭 i badly need to turn this into a oneshot, i was battling on how to shorten this for the longest time so i apologize for it being this late. today is also the 25th birthday of my dearest @agustdakasuga, ilysm bb 🥺

☞ part of @btsgoldnetwork’s two hearts, one love valentine’s day event in 2022 🎞💓

🍿 bangtan theatre presents: impossible 🍿 purchases for movie tickets and snacks are now closed!

For the longest time, Yoongi refused to believe in soulmates. It didn't matter when the people around him seemingly found their match. His older brother, the crown prince, has wedded right away as soon as he found his soulmate. Meanwhile, Yoongi hasn't found his, leading him to believe that it must've not been real at this point.

More like he gave up on waiting for his own soulmate.

The thought of finding his perfect match used to daunt Yoongi since he was little. Even if his parents were also united through the bond, Yoongi was having a hard time believing it was through being soulmates alone. There has to be another way but at that time, he was pretty open to the idea.

His parents have talked a lot about how they met, how they felt the instant connection even before the marks appeared on their skins. It used to excite Yoongi a little because both his parents and his brother found theirs quite early on in life.

As time goes on and Yoongi still hasn't found his soulmate now that he's in his late adulthood, his hope of finding her decimates.

"son, do you have any good news now that you're back here in the kingdom?" his father queries, curious if Yoongi had found his other half while travelling across foreign lands.

"no, father" he tries to sound indifferent but his father quickly recognized the defeated look in his eyes.

"perhaps it's time to consider other options?"

The king had no ill intent but it had an effect on Yoongi, pronouncing his current predicament to the table. His mother looked at him with worry so he smiled at her curtly, hoping it's enough of a response for now.

"if you'll excuse me, i'd like to explore beyond palace grounds"

His father nodded and Yoongi immediately exited the throne room. He feels suffocated all of a sudden, wanting to be away from the palace for a breather. He hopes that exploring the rest of the kingdom will ease his mind for the time being until he figures out his answer to his father's question.

.

Agreeing to take over your aunt's stall for today means that you'll have the chance to see the town market once and for all. She had prohibited you to leave anywhere farther than the house for the fear of your life.

Because of what you are.

Your aunt is the same and has trained you since your gift came into fruition when you were a child. She raised you like her own when your parents passed, part of the reason why she's overprotective over you. Up to this day, you had suspicions that it may be related to your mother being a witch but your aunt has rebutted your theories each time you ask.

That was probably why she tasked you to look over her stall while she's away for an important trip to the neighbouring kingdom. She didn’t give any details but you saw the fear in her eyes and the urgency in her voice.

Everything has been great so far. You've lost count of how many people you've met since you opened the stall. Regulars of your aunts came by to visit and were pleased to finally meet you. Some customers are tourists who are looking for immediate herbal remedies to refill their supply.

However, one particular customer has caught your attention while attending a group of travellers. He's wearing a cloak but your eyes are glued to his form due to the way he's moving seamlessly through the crowd.

It's also because you felt a slight sting on your left rib as soon as your eyes spotted him. He couldn't possibly be..?

"are you alright, miss?" one of your customers asked and a feigned smile graced your lips.

You've finished up the transaction at a lighting speed, eager to talk to the hooded man from afar even though you have no idea how to approach him. You'd have to check where the pain is to make sure but by doing so, you could lose track of the man and you can't let that happen.

.

Yoongi sees someone approaching him and curses internally, hoping the person would not recognize him. It shouldn't be possible unless they work with his family since Yoongi does not leave the palace grounds often growing up.

"would you like to try our new herbs today? it's of no cost" the woman smiled at him and Yoongi was taken aback. You don't recognize him or maybe you do and this is just a pretence.

It’s a common tactic but there would be no harm to take one if it would get you off his back. Besides, he's here to explore his own kingdom and has never noticed the stall you’re in until now.

He didn't say a word and followed you, asking him to try other herbs on display and he nodded. He has not really looked at you again since your first encounter, noticing that he avoids eye contact even when you converse with him.

"i'll fetch something from back if you don't mind"

"not at all" he replied curtly, scouring the glass bottles on the pile.

You hurriedly look for a mirror, untying your corset to check your left rib. There you find a fresh mark on your skin, a sign that you have found your soulmate and it could be the man waiting for you outside. 

Immediately rushing to go back and invite him to return went better than you expected.

"we have a new brewery every week so feel free to visit again!" you smiled enthusiastically, hoping he'll accept your invitation. This is the only way you'll get to know him without outright telling him that he's your soulmate.

You don’t want to scare him. He smiled at you for the first time and relief pours through your veins.

"i will"

.

Yoongi has visited the stall every week ever since. He doesn't even know why but it's a good excuse to get out of the palace whenever his parents corner him about his next plans. You don't ask why either  and he feels comfortable with you, finding it fascinating how you have so much energy in everything but never seem to point it to his way.

As for you, convincing your aunt after he returned from the said trip had not been easy. There are unspoken rules you follow but you can’t be cooped in your hut any longer.

You've argued but in the end, she lets you be despite her fear.

"there must be a reason why you suddenly want to take over the market now" your aunt teases but you dismiss her. You want to keep the whereabouts of your soulmate as long as possible. The time will come when they will meet, not while you’re still testing the waters.

When he revealed his name to you, that's when you knew that it's the proper time to show him how you feel. You're hoping that you haven’t been that obvious but Yoongi's little smirk when he thinks you're not watching tells you otherwise.

"i haven't been honest with you" you start as you pour the tea on Yoongi's cup.

It's been a few weeks since you first met him and the both of you developed a routine of having tea time after he chooses the herbs for the week.

"as am i" he declares after finishing his cup. There is hesitance in his face and the waver in his voice only increases the swirling thoughts in your mind.

"what.." you reply, a bit nervous that you almost dropped the porcelain teapot that Yoongi brought as a gift.

"why don't we both say what we need to reveal at the same time?"

You nodded and took a deep breath after placing the teapot on the table. Looking straight into Yoongi's eyes, the fear of him finding out what you truly are diminishes when you see the nervousness in his gaze. 

"i'm a witch"

"i'm a prince"

Silence rules after the declarations of your true identities to one another. You're just staring at each other's eyes, your gazes doing all the talking. The eyes are windows of one's soul so you hope that Yoongi can clearly see what he means to you. His eyes were unreadable at first but as the silence went on and the familiar gummy smile appeared on his handsome face, you realized that nothing will change between you. 

.

Yoongi's dreading meeting you today. He couldn't say no when you sweetly ask him to meet somewhere to have a proper brunch other than the areas around the market. He should’ve felt the opposite of what he’s feeling but instead, his chest tightens of what he’s about to do.

"i won't be able to meet you anymore" he whispers and the smile on your face vanishes.

“is it because i am merely a witch, your highness?” your defeated voice threatens to break Yoongi's composure. He knows how his words hurt people. He never should’ve let it go this far.

He's already trying to hold himself up because of the stinging he feels on his shoulder.

“n-no. forgive me but i must go” he mutters, his face wincing and in any other circumstances, you'd notice right away but you're too broken to do so after hearing his scathing words.

He's leaving you because of what you are. Being a witch must be the only reason because you genuinely thought he felt the connection too. Granted he was distanced at first which is valid and you understood more after knowing he’s a prince.

Had you known that your soulmate would eventually break your heart with the truth, you should've held on to the truth longer.

You’ve clearly misread him, thinking he was different, that he saw things eye to eye and understood that being a witch was not something you chose to be.

“you cannot even look me in the eye?”

Yoongi can't because not only will he take back his words but his focus is on the person he recognized from the palace staring at you both. He spotted them right before telling you what he’s here for. He cannot let his parents find out that it could be you, not even this way. 

This is what he feared since giving up on waiting for his soulmate. 

Why he was hesitant to confirm the connection in the first place.

"i am to be wed fortnight as of today. that was the reason why i wanted to talk to you" he rushes as he stands up, clutching his upper arm and that's when you notice.

That’s also the other reason. He’ll be dragging you with him if he keeps holding on you and that will put your life in danger. He hasn’t even met your aunt yet, the one who you talk to him about often and he’s already exhibiting an unpleasant impression. 

"meet me again once last time, a sennight from now before the bell rings, then i'll leave you be"

Without giving any indication if he'll show up or not, Yoongi leaves and you finally break down into tears. It crushes the prince to leave you but he knows right then and there that he has to leave you for your safety.

He hopes that you know him truly by heart, what his answer is. He had to leave that way to make sure you won't leave first. Who knows how many people from the palace are around witnessing the two of you together.

Yoongi enters his room right away as soon as he arrives, tearing his clothes off and sees the mark on his shoulder, confirming his suspicions. If that person reports to his parents what he saw then..

"your highness, his majesty, the king and the queen request your presence in the throne room" the guard outside his chambers announces and he closes his eyes. 

He was too late.

Knowing his parents, there's a slight chance that they already figured out Yoongi's secret. His mother can read him like an open book and even though he’s been avoiding them, the Queen sees that as an answer to their questions.

"who is she?" his father starts and Yoongi keeps his face collected.

"someone i commissioned for a recipe, father" his voice was void of anything but that’s clearly not enough.

None of his parents obviously bought his excuse and Yoongi's running out of things to say.

"what family is she from?" his mother adds.

"i do not know, mother"

"enough of this talk. we shall have your wedding sooner to avoid any of these nonsense rumours circulating around”

The new date is more than a week from now, which means a day or two after the time you asked to see him. Yoongi knows that he'd have to marry the princess from the neighbouring kingdom but he doesn't know what to do.

All he wants right now is to see you.

.

"i shouldn't be here" he grunts, finding it hard to stop himself from roaming his hands around your body.

Yoongi is scared. He has been since he locked eyes with you the first time you met. Even before the mark on his shoulder emerged, he knew that the only way for him to be married with another is for his soulmate to die.

The bond had to be broken and his parents began the hunt as soon as Yoongi refused the offer. He tried his best to intercept the information being delivered to his bride to be’s family but he overheard from the servants that his father ordered to confine him in his chambers.

That’s when he knew that he had to flee to make sure you’re safe.

"hey, you're here with me alright?" you tug him to bring his attention back to you.

He’s worried no matter how much he hides it. The bond doesn’t exactly pinpoint but you feel the weight in his chest and that was enough.

"it'll be alright my prince. answer me one thing"

"anything"

"do you feel it?"

"since the day i first met you"

Your heart melts to know that he felt the same thing when you first saw him. Maybe that’s how soulmates are supposed to work, to feel that instant connection on your first meeting. 

He accepts what you are. He didn't think lowly of you like you initially thought.

You’re sleeping soundly beside him and Yoongi couldn't stop staring at your face. It's a miracle that he's even here with you, he got lucky that he escaped the palace grounds tonight with the help of servants that held an affection for him. 

He rakes down your bare figure, committing everything in his memory just in case he won’t be able to see you again. His eyes continue to roam until they spot the marks on your ribs. With his callous fingers, he traces it delicately, causing you to squirm a little.

He waits until he hears your breath even again, afraid that his touch woke you up.

.

"then be with me" you groggily call out to him, fighting your slumber. Your ears caught some rustling and woke up out of instinct, finding Yoongi preparing to leave.

Again.

"i can't"

"why? you don't know what i can truly do. i can protect us, i'm powerful enough so we can go far away from here yoongi" you try to convince him but he won't meet your eyes.

Yoongi has broken too many royal rules by meeting with you again so he's torn with your offer to elope.

But how would the two of you live then? His parents are going to retaliate by punishing you and your aunt. They won't even have to do it directly because aside from the bounty, revealing your true nature of being a witch would make townspeople do the job themselves without a cost.

And Yoongi wouldn't be able to do anything but watch.

He has to make a choice, to be selfish or to be selfless? Can your soulmate bond truly withstand all the challenges that you're both going to face together? It’s not that he undermines your abilities but you’d essentially be running for your lives, desperately yearning for that freedom to be together.

“with or without your powers, i am with you always” 

He’ll always be terrified of what tomorrow may bring but none of it matters so long you’re by his side. 

.

e/n: fr i might re-write this and expand cuz 😩 thank you regardless for reading!

[awakenedevildays]

Heyy I loved “naps and forgetfulness” and was wondering if you could maybe make a part 2??

「Annoying customers and Star Wars」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader

I had the most annoying costumer ever at work the other day and I thought of using it as a sequel to this story, I hope you'll like it and thank you so much for requesting, dear, this was so fun to write! 🩷

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"oh! is that my boyfriend that actually remembered me?!" you ask as you walk out of your working place. Stiles, who's sitting on the drivers seat of his Jeep, looks up from his phone and looks at you with pursued lips and guilty eyes. 

"that's me." He laughs as he gets off his car to walk towards you. He is so pretty you can't help but feel a swarm of butterflies in your stomach when he's near enough to grab your cheeks and kiss you lovingly. His lips are on yours for a few seconds before he breaks the kiss with a content hum to grab your waist, "hey pretty, how was your shift?" his eyes, those big brown eyes of his, look at you with such love and adoration that your heart clenches and the tiredness of your four hours shift disappears.

"It was good, but a lady was really rude to me" you say as Stiles guides you towards the other side of the Jeep to open the door for you. 

His ears perks up at that, despite the fact that he feels bad when you have a bad shift, he loves to listen about all the dramas "mh? what happened?" He asks as he waits for you to get on the passenger seat before closing the door to jog back to the driver seat.

"oh you got me food from Burger King! thank you Sti'" you say after smelling the delicious smell of burgers in the car and you don't waste time to open the bag to eat right away.

"you're welcome baby, so what happened?" he asks after receiving a so deserved 'thank you' kiss from you.

"Well, first of all, in the busiest day for a restaurant, she didn't book a table and EXPECTED to have one right away!" You start after taking a bite from the hamburger, god, it's so good.

He scoffs "are you serious? that's just stupid, how could she expect for it to be empty on a Friday night?" he says as he starts the engine.

"Right?! so I told her that she and her son would have to wait for at least twenty minutes and she scoffed at me!" 

"Unbelievable, and what happened next?" he asks and opens his mouth when you bring a chip close to his mouth.

"When a table finally got freed up she didn't want it because it was too close to the toilets and she didn't want to eat with the door opening and closing repeatedly and people passing every two minutes." 

"and let me guess, after that you kindly told her to go fuck herself, right?"  he looks at you for a second before looking back at the road as you keep on eating. 

"I really wanted to! so I told her that we could've moved the table a bit away from the bathroom and she said it wasn't away enough" you keep on going and feed him another two french fries.

Stiles snorts at that "oh my God, she just wouldn't stop bitching, what a Karen". 

"and it isn't even over yet! I tried to give her another table that got freed up in that moment but guess why it wasn't good enough for her?" 

"the table cloth wasn't white enough?" he says as he rolls his eyes.

"it was too close to the opened window AND it hadn't been cleared yet and she didn't want to sit in a still unmade table, I mean- the people who were sitting there had just stood up, what did she want me to do?" you add as he stops at a red light and steals another chip.

"oh she's just ridiculous, you should've just kicked her out" he says and you grab his hand to play with it.

"I wish I could've, it took her 30 freaking minutes to choose what to eat because she and her son didnt do anything but looking at their phones and guess what? She wanted to eat the only dish that I told her wasn't available anymore tonight and she whined about it for MINUTES." 

"what the hell was wrong with her!?" 

"I don't know, it's like she came here to annoy me! I gave her so much attention that I had to ask Logan to cover the other tables I was serving until she was gone." You munch on your almost finished burger.

"I'm sorry baby, you did not deserve that witch." 

"I wanted to cry, really. And after they were done eating she didn't even leave a tip, I mean- didn't she see how whiny she was and how patient with her I was?!"  you ask while pointing at yourself as Stiles reluctantly moves his hand to use the gear stick.

"what a fucking karen, she's a bitch, I hope she... broke a nail or something" he says as he starts the car again when the light turns green.

"woah, you kiss your dad with that mouth?" you ask sarcastically at his attempts to be 'aggressive' or... whatever that was, he pinches your thigh lightly as response before stealing, again, some of your food... you don't mind though.

"hey! don't act like I couldn't be a bad boy if you wanted me to, I'm pretty badass" he avoids to look at you as he says it, he's so cute that you can't even imagine him as a 'bad boy'.

you snort at that "nah, I'm good with my sweet and cute boyfriend" you comb back his hair as he keeps his eyes on the road.

"yeah? you don't prefer a strong, masculine and very bad boy with a leather jacket and maybe a motorcycle?" he asks as you keep your hand in his hair, he's enjoying all the attentions so much that he could literally purr in content.

"I prefer cute, sarcastic nerds with Jeeps and obsession with star strek" you say as you put back the papers covering the finished burger with your free hand. 

"Star Wars, baby" he corrects you for the millionth time as he takes your hand from his head to bite it lightly as to scold you, after all, he already corrected you many, many times.

"yeah, yeah, the same thing" you answer dismissively and Stiles keeps your hand in his on his lap.

He rolls his eyes at your words "it's not the same thing, they're very different."

"I'm not gonna have this conversation with you... again." you answer before he can start his rambling about why the two shows are different (they're not).

"you're just not cultured enough to understand the differences, babe" he says while squeezing your hand. "Can't you see you're embarrassing yourself? you can't go around in this world without knowing the difference! if you could give Star Wars a chan-"

"We're not gonna watch Star Wars!" you state as you start eating the leftover chips.

"But why not!? we've watched Harry Potter a thousands times!" he looks at you with an expression of disbelief and disappointment.

"It's different! Harry Potter is actually entertaining and you love it too." You keep in a laugh.

"yeah, yeah, whatever, you like it because of Harry and your massive crush on him in the fifth and sixth movie" he says just to tease you a bit.

"I- how do you know that?! I never told you-" you're flabbergasted, you didn't think he would actually notice it.

"Oh please! those are the only two movies you watch without looking at the phone even once." Fuck, are you that obvious? His scolding eyes tells you that yes, to him,, at least, you're actually that obvious. 

"oh because you definitely don't find Hermione hot in the seventh movie?" you ask already knowing the answer and your boyfriend opens his mouth in shock.

"I can't believe you're calling me out like this" he replies with an embarrassed expression on his face that tells you that you're absolutely right. "but... but what about Darth Vader, baby, he's hot too!"

"who's Dart father? The cute one with curls and blue eyes?" 

"Vader, baby and yes, Hayden Christensen." he corrects you... again, he turns towards your house. 

"Oh yeah he is so handsome! but I won't watch Star Wars, end of story." 

He sighs and looks back at the road "I'm still gonna get you into Star Wars, I don't care if I have to play the 'I'm the man in this relationship' card"

"you would never use that card" you say as a matter of fact and Stiles pursues his lips, got him. 

"shut up, woman" he demands but mutters a small 'sorry' right after that makes you giggle lovingly at him. 

"So... if we're not gonna watch Star Wars nor Harry Potter what would you like to watch tonight?" you ask to change the subject as you finish the last fries.

He thinks about it for a second, he's not in the mood for a horror movie but he doesn't want to watch another of your rom-com movies either because he'd have to watch his every move to not fall asleep before them even getting to the good part, so he says "let's just watch The Office, okay? there are still some episodes left"

"'kay" you only say as you see your street coming into view.

"God, I'm craving a shower so badly right now" he groans as he parks the Jeep in front of your house, his whole body is still sore after lacrosse practice and he's in dire need of some relaxation time.

"don't tell me, I smell of every type of smell that can be present in a restaurant" you say while getting out of the Jeep.

Stiles chuckles at your words while he exits the car too and follows you to the front door "oh I don't know, you're kind of hot after your shifts at work" he says jokingly as you unlock the door.

"and they say romance is dead" you roll your eyes and let Stiles in after you.

"I know, right?"

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Harry Potter is underrated in his own saga, and I stand by that.

Hope you enjoyed, recommendations, suggestions and requests are always welcome and open! <3

Do not copy or repost.

[royaltysimblr]

Odette of Brichester, Queen Consort of Windenburg & San Myshuno (1735-1829)

Born into the Brichester princely family, Odette lived a privileged childhood until 1740 when her parents tragically died. Odette was left in the care of her grandmother, the Dowager Princess Serena, who ruled the principality as regent for her brother, Prince Hendrik. The principality suffered devastating blows after entering a war with Tartosa, who invaded the city and held the royal family captive. The atrocities the people of Brichester faced during the city's occupation scarred Odette for life. Several of Odette's family members died during their time in captivity, including two of her older brothers and her favorite sister, Amalia. After seven years of occupation, the city was liberated by Windenburg in 1749. To cement the newfound alliance, Odette was offered by her family as a bride to the Prince of the Isle, the heir to the throne of Windenburg. Odette wasn't married off until 1751, when she turned 16 years old. Despite only meeting her husband, Edmund, on their wedding day, the two fell deeply in love with one another. The couple would go on to have 7 children during their 16-year marriage. Their children included King George I, King Edmund X, Princess Elliana, Queen Consort of Esha (@crownsofesha), Prince Octavius, Duke of Rochester, Prince Frederick, Duke of Burgundy, Princess Elizabeth, and Princess Amelia, Queen Consort of Trenton (@trentonsimblr). Odette and Edmund cultivated a perfect family life, preferring to spend time in the country away from the eyes of the court. The royal couple projected an image of a family life that was relatable to their subjects.

Odette's husband, Edmund, tragically died in 1767 after falling off his horse and hitting his head on a sharp rock. He swiftly died an hour after his fall. Odette set her grief aside and quickly took control of the regency for her young son, George, who was 14 years old. Odette's four years as regent marked an era of economic prosperity, earning her place as one of the most beloved regents in history. After the regency ended, Odette's life was marked by family tragedy and drama. The amoral lives of her sons and their production of several illegitimate offspring throughout the 1770s and 1780s tarnished the royal family's image as a "perfect family." Odette saved her reputation in the 1790s by arranging the marriage of her three younger sons to foreign princesses. Odette's prominent and domineering role in her children's lives came between her sons and their wives. In the last few decades of her life, her role as the matriarch of the family diminished. Odette retired to the countryside, living at the Queen's Lodge, which her beloved husband Edmund had gifted her. Odette died in 1829, at the Queen's Lodge, in the presence of her granddaughter, the reigning Queen Mary II. Odette outlived her sons George, Edmund, and Octavius. Odette is remembered as the most important queen consort from the House of Wittenberg, due to her large role in Windenburg politics before and after her husband's reign.