#seed and spar

[careless-with-your-heart]

Lay you in the Ground (WIP Chapter 12)

Lying is bad.

But he lie so good, tho.

“You’re lying to me.”

Blaine raises his chin, but he doesn’t answer the accusation. Because, of course, she’s right. She feels it.

“I’m worried.”

Kitty scoffs as she shoves clothes into her duffel bag. “Worried about what?”

“Worried that you’re in danger, Catherine”—Ooh, she flinches when he uses her full name, with a hard edge that holds none of the softness that rounds his regular use of Kitty—“and worried that I’m going to come up those stairs someday and find you hurt. Or worse. You told me about Vegas, and I brushed it off at first. But I regret that. Last night, I said I would protect you, and I will. I know I’m not some sainted soul, standing at your door with roses and sweet promises. But I do care.”

“Oh, you care?” she says sharply. “So he feels things, after all. Regret. Worry.” Her movements become even more aggressive with each word, until she yanks the zipper pull on her bag. She looks up into his stricken expression. “How human of you.”

His arctic eyes darken. She reaches for the few toiletries she’s gathered at the end of the bed.

“Can you stop—Kitty? Stop fucking packing.”

She swings to face him, pointing at him with a hairbrush. “Can you stop—Blaine? Stop fucking lying. Or is that not fucking likely?”

“I’m not lying to you.” Blaine takes another step closer, his knees bumping the opposite edge of the bed. His gaze is so steady that she nearly believes him.

“Then who’s the corpse in the alley? What’s Clive going to find out when he IDs the guy?”

Blaine shrugs, infuriatingly nonchalant. “I don’t know. Do I look like some kind of detective?”

“You look like a man who lies so fucking much that he wouldn’t know the truth if it bit him in the balls.”

[tojisun]

cw: obsession & stalking

i have a thought but i cannot plant the seed right now cuz yk (finals and papers and projects) but simon with a terrifying understanding of love. truthfully ‘terrifying’ isn’t the correct word, but it is what john calls it. john says that it’s not normal; that simon’s got a mangled yawning that misconstrues many things as love. even tepid infatuation bloats into love.

it’s why they’ve made a system—simon’s got to find john so his captain can veto whoever it is that simon wants. if not that, then to curb his desires; to slow them down just enough that john can nudge simon into a fabricated meeting; to package him like he is just any other average man.

but this one with you, he says, is different. he swears it’s the kind of affection that he’s only seen in the movies; the lilacs and tulips and morning teas type of love.

john makes him spit out where he met you. simon huffs and tells him at a spar—the bird behind the till who told him that she liked his zippo. you blinked up all prettily at simon before wishing him a happy night with your quiet smile packaged in his small plastic bag of cigarettes and gum.

his captain doesn’t look too pleased, like simon went behind his back to sink his teeth in eden’s fruit. and simon understands—to a degree, he does—but he remembers the flash of your curious eyes, the curling of your lips, then the rumble of your words.

simon wants you.

“how much’d you do?” john asks, finally breaking the drawn out silence.

“planted a bug, s’all.”

john sighs before barking at him to get out. simon grins and leaves because he’s got the permission he needs. now, simon’s got a bird to catch.

[flwrkid14]

The Tim Drake Heartthrob Conspiracy

It started as a slow, creeping suspicion. A few throwaway comments here, a couple of odd interactions there. At first, no one thought much of it.

One day, Dick was grabbing coffee near Wayne Enterprises when he overheard two interns chatting in line. “I saw Tim Drake today, and let me tell you, I think I’ve developed a new celebrity crush,” one of them said, giggling.

Dick nearly choked on his iced latte. Tim? Celebrity crush? He shook it off, chalking it up to the occasional corporate crush, nothing out of the ordinary for someone who runs a massive company. But then he heard it again the next week at a Titan’s briefing. Garfield leaned over to him during a meeting, nodding toward Tim across the room.

“Man, Tim’s really come into his own, huh? Guy’s kinda a looker now,” Gar commented.

Dick blinked, then frowned. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on, Nightwing,” Gar teased, “you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed! The quiet broody thing is working for him. I bet half of Gotham has a crush on him.”

By the time Dick got back to Gotham, the gears were turning in his head. Did half of Gotham have a crush on Tim?

Then it happened again. This time it was Damian’s turn.

He had been sparring with Jon in the Batcave, when their conversation drifted, as it often did. “You ever think about what it would be like to date someone like Tim?” Jon asked, completely out of the blue.

Damian froze, mid-punch. “What?”

“I mean, he’s smart, right? Responsible, kinda low-key. Would probably make a great boyfriend,” Jon continued, completely oblivious to the growing horror on Damian’s face.

“Grayson and Todd, are enough. I refuse to let another sibling of mine become Gotham’s romantic fascination!” Damian exclaimed later that night at the dinner table. The others laughed, assuming Damian was just being overly dramatic, as usual.

But the seed had been planted.

It didn’t take long for the other Batfamily members to start picking up on the signs.

Steph first noticed when she logged onto a Wayne Enterprises fan forum (because yes, those exist) and saw a thread that was simply titled, “Tim Drake’s Glow-Up Appreciation Post”. The page was filled with comments fawning over him—talking about his “sharp jawline,” his “dark, mysterious aura,” and how “charming” he was during interviews.

Naturally, Steph sent the link to Cass with a laughing emoji. “Look at our boy, growing up into Gotham’s next heartbreaker,” she joked.

But as more and more of these comments popped up in the oddest places, Steph’s joking tone faded. Was Tim really the next heartthrob?

The realization hit Jason last, as most things concerning Tim usually did. He was scrolling through his usual online haunts, browsing forums that discussed Gotham’s vigilantes, when he stumbled on something unusual.

A post titled: Top 10 Reasons Why Red Robin is the Best Looking Vigilante in Gotham.

Jason almost clicked out of it immediately, assuming it was some kind of joke. But no. There were paragraphs. Analysis. Photos that somehow made Tim look like a damn model, even in his ridiculous Red Robin cape.

Jason scrolled through in disbelief, not sure what he was more stunned by: the fact that people were thirsting after Tim, or that someone had gone to this much effort to explain why he was hot.

“That’s it. The internet is officially broken,” Jason muttered to himself, before sending a screenshot to the family group chat with the caption: Since when did Tim become a fashion icon?

The real kicker, though, was Alfred. After weeks of the Batfamily casually throwing around jokes about Tim’s newly discovered “status,” Alfred finally made his observation one morning over breakfast.

“Master Timothy has always had a certain quiet charm about him,” Alfred said as he served coffee, completely unbothered by the ensuing chaos.

Dick, nearly spilling his coffee: “Wait, you knew about this? Why didn’t you say something?”

Alfred raised a brow. “It hardly seemed necessary. I assumed you all were already aware of Master Timothy’s appeal.”

Appeal. Appeal.

Jason was laughing so hard he had to leave the room, while Steph and Cass exchanged glances that said everything: they needed to re-evaluate everything about their little brother.

The whole Batfamily was still coming to terms with it. They joked, they teased, but there was an undeniable shift. When they looked at Tim now, they saw what others had apparently been seeing for years—a quietly confident, strikingly intelligent young man who had somehow grown into one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors.

Of course, the moment that really sealed the deal came when Tim rode into the Batcave one evening on his Red Bird bike, wearing hastily thrown on stylish outfit—a black leather jacket, perfectly fitted jeans, and a shirt that gave him a casual, yet effortlessly cool look. Running a hand through his still damp hair, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

“Sorry, I’m running late. Got a date.”

For a moment, the Batfamily just stared.

Holy. Shit.

And then, as if on cue, Dick, Steph, Cass, Duke, Jason, and even Damian had the same thought at the same time: Oh my God, Tim Drake is the Batfamily’s biggest heartthrob.

The realization was almost too much to handle.

[koenigsdossier]

Naughty König

König who has the biggest crush on you but is too scared/shy to say anything. König who fantasies about being yours, loving and pleasing you like no one else ever has before. König who, before he even realizes it, is researching toys to find one that matches what he imagines you look like under those clothes.

18+ NSFW, male masturbation, use of fleshlight, mention of a creampie, AFAB reader

Once the realization catches up to König, that he's trying to find a fleshlight that matches you, it has him reeling in embarrassment. He feels dirty and guilty for thinking about you this way, feeling like he's completely disrespecting you by even thinking of you this way. You're his friend, someone he holds dear to his heart, and he's thinking about you like this. You two train and go on missions together, he's sees you every day, how is he going to face you after doing this? But even with the embarrassment and shame he's feeling, it doesn't stop him from ordering that fleshlight. He couldn't help it. As soon as he saw it, it reminded him of you. It's exactly how he imagined your pussy.

He tries to push his purchase from his memory, even going to cancel it multiple times, but stopping every time. He's ashamed of himself, ashamed of the excitement he feels as he thinks about the fleshlight. He feels nothing but embarrassment and shame when the package finally arrives, hastily grabbing the box and tucking it away in some corner of his room.

He only picks it back up when he's horny. He had just sparred with you, getting to feel your sweaty body up close as your scent filled his lungs. It was so hard to focus on actually sparring instead of trying not to get a boner. Every time he pinned you down, he wished he could just grind his cock against your body. Any part would do, just as long as it was you and if you let him do it. Your soft body just felt so good against him, especially when you were sweaty and panting, squirming underneath him as you tried to get out of his pin. It was just too easy to imagine you were making those noises and movements because König was fucking you, showing you how badly he needed you. But, somehow, he was able to keep his cock down. He did rush to leave, though, leaving you kinda confused but not really thinking anything of it.

He didn't think twice as he ripped open that package, his dick already hard and heavy between his legs, straining against his pants painfully so. He didn't even bother going to sit down on his bed, just tugging his clothes out of the way until his dick hit his clothed stomach. He wasn't thinking at all as he pushed his red, leaking tip to the fake pussy's entrance, forcing it to take his cock all at once, forgotting about lube completely. He let out a gasp, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his hips grinded into the fleshlight.

"S-Scheiße..." He cursed out, feeling how the tight walls of the fleshlight squeeze around his dick. God, he wished this was you instead, though. He wondered how you would react, if your cunt would clench around his thick length as he pushed it in. He wondered what kind of noises and words that would come out of you if he put his dick inside you for the first time. He wondered how warm your cunt would be, how wet it would be inside compared to this cold and dry fleshlight. Fuck, he needed you so bad, but the fleshlight would have to do for now.

It didn't take him long to start moving the fleshlight on his dick, his hips thrusting up into it as he immediately set a fast and rough pace. He was overwhelming himself, not giving himself any time to completely adjust to the fleshlight. He was too horny, too hard to think about anything beside cumming and fucking your body against those training mats. He panted out into his room, whines and curses of your name slipping out of his mouth as he pleaded with you in his head. You would let him cum inside, right? You would want him to fill you up and stuff you with his seed, right? He hoped so, he wanted to fill you up, stuff you with his cum as he laid complete claim over you. It didn't take long before he was cumming into the fake pussy, moaning out your name and how good you were as he filled that fleshlight.

He stayed in the fleshlight for a second, making sure it got all of his cum before taking it off his dick and sitting down in a chair by him. His post-nut clarity hit him almost instantly, feeling disgusted and ashamed of himself for thinking about you in such ways, for even getting hard in the first place. What would you think if you knew the kind of thoughts König had about you? If you heard him moaning out your name? Fuck, he was getting hard again at the thought of your reaction despite the guilt coursing through him.

He tugged his pants and boxers completely off, walking back over to the box the fleshlight came in and retrieving the lube. He walked with shame as he went to his bed, lubing up his already semi-hard cock and the fleshlight this time. He still felt guilty and ashamed for imagining it was your pussy he was putting his dick in, as he place the fleshlight back over him. It felt so much better now that it was lubed up and filled with his cum, the shame fading away as pleasure took over. He was embarrassed how times he came inside that fleshlight, always imagining it was you he was stuffing full. This was only his first using it, and he was already addicted to it.

Slowly, the guilt and shame he got from imagining the fake pussy as yours faded away completely. It still lingered, but it was hard to care when König was fantasizing about pleasing you. He would even finger and eat it out now, grinding his cock against his bed as he imagined how you would react to the pleasure he was giving you. God, he just knows that you would taste and smell so good. He knows you cunt would make the prettiest sounds as he stuffed his fingers into you, curling them into your sweet spot and making you cum over and over again. He needed you so bad, but the fleshlight would do for now.

[slut4thebroken]

Obsessed

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x Avenger!reader

Summary | Bucky has a crush on his teammate.

Warnings | Smut, non con, voyeurism, no sex, masturbation, misogyny, stalking, public masturbation kinda, come marking, invasion of privacy, creepy!bucky, dark fantasies.

Words | 1.2 k

Notes | This is lowkey a prequel to another fic that I have in the drafts but shh…

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 24: stalking + voyeurism

Ever since joining the Avengers, Bucky’s been completely obsessed with you. It wasn’t so bad before he was an official member and he would only really see you on missions. But once he moved into the compound… the intensity of his obsession skyrocketed. Every little thing you did constantly made him hard, from your smile to the way you’d close your eyes and moan after taking a bite of a particularly delicious meal. 

Sometimes he’d use his enhanced hearing and listen to you working out from the room next to the gym, fucking his fist while imagining you were panting because he was pounding your fucked out hole instead. Or when you’d be sparring with Natasha and get hit just a little too hard, he’d memorize the sound of your little whimpers and groans of pain. 

If he was feeling extra ballsy, he’d stand in the dark hallway and watch you. Honestly the fact that you preferred working out in the middle of the night was a blessing. He’d hide in the shadows and watch the way your tits moved in your sports bra. Or the way your tiny little shorts would be constantly riding up your ass. 

He’d hold out as long as he could before reaching a hand in his pants and fisting his cock. The light glimmer of sweat on your skin, the way your cheeks flushed a pretty red, the way your lips parted as you breathed heavily… All of it made him ache for you even more— for your much smaller body to be pinned beneath his huge frame as he pounded into you and made you whimper and moan for him. 

He finished in his pants with a low groan and hid away in his room since your room was barely ten feet from his. Once he heard your door shut, he waited impatiently for the bathroom door to close and the shower to start. After he heard you step in the shower, he slipped into your room. 

Your work out clothes were tossed on top of the rest of the clothes in the hamper. He walked over and picked up your underwear— of course you’d wear a thong, he thought with a smirk. Shoving the item in his pants, he cleaned up his seed as much as he could before tossing the garment back in the pile. 

Walking over to the dresser, he listened carefully, confirming you were still in the shower, then opened the top drawer. A lot of sports bras and cotton panties, but digging a little deeper, he found the lace. Mostly red and black, some light pink and white. God- what he wouldn’t do to see you in this… He closed it and walked over to your bed, finding your pajamas and underwear laid out. He hit the fucking jackpot tonight. 

Picking them up, he freed his cock from his pants and rubbed your panties against the tip. He made sure to rub the inside against it, smearing a subtle amount of precum. The thought of his dick and precum indirectly touching your cunt made him consider using the panties to jerk off… but that would be way too obvious when he eventually came on them. 

He reluctantly put them back how he found them and moved to your nightstand drawer, finding not one… but two vibrators. Just sitting there. You didn’t even try to hide them. He slowly stroked his cock, not wanting to get carried away and lose track of time. Your phone screen lighting up tore his attention away from the toys in the drawer. He didn’t even notice it at first, but this was fucking perfect. 

Ever since he accidentally came across some open tabs on your phone, he’s been dying to find out more. He opened it, already knowing the password, and scrolled through the tabs before clicking on one. 

His hard length slid through my slick folds, making me clench around nothing and whine. He chuckled, but lined himself up with my entrance regardless. Finally, he pushed inside my aching hole, both of us letting out low moans. 

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky mumbled, going to a new tab. 

I squirmed, still half asleep, at the fire growing in my belly. Warm and wet suddenly engulfed my clit, making me cry out. I’ve never had a dream this realistic before. A low groan against my heat made my eyes flutter open. The sight of a mop of brown hair between my legs made me jerk away, but he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer to his mouth. 

He stared at the screen with wide eyes and moved to another tab, still pumping his cock slowly. 

“N-no. Please stop.” I sobbed, trying to push his hips away. Cold metal met my neck and I choked on a gasp. 

“You’re gonna take my fucking cock. Or I can kill you and then fuck you. Your choice.” He hissed, dragging the knife across my neck, almost as if to show me how he’d kill me. When I didn’t respond, he forced his cock inside, making me let out a hoarse scream. He wasted no time with his frantic thrusts in my pussy, both of us listening to the way my arousal created a squelching sound each time he moved. 

“Listen to how wet your pathetic little cunt is for your rapist.” He grabbed my hair so tight that my eyes watered and pushed my head down to watch. “Look at how you’re drenching my cock.” He growled, brutally pounding my already sore hole. 

The sound of the shower curtain sliding open snapped him out of his trance. He locked your phone and placed it back down then swiftly exited the room. He didn’t even bother tucking his cock back in his pants. The second his door was closed, he leaned against it and quickly fisted his throbbing length. 

He thought about threatening you like that— The way your sweet little pussy would drool at his words. He’d tease you about how he can smell you already. You’d whine and squirm and flush in embarrassment, and that would only drive him to do it more. 

He’d cut all your clothes off but remain fully clothed himself. He’d make fun of how fast your heart was beating and how sweet your cunt smells. He’d jerk off right in front of your face before covering it in his seed and forcing you to keep it there. 

He wanted to pull you into his room next time before you could make it to the gym, yank your slutty little shorts and panties down, and jerk off until he came in them, then make you work out with a mess between your legs. He wanted to spar with you and not hold back at all— punching and kicking you, making you whimper and groan in pain. Knowing your ego though, you wouldn’t stop. He wanted to make you bruise— make you bleed… Permanently mark your pretty skin with his name. 

He shuddered as he came, his seed coating his hand and the floor while he imagined you were kneeling in front of him with your mouth open, eager to swallow it down. 

The more he tried to resist these fantasies, the harder it became. It didn’t help that you clearly were craving it too— what with all of the porn you read, you were obviously desperate for a good dicking. 

He thought about maybe asking you first… but if you really wanted consent, you wouldn’t read such filthy stories about being forcefully taken. 

Who was he to deny you what you needed? 

[simporado]

‼️ nsfw, mdni please

self-indulgent baku being down bad for reader ^q^

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Bakugo closes his eyes to bask in the feeling. The feeling of shame? Or the feeling of his hand stroking is cock harder than he did the last time again? He's not really sure.

The thought flies away when he cums, his mind blanks at nothing but your face. His seeds splattering onto his pants and on his naked stomach. He falls down on his back, sweaty and panting. A hand goes over his eyes as he calms his breathing down.

"Fuckin' ridiculous." He huffs to himself, shaking his head as if disappointed in himself or to clear his head. He pushes his bangs out of his sweaty forehead as he gets up from his bed to go shower.

Its already almost a year since you've invaded his thoughts. and It's been about— actually he doesnt know since when he's started jerking off to the thought of you.

The first time he had ever looked at you this way was when that stupid dunce face and fuckass perverted grape tricked you and the girls into wearing that shitty cheering uniform. He thinks he probably wouldnt give a shit about those uniforms, had you not bumped straight into his chest that day along the halls, feeling left behind as all the girls had already gone out wearing those outfits.

You had looked stressed then, he remembers. He surmises its because you were wearing something different, and had none of your classmates with you.

"H-Hey, watch where you're fucking going!" He stammers a little, but makes sure to sound normal.

"A-Ah, sorry." is all you had said to him before hurriedly running out to the field to where the rest of the girls were.

He didnt know it then, but that was when he started noticing you.

It had only been stealing glances at you since then, until you had been partnered with him during no-quirk sparring.

Aizawa had you paired together that day. He huffed before getting into his fighting stance, and you did the same. You were in a ponytail, and seeing your hair up was already doing things to him, but he had to focus.

He’d lunged in first, and at the first half of your spar, he seemed to have the upper hand. Then, you started to finally hit back and dodge his advances. He noticed immediately that you were studying how he fights. And he sports a somewhat crazed smile at the realization.

Infuriated and probably turned on, he fought harder, and so did you. But alas, he still ended up winning. He had you immobilized on your stomach on the ground. His hand pinning your arms a bit painfully on your back while he straddles the back of your thighs. Your is face squished against the mat floor of the gym. You grit your teeth in pain caused by Bakugo restraining you, but its also mostly in annoyance.

"You lost, shitty nerd—" he manages to say before hearing the whistle. His hold relaxes a bit, but you struggle and kick his rear, he stumbles forward a bit. He puts his hand in front of him beside your head to break his fall, but his crotch ends up grazing against your ass.

He freezes for a millisecond then shoots up instantly and left. He lets out an audible 'tch' before immediately walking away trying to look casual, despite his reddening ears.

He sighs as he closes the shower, then steps out to dry himself and get changed.

It was around after dinner time, and he's just about ready to go to bed. He heads down to the dorm kitchen to get himself water for his room. Surpisingly, no one else was down there in the common rooms.

Or so he thought, as he almost jumps when he sees an ass sticking out in front of him on the floor. It seemed like you were trying to reach for something from under the sofa.

"The fuck are you doing?" He asks, voice gruff. He kinda hopes he doesnt sound weird. You pull back to look at him, hair tussled.

" 'Was trying to get my phone." is all you say, your lips pouting a bit.

Bakugo's eye twitches. And his cock. Your eyes flicker down for a second.

"Fuckin' move over," He says before bending down to get your phone for you.

“Ah, but you don’t have t—“ but you r protests were futile already as Bakugo lifts the couch, making sure to show off his strength and biceps (thank god he wore a sleeveless shirt tonight) your way in feigned nonchalance, and grabs your phone with the other. This doesn’t go unnoticed by you, of course.

He was about to hand you your phone, but stops in his tracks when he looks down and sees what was on your phone screen.

It's a picture of him shirtless. A bit dirty and sweaty, probably during one of his hero work.

You move immediately to snatch your phone but Bakugo's reflexes are too quick. He raises an eyebrow at you. "You took this?" he asks, smirking.

"Izuku did." you shake your head, correcting him. You cross your arms and tilt your chin downwards to glare up at him. His eyebrows only shoot up higher at the information.

"This what made you drop your phone and got your ass out trying to get it back?" He asks, the smirk on his lips growing into a grin.

You glare at him, cheeks burning. You jerk your chin towards him. "You cant say shit about me when you've got a hard on. 'That because of my ass?" You ask, eyes glaring at him but he can see mischief and lust in them.

A groan rumbles deep in his chest before stepping close to you. "So what if it is?" he growls mostly out of struggling to keep his cool. He sees you slowly smile up at him at his answer, and you’ve never looked even more gorgeous. His heart thunders aggressively against his ribcage.

"I'll meet you at your room to help you with that." is all you say then turn to head to the elevator, not before snatching your phone in his hand.

He lets out a breath he didnt know he was holding. Snapping out of his stupor, he moves quickly to get his water bottle filled before sprinting to his room like a horny lovesick fool. God, you really will be the end of him.

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a/n

proofread it a bit, but probably still scuffed. i didnt bother at first because i thought i didnt like this piece enough. i see yall want a part 2… lmao i shall try. pray that my ovulation takes over me 🙏

[quietstormxr]

Inconsequential

Bodhi Durran x reader

Summary: Bodhi tries to comfort you after you're left feeling inadequate.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Feelings of low self worth and mentions of depression, no real spoilers, Angst/Comfort

Just a little something for Bodhi Week, because we couldn't leave out our soft boy. (At least he is in my mind.)

“Did you see the way I took down Denton today? Seems like all those lessons are finally paying off.” You croon as you sit down at your usual table, directed specifically at Garrick and Xaden. They had been working on your sparring and you’d only hope they were proud of the way you handled yourself.  

Though it isn’t until you pick your head up from sitting down that your brows furrow. Searching the faces around you, Garrick and Xaden are still in a discussion and haven’t even turned their heads. No single inkling on their faces that they even heard you speak or noticed your presence at all. Imogen is talking with Quinn and Bodhi looks enraptured in whatever they are discussing as well. 

As you take in the scene around you, your face falls. This isn’t the first time that you’ve felt yourself passed over, but the way no one even acknowledged your presence had you shrinking in on yourself. 

Knowing the look on your face well, you get up, before even sitting for a full minute. Appetite entirely forgotten, you pick up your tray and head straight for the door. Before you walk completely out, you turn and look back towards the people that you’ve grown accustomed to calling your friends, maybe even family. Eyes meeting the table, you aren’t shocked to see that not a single one of them has even looked your way. 

Dumping your tray, you let your gaze fall as you begin the slog back to your room. You don’t let your head rise the entire time that you walk back. Failure making a home in your bones.

‘You need to speak up. You should never let them dictate your feelings about yourself.’ Dearmad huffs in your mind. 

There’s no reason to respond, this wouldn’t be the first time your bonded would berate you for your feelings of inadequacy and unimportance, and it won’t be the last. Reinforcing your shields, you continue until you hit the end of the hallway of the first years. Shutting out your dragon the only way you feel you can move forward.

Staring at your own door, you can feel the way the tears swim, there’s nothing less you wanted to do than cry. You’d cried more than enough for one lifetime already, but the walls feel like they’re caving in. The fortress you thought you had built around yourself shattering into irreparable pieces.

Opening the door to your room, you don’t even make it to your bed when the tears come in earnest. Your breaths become shallow, and your knees crash to the ground, the weight of being inconsequential settling on your shoulders like a immoveable force. You don’t try to move, you just let yourself curl in, the emptiness in your mind crushing the small seed of hope that had begun to grow over the last few months. 

If someone asked how long you cried, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. You didn’t even rise the next morning when formation came. The knocks on your door emanated, but you just laid there, staring at the beams that crossed your room. Limbs feeling heavy, you don’t move for the next two days. The force of depression holding your limbs down. 

A strong rap of two knocks makes one eyebrow raise. You try to think of who it could be, but there aren’t any names that come to mind. 

“Cadet L/N.” A stern voice calls from the other side of the door. 

You wince knowing that there’s no way to avoid this knock. Trying to comb your hair down with your hands, you walk to the door and open it to see Professor Devera and your wingleader on the other side. 

“You have not been to formation for the last two mornings, cadet.” Devera states, though there’s a softness in her eyes you’ve never seen before as she looks you up and down. “Though I can tell you haven’t been feeling yourself, have you?”

You look back at her in slight confusion, is your professor really going to let you off the hook? She turns her head and looks back towards your wingleader, the only thing you can be thankful for at the moment is that it isn’t Xaden. 

“She will need to have a punishment, as she did not come to command for leave due to illness. However, I believe we can limit its severity.” She finishes before giving a nod to both you and your wingleader and walking back down the hall. 

As you watch her walk away, you catch a glimpse of familiar black curls down the hall before your attention is brought back to your wingleader.

“Looks like it will be dish duty for a week, Cadet L/N.” Septon called as he walked away from your room. Though he surprised you turning around and giving you a small smile. “Next time, let your squad leader know and you can avoid it.”

With a small shake of your head, you pad back into your room and close the door softly. Letting out a large sigh of relief and dread. You don’t even get two steps in before the knock on your door comes, and there’s no doubt in your mind at who is on the other side.

Not wanting to go back to the world yet, you ignore the knocks and sink into your bed, pulling the covers over your head. The knocks sound again, sharper this time, but you just sink further into your bed and close your eyes. 

The dreams hit harder than normal, your mind pulling images of taunts and those who claim to care turning their backs on you. But when you watch your dragon fly away without you, you rise clutching your chest, your heart feeling like it may flutter completely out. 

Feeling the sweat drop down your brow, you rake your hands through your hair, pulling at the untamed mess. Knowing that sleep will not be finding you again any time soon, you take a deep breath and walk to the communal showers.

The halls are quiet now that it’s the middle of the night, but you still take the time to check your surroundings. It’s then you notice the note that was lying on the floor at your feet, the familiar sprawling script adorning the page.

Y/N,

I don’t know what happened, but we all need to know you’re alright. I’ll come check on you again in the morning.

Your Bodhs

You try to reign in the quiet scoff, but it’s out before you can stop it. You shake your head at the note, a wistful feeling leaving you knowing that its always Bodhi. 

Tucking the note on your desk, you head to the bathing chambers hoping to chase away the feelings that have settled over you. The threat of never being good enough biting at your core. As the water begins to warm, you will yourself to drudge up at least one good memory, one instance that will bring a smile back to your face.

When it seems impossible, you shower quickly and turn the taps off, needing some fresh air, something that doesn’t feel like the oppressive weight of Basgiath. Tying your boots tightly, you wrap your cloak over your shoulders and walk towards the clearing, hoping its empty since most of the Tyrs have already been assigned their help. 

As you walk through the tall grass, you let your fingers graze over the strands, the sound of them blowing in the wind bringing a soothing melody. Once you arrive at the familiar oak, you let your back slide against the rough bark and look out towards the moonlit sky and the slightly illuminated town in the distance. 

“Looks like Garrick is going to owe me, just like I thought.” The familiar voice floats over the light hum of the rustling grass.

Turning your head, you watch as Bodhi’s shape continues to come into view.  

“Are you stalking me Bodhi?” You voice comes out harsher than you intended, but it seems to have no effect on the man coming towards you.

“No.” Bodhi replies cooly. “But I do know you rather well, so I’ve been checking out here the last few days.”

Your brows scrunch in confusion at his words. 

“You don’t have to look so disbelieving.” Bodhi continues as he finally sits down next to you, long legs sprawled out and hands resting behind. “I saw the look you gave everyone before dumping your dinner and bolting.”

Your brows now rise in surprise at Bodhi’s revelation. For months you’d been feeling like an outsider in the group, a mere spectator to the stellar show that everyone else provided in the quadrant. 

“People do see you, you know. Even if you don’t feel like it.” You don’t try to hide your scoff at Bodhi’s words.

“Please, if that were the case, then someone would’ve noticed when I spoke to them days ago.” You let the hurt leach into your voice, a bitter taste coating your tongue. 

Closing your eyes at your frustrations, they are startled back open when you feel a warm hand tug against your waist in a bid to move you closer.  “I did notice. And you’re right, you should be proud of the match against Denton.”

Your eyes flare as Bodhi continues to haul you closer to his side, his arms wrapping around your shoulders. 

“Surprised?” Looking into those chocolate brown eyes, you can’t help but admit to yourself that you were. 

“Considering you didn’t breathe a word when I was leaving - yes.” The statement said with a nonchalance you didn’t really feel.

A look of regret passes his face as he squeezes you a little tighter. “I wanted Garrick and Xaden to realize what they had done. But the minute you walked through the door, I regretted not kicking them both under the table.”

There’s no stopping the slight laugh you release at Bodhi’s statement and as you relax, you let your head fall to Bodhi’s shoulder. 

“Why is it always you Bodhi?” You can’t help the question as it leaks out. “Why are you always the one to breathe warmth back into me?”

A contented sigh leaves his lips as you both stare up at the stars. “I don’t know about warmth, but I do know that you should never feel insignificant. You are a treasure to this world and we would be missing too much if we lost your light.”

“Thank you Bodhs.” The words pass you lips on the smallest whisper, the feeling of warmth finally crawling its way back through your veins. 

As you watch the night sky with a small smile, you let yourself snuggle a little closer to the man that always makes you feel everything, except inconsequental.

Taglist: @ilovetomtailor @nevermoresworld @nastylicious @iambored24601 @mysticalfuncollectorus @sadpieceofbread @alwayshave-faith

Divider: @empyreanevents

[extinctlesspains]

Hey! I am not sure if you have watched the new Cobra Kai episodes yet but if you haven’t then please don’t read my request until you can or have because I don’t want to spoil it.

Would you be willing to write a Yandere!Axel one shot with a Keene!Reader or a Diaz!Reader? Maybe Robby’s younger sister after he breaks Robby’s leg (Keene! Reader) or seeing how he treats Miguel (Diaz!Reader)??

If you don’t want to write it then please ignore/ delete my request!! Hope you have a great rest of your day.

A/n: Hi! I absolutely love this request I think it's so creative and I would love to make it... Here you go and hope you enjoy!! ♡

𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒.... 𝑅𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡? [𝐴. 𝐾𝑜𝑣𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑐]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! ᴀxᴇʟ ᴋᴏᴠᴀᴄᴇᴠɪᴄ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ!

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀxᴇʟ ᴄᴏɴғᴜsᴇs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇss ғᴏʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴊᴇᴄᴛ ʜɪᴍ, ʜᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴏᴜᴛ ʜɪs ʀᴀɢᴇ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ʀᴏʙʙʏ, ʙʏ ʙʀᴜᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʜɪs ʟᴇɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏɴғʀᴏɴᴛ ʜɪᴍ, ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟs ʜɪs ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴠᴇ ᴅᴇʟᴜsɪᴏɴ—ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ—ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇs ɪᴛ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Axel never thought much about you—at first. You were just another fighter’s sibling, another face in the crowd. But then, you smiled at him. Not out of fear or admiration—just casual, friendly kindness.

It was nothing to you.

But to Axel?

It was everything.

That one smile planted a seed in his mind, something that grew every time you looked his way, every time your voice carried across the dojo, every time you asked, Hey, Axel, you good? after a match.

You noticed him.

You cared about him.

And in his mind, that meant one thing—you were his.

You just didn’t know it yet.

At first, Axel kept his distance. Just observing. Watching the way you laughed with the others, how you always checked in after a brutal sparring session. Unlike everyone else, you didn’t look at him with fear or wariness—you just treated him like a person.

Then he started seeking you out.

"Didn’t think you cared about my fights," he teased one afternoon, leaning against the wall as you wrapped up a conversation with Sam.

You gave him a playful look. "Why wouldn’t I? You’re good, Axel. I mean, kinda scary in the ring, but still good."

Scary?

No, no—he wasn’t scary. He was strong. And you liked strong, didn’t you?

He smirked, tilting his head. "If you think I’m scary, why do you keep talking to me?"

You laughed. "Because I know you’re not just some ruthless fighter like everyone says. You’re more than that."

Those words replayed in his head for days.

You saw him.

You understood him.

That had to mean something.

So he made sure you spent more time together. Slipping into your conversations, walking you to your car after practice, stepping between you and anyone who got too close. It was subtle, at first. Just making sure people knew you weren’t available—not to them, at least.

But then, something changed.

He should have known something was wrong when you started pulling away. It was in the little things—how you hesitated before responding to him, how your laughs didn’t come as easily, how your body tensed whenever he got too close.

And then, he overheard you talking to Sam.

“I think he likes me,” you admitted, voice low with uncertainty. “But… I don’t. Not like that.”

Silence.

His world stopped.

Not like that?

Not like that?

Not like that?!

Axel’s fingers twitched as he clenched his fists, trying to understand. You were lying. That had to be it. Maybe Sam had gotten in your head, or maybe Robby had poisoned your view of him. But it didn’t matter—he would fix this. You loved him, you had to!

You just needed to see things clearly.

You needed to see that you belonged to him.

And if words wouldn’t convince you…

Maybe actions would. And he did exactly that... But, to make it hurt, it had to be someone who you loved.

Axel fought like a man possessed. Every match, every opponent—none of it mattered. Not until he was standing in the final round, staring across the mat at the one obstacle between him and you.

Robby Keene.

Your brother.

It was perfect.

It was someone you loved, and he poisoned your sweet, sweet, soul... He was in the way of your love.

Axel could feel your eyes on him, could picture your worried expression, the way you probably pleaded in your mind for him to fight fair. But why should he? Why should Robby get to be fine when Axel was being torn apart inside?

If he couldn’t take it out on you, then Robby would suffer instead.

The match started, and Axel wasted no time. His strikes were brutal, calculated, each one forcing Robby onto the defensive. Robby was strong, but Axel was relentless.

A kick to the ribs. A strike to the jaw. And then—

A vicious sweep, followed by a perfectly timed sidekick.

CRACK.

Robby’s leg bent at an unnatural angle as he hit the mat with a strangled yell.

The crowd gasped. The referee blew the whistle. And you—

You screamed.

"Robby!!"

Axel stood over Robby’s writhing form, breath coming fast, heart pounding—not from exertion, but from victory.

He turned, searching for you.

And when he met your gaze—wide, horrified, betrayed—he finally felt something.

Satisfaction.

But it wasn't enough.

You found him after the match, pushing past the crowd with fury burning in your eyes.

"Axel!" Your voice was sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade.

He turned slowly, his smirk already in place. "Hey, princess."

"Don’t you dare," you snapped, shoving him hard in the chest. He barely moved. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew. "That’s a lot of yelling for someone who should be thanking me."

Your face twisted in disgust. "You broke his leg, Axel! That wasn’t an accident!"

"And?" He tilted his head, watching as your hands curled into fists. "You rejected me."

You sucked in a sharp breath. "What?" How could he have possibly known that you didn't return his feelings?

Axel stepped closer, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You think I didn’t notice? The way you started avoiding me? The way you laughed with other guys but not me? You led me on, and then you threw me away like I was nothing."

Your voice shook. "Axel, I was just being friendly. That’s not the same as—"

"Yes, it is," he cut you off, voice dropping to something dangerously low. "You smiled at me. You cared about me. You don’t get to take that back." You gulped nervously.

Your breath hitched. For the first time, real fear flickered in your eyes.

Good.

Maybe now you’d finally understand.

Axel reached out suddenly, grabbing your wrist. You gasped, trying to yank away, but his grip tightened—gentle enough not to hurt, but firm enough to keep you in place.

"You belong to me, Y/N," he murmured, gaze locking onto yours. "No one else. Not your brother. Not anyone. Me." Panic arose inside of you. The location didn't do you any good either—it was an isolated hallway towards the back of the venue.

You shook your head, eyes shining with something dangerously close to tears. "Let me go, Axel." You could feel tears threatening to leave.

He smiled.

But it wasn’t right.

It wasn’t normal.

It was twisted, wrong, filled with something dark and possessive.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he whispered, thumb brushing against your pulse. It was racing. "I did this for you. For us."

Breaking your brothers leg... For you?

Your stomach twisted. "There is no us, Axel."

His expression flickered—just for a second. A crack in the mask.

Then, slowly, his smile returned.

"Not yet."

And with that, he let you go.

You stumbled back, heart hammering, hands shaking. You should have run. Should have screamed. Should have done something.

But all you could do was stare at the boy who had shattered your world with a twisted kind of devotion.

And the worst part?

You knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

He stepped forward, his hand brushing against you cheek as he leaned in to leave a soft kiss.

"Bye bye, love.." He whispered before stepping into the dark hallway.

[kckt88]

A Debt To Be Paid.

Summary:

Aware of the growing tension that threatens to shatter the tentative peace of House Targaryen, Visella dares to bridge the divide, but when she confronts her Uncle Aemond in the hopes of peace, she is blindsided when he makes an unexpected offer.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Incest Uncle/Niece, Kissing, Oral Sex (F Recieving), Loss of Virginity, P in V, Manipulation, Scheming.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C NIECE

Word Count: 6320

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

Princess Visella Targaryen stood alone on the high stone walkway that curved above the training yard of the Red Keep, the morning sun threading light through her long silver hair.

The soft rustle of silk whispered with each slight shift of her weight, and her violet eyes—clear as cut amethyst—remained fixed on the sparring below.

Jacaerys and Lucerys circled one another in the sand, their dulled practice swords in hand, and tunics damp with sweat and effort.

Their grunts echoed against the walls as they struck and parried, quick-footed and graceful in a way only dragon riders could be.

A flutter of muted laughter drifted from the courtyard steps—a small gathering of ladies in the queen’s court, all finely adorned, their fans snapping open like wings as they paused to watch the young princes. Their eyes lingered too long, and they did not bother to whisper quietly.

Visella’s jaw tightened. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last. The women were not watching with admiration.

Curiosity, judgment, and disbelief—those were the truer sentiments hiding behind their painted faces and veiled expressions.

The boys bore the name Velaryon and they rode dragons. But they did not bear the silver of Old Valyria in their hair nor the unmistakable eyes of their mother’s house.

Their dark curls and even darker eyes told a tale court whisperers never tired of repeating.

No matter how many times the truth was denied, the seed of Ser Harwin Strong had taken root in the Targaren bloodline.

Visella, born of a different scandal entirely, escaped the worst of it. Her parentage the result of Daemon and Rhaenyra’s reckless, fevered union in the shadows of a pleasure house—had been hidden more artfully.

Easier, at least, to attribute her features to Laenor’s blood than it was for her brothers. And it seemed the realm preferred beautiful lies to ugly truths.

A flicker of movement drew her eye. On the far edge of the yard, Prince Aemond stood, statuesque and sullen, his lone eye fixed on Jace and Luke.

His lips twisted into something that might have been a sneer—or perhaps something darker still—before he turned sharply on his heel and disappeared into the colonnade.

Visella’s hand tightened around the stone balustrade as her gaze lingered on the spot where he had been stood.

Six months had passed since Queen Rhaenyra had claimed the Iron Throne, seated at last in the high seat of her father.

The false crowning of Aegon had failed, and with it the schemes of Otto Hightower, Larys Strong, and the rest of their brood.

Treason had found its just reward and heads were quickly struck from necks.

And whilst Rhaenyra had ascended to her rightful place, her reign was still in its infancy and she could ill afford any issues to arise, not when the realm needed a stable leader.

The Dowager Queen Alicent walked the gardens with her septa in peace, her smiles hollow but untroubled.

Aegon seemingly grateful that he’d escaped the responsibilities of being King, whored and drank his days into oblivion.

Helaena happily clung to her children, weaving her strange dreams and spider laced enthusiasm in quiet corners of the Red Keep.

Even Daeron had returned from Oldtown, blooming like a morning flower in the sun beside his dragon Tessarion.

Only Aemond remained unchanged.

The Prince who had once made his tribute and called her brothers ‘Strong boys’ at a family supper now bore the full weight of his bitterness like a blade always half-drawn.

He had not bent the knee. Not truly and Visella had seen the simmer behind his silence, the contempt masked in civility.

His loyalty was to only to himself—and to Vhagar.

Visella was no fool. She had seen Vhagar’s shadow crawl across the courtyard once too often.

The hoary old bitch and her rider, both coiled like serpents at the edges of the fragile peace her mother sought to preserve.

So long as he remained unbound by allegiance, peace was a fragile dream—one gust of wind away from shattering.

Visella drew a steadying breath, the air sharp in her lungs. If something was to be done, it must be done now, before another spark lit the tinder and the eighty years of peace that Rhaenyra had inherited from Viserys and Old King Jaehaerys went up in flames.

She turned from the training yard, her decision made.

If there was to be peace, however brittle, it must begin with words—and she would be the one to speak them.

Visella spotted him from the edge of the garden path, solitary and still, standing beneath the pale face of the weirwood tree.

The sunlight filtered through the branches and cast dappled light over his figure. His long silver hair was tied back in its usual half-up style, the glint of it a striking contrast to the black leather he wore.

He stood with the unwavering stillness of a blade at rest, coiled and ready.

She paused for a breath. Something inside her stirred again—something she had tried, and failed, to ignore.

Lord Cregan Stark’s name had been on her lips more than once in the past few weeks, in letters, and courtly murmurs.

Her betrothal to the northern Lord was almost certain to be announced in the coming weeks.

But it was Aemond who haunted her.

“Do you intend to keep staring at me niece,” came Aemond’s voice, cutting through the air like a honed edge, “-or have you lost your tongue entirely?”

Startled, Visella stiffened. “I meant to find you, Uncle. I would like to speak with you.”

Aemond didn’t move at first, his back still facing her “Mmmm. What about?”

Visella stepped forward, careful and composed. “There is still trouble between you and my brothers. But you are now men grown. I would hope that there’s still room to move beyond the wrongs of childhood-”

At that, Aemond turned, slow and deliberate. His lone violet eye met hers with quiet ferocity.

“Those are noble words-” he said. “But easy for one who did not pay the price. Do you suggest that I simply forget what your brother took from me?”

“No-” Visella said, her voice steady but taut. “Only that you let it go. For the realm’s sake.”

Aemond’s lip curled as he gazed at her, his hands now moving to rest on the hilt of his sword.

Visella dared to step closer. “What you said at the feast, the night before my grandsire’s death—it could have been called treason. If you weren’t-you, then you'd have paid for it dearly-”

Aemond’s mouth twitched. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s merely a reminder-of the consequences that you toy with” she said calmly. “You have a sharp mind Uncle. The Queen will surely see value in that. If you chose to serve her. There could be a place for you on her council.”

Aemond’s silence pressed against her like a weight before he took a step forward.

“Perhaps commander of the city watch,” she offered. “You’re skilled with the blade. The city would be well defended under you.”

Aemond scowled. “From Prince to glorified gatekeeper-I think I’ll pass”

“It was good enough for my—” but Visella caught herself, “—for Daemon”

Aemond's eye glittered at the slip. “And the debt? What of that?”

“You said yourself,” Visella shot back, “it was a fair trade. An eye for a dragon. Or are you saying that hoary old bitch wasn’t worth it?”

"You dare speak of Vhagar that way?" he hissed, his voice trembling with rage. "You know nothing of what it means to ride her, to command the largest dragon in the world."

"Tell me, Aemond-" Visella began, her tone mocking, "What exactly do you hope to achieve by your continued refusal to fully align yourself with the Queen?”

“What?”

“Do you intend to seize the throne for yourself- that you have some twisted belief that you are more capable of governing the realm than my mother?”

Aemond’s eye narrowed “Hardly”

Visella smirked “Then of course there’s Vhagar, while indeed she might be the largest dragon in the world, but even then, she would not withstand a combined attack from Vermithor, Caraxes and Meleys- she’s not invincible Uncle- and neither are you”

Aemond simply stared at her, his expression unreadable as he processed her words.

“I do not say these things to anger you- I merely say them to provide clarity; it would not serve you to continue your ire against my brothers”

Aemond’s expression darkened. “This is between me and Lucerys. Not you-”

“He is my brother.”

“And is your bastard brother so craven that he sends his sister to fight his battles?”

Visella’s chin lifted. “Luke doesn’t even know that I’m here. I came on my own-”

Aemond’s gaze shifted, his expression unreadable as it swept over her. “Is that so?”

He took a step closer—close enough that she could smell the leather and the faint scent of dragon smoke clinging to him.

Visella’s breath caught in her throat.

“Aemond,” she muttered, colour blooming in her cheeks.

“How sweetly you come here to try and placate me- one would think you had other more intimate reasons for defending Lucerys”

Visella crinkled her nose “He’s my brother”

Aemond smiled his singular eye roving over her figure “Like that matter’s in this family- tell me niece, has Lucerys experienced your womanly pleasures”

Visella grimaced at what he was implying “Absolutely not- I love him as a brother and nothing more- it is possible you know, or should I start making insinuations about you and Helaena?”

Aemond shook his head “No- she remains as a sister to me”

Visella folded her arms across her chest “As Luke is a brother to me- I've never been with a man, my maidenhood is still intact-”

Aemond smirked at her revelation, his head cocked to the side “I could be persuaded to forgive the debt owed to me” he said, his voice soft, unreadable. “If the right offer were made.”

Visella’s brow creased. “What sort of offer?”

“Surely you are not that- obtuse?”

“You think,” Visella said quietly, voice sharp as a blade’s edge, “that I came here to sell myself to you?”

Aemond loomed over her. “You are the one who came to me unaccompanied by your sworn protector, and speaking honeyed words of making amends. What am I to think?”

Colour floods Visella’s face, fury and shame both in equal measure. “You mistake me uncle”

“No-” Aemond says. “I don’t. You came to whore yourself. You thought you might lay yourself out before me and make it right with your cunt-”

Visella ignores the feeling of her insides squirming at Aemond’s crude words and takes a step back. “I had thought you might have the good sense to listen, but I–”

“I may be willing to accept your offer” Aemond continues, cutting her off. His voice is calm. His head tilts lower, lips near Visella’s ear “On one condition. I only want it, if it’s still truly intact as you claim. I want to be the one who takes you for the first time. That is my price-”

Visella’s whole body is tense. “You’re actually serious-”

“You give me that, and there will be no more talk of debts. I will forgive your brother and swear myself to your mother, and support her as Queen”

“You mean to say—if I come to your bed, you’ll give your support to my mother? You have some nerve to make an offer like that; I am heir to the Iron Throne. I could have you killed just for asking-”

“But you won’t,” Aemond says, infuriatingly sure. “You mean to avoid war. You know I was wronged which is why you’ve come here hoping to make it right. I’m offering you a way niece. It is a fair exchange, your blood-instead of his”

Aemond’s gaze lingered, unyielding, the space between them charged with something volatile and unspoken.

The godswood had grown very still, as though even the very wind held its breath.

Visella’s heart pounded in her chest. She was furious—righteously so—but she could not deny the want coiled low in her stomach, the shameful, treacherous part of her that stirred when he stepped close, when his rasping voice dropped, when his eye caught hers and didn’t look away.

She despised him for it. And more so, she despised herself.

“You need not decide right now,” Aemond said at last, his voice softer now, almost kind. It made it worse somehow.

He looked away from her, towards the face carved into the weirwood tree, his expression unreadable.

“I would not take you here-” he added. “My chambers. At the hour of the eel. Come to me then”

And with that, Aemond turned, his back to her once more.

The fire crackled low in the hearth of Aemond’s chambers, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls.

The hour of the eel had come and gone, and yet he remained seated, one leg draped over the other, his elbow propped against the arm of the chair.

He told himself he didn’t care. Of course she wouldn’t come. Why would she?

The proposition had been bold, crude even. A challenge masquerading as an offer.

The sort of thing Daemon might have done, Aemond realized bitterly.

It had slipped from his mouth before he truly thought it through — but the moment the words had left his lips, she had been angry at first but then he had watched how her cheeks had flushed, as she seemed to consider his offer.

That was when the seed took root.

He’d seen her eyes linger on him too many times not to wonder. From the walkways above the yard where her gaze would hold longer than it should to the ridiculous family feasts Rhaenyra insisted on hosting, where Visella always, somehow, ended up seated beside him.

She would not speak much, not to him—but he felt her presence like the brush of a sword just shy of his skin.

He had never meant to want her, but she had invaded his senses, she plagued his mind, and it drove him to madness.

He thought of Sylvi, the madam from the Street of Silk — her motherly figure and perfumed skin, her experienced hands and her mouth crude.

It was Aegon who had dragged him there on his thirteenth name day, and he had roared with laughter that night, drunk and proud.

‘Time to get it wet’ his brother had declared, as though it were some rite of passage to be endured.

Aemond hated it, and he vowed never step foot in such a place again.

Then when he was five and ten there had been a widow, soft-spoken, older and indulgent.

It wasn’t something that he’d gone looking for, it just happened.

There were no feelings involved on his part, but she had been patient with him, and she had taught him the ways of a woman’s body.

But even then, it hadn’t left a mark.

But Visella had. Without even touching him, she marked him.

And then there was Vermithor—the old bronze beast, massive and wrathful, thought unrideable since the days of old King Jaehaerys.

But Visella had claimed him as if she’d been born to. Aemond had seen them together often from afar—how she moved with him, not as a rider commanding a mount, but as one half of a soul bound to the other.

He’d watched her once—unseen—standing at the edge of the grassy meadow at dusk, her silver hair catching the dying light, her voice lifting in High Valyrian as she sang to Vermithor.

Not commanded—sang. The ancient words wrapped around her like flame, and the dragon listened with his head low to the earth, eyes shut as though entranced.

Aemond had never heard High Valyrian spoken like that before—

His father had not taught him the tongue. His own mastery had come hard-earned—through cracked books, scrolls inked with age, and hours of gruelling repetition under maesters who barely respected the language’s fire.

Aegon mocked the lessons and when he did try to speak it, he sounded like a braying donkey, barely able to strong coherent sentence.

Helaena only knew enough to command Dreamfyre, and Daeron was no better.

But Visella?

Visella spoke it like she had been birthed in Old Valyria itself—not merely fluent, but lyrical, each syllable shaped with reverence and precision. Her voice wove the words with a singer’s rhythm and dignity.

Aemond had never heard anything so hauntingly beautiful.

Then came the whispers of her possible betrothal Lord Cregan Stark. And it twisted something dark in him. He would not name it, but he knew it was there

He hadn’t meant to propose anything when she had accosted him in the gardens.

The offer had been a moment of impulse, a lash of power—and maybe something more.

And yet.

A knock at the chamber door.

Aemond sat bolt upright. For a heartbeat, he was still. Then he rose, quietly, crossing the floor in silence as he opened the door.

There she stood.

Visella.

Her long silver hair was unbound, glinting softly in the firelight. She wore a robe over a night-gown, pale and almost luminous against her skin.

The sight of her made something inside him twist and clench.

She stepped in without a word, and he shut the door behind her.

Aemond tried to compose himself, but his voice betrayed him, low and tight. “So, you came.”

Visella nodded once. “You said you would forgive my brother. That you would swear yourself to my mother and support her as Queen.”

Aemond tilted his head. “Of course.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She didn’t move from the doorway. “I want to hear you say it. Out loud-”

Aemond allowed himself a slow smile. “Luke’s debt will be paid, and I will support your mother’s claim. That is my word-”

There was a flicker of something in her gaze — suspicion, perhaps. Or disbelief. But slowly, she nodded. “Very well.”

Aemond stepped toward her. One step, then another. She did not retreat.

He reached out, gently, and cupped her face. Her skin was warm beneath his touch, her breath caught.

Aemond felt as if his blood was on fire “Kiss me-”

Visella’s eyes widened. “That was not part of our deal-”

“It is now-” Aemond said, his voice softer, more vulnerable than he intended.

For a moment, the world held its breath.

Then her lips met his.

The kiss was not chaste. It was not delicate. It was heat and fire.

Aemond wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and Visella did not resist. Her hands curled into the fabric at his chest as though she might tear it from him.

Aemond had kissed before. He had lain with women before. But nothing had ever scorched him like this.

Visella gently tugged off the night gown she was wearing and Aemond could feel his mouth watering at the sight of her.

“I-I don’t know what to do” muttered Visella her cheeks-tinged pink.

“It’s ok-I’ll take care of you” replied Aemond as he directed her to sit on the end if the bed before he knelt on the floor, lowering his head between her legs.

His singular gaze fixed upon her centre.

“W-What are you doing?”

Aemond paused for a moment, his nose nuzzling against her thigh.

“I want to-kiss you”

“But that’s not- Aemond-“ shrieked Visella her eyes rolling into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

Visella bit her lip to step her from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Let me hear you” groaned Aemond.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” begged Visella.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes-yes, so g-good” breathed Visella, her fingers coiling in Aemond’s silver hair.

Aemond slowl pressed two fingers inside her, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake, his tongue moving against her folds, his lips wrapping around her pearl.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Peak for me” whispered Aemond.

Visella arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond pressed a gentle kiss to her sensitive pearl before he crawled up her body, placing gentle kisses on her soft skin as he moved higher and higher.

Visella blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself-” murmured Aemond.

“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Visella putting her hands over her face in embarrassment.

“Was that your first peak?” asked Aemond as he gently pulled away her hands and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

Visella blushed and nodded quickly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow” whispered Aemond.

“O-Ok-” replied Visella, her heart pounding.

Aemond placed a series of kisses along her neck, his hand gently cupping her breast before he moved to suck the rosy little bud into his mouth, his tongue rolling around the stiffened peak.

“L-Let me see you” whispered Visella

Aemond released her nipple with a soft pop and frowned.

“It’s not a pretty sight-I wouldn’t want to frighten you” replied Aemond.

“Kostilus” breathed Visella (Please).

Aemond hesitated for a moment before he pulled off his eye patch, revealing a sparkling sapphire. 

“Sīr gevie” whispered Visella as she took Aemond’s head in her hands and placed a kiss upon the scar (So beautiful).

Aemond growled as he pressed closer to her, desperately seeking what she subconsciously offered.

“I-I think I’m ready now” muttered Visella jumping slightly when she felt Aemond’s cock against her.

Aemond smiled supporting himself above her on his forearm while his other hand guided his cock to her wet centre.

“Oooh Aemond” exclaims Visella as he takes a moment to rub the head of himself against her warm wetness.

“Just-feel me” rasps Aemond as he looks down to watch his cock sliding through her wet folds.

“Please-” whined Visella.

Aemond slowly pushed the blunt head of his cock inside. Just the tip felt okay but then he continues to push inside, it stings.

Visella takes a deep breath and clenches her eyes shut as Aemond keeps moving until his cock fully slides into her, his hips coming to rest against hers.

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond.

“It hurts,” cried Visella.

“Do you want me to stop-I can pull out” whispered Aemond raising his hand and tracing his thumb over her plump bottom lip.

“N-No g-give me a moment” whimpered Visella.

Aemond nods, holding himself above Visella, she can feel his cock throbbing and twitching inside her.

For a few silent minutes, Aemond begins to press gentle kisses all over Visella’s face and neck, then after the sting has faded somewhat, Visella gently moves her hips.

“I-I think you can move”.

Aemond exhales shakily, slowly pulling out halfway, he looks down to see the blood streaking his cock and he smiles-

“Oh Aemond”

“You’re taking me so well-” whispers Aemond soothingly, thrusting again, harder this time.

Gradually he gets into a rhythm, his movements slow but powerful.

Visella slides her hands up his back towards up to his shoulders, clinging to him as his thrusts shift her up and down the bed.

Aemond makes a strangled sort of sound and lowers himself onto Visella even more, kissing her passionately.

His cock still thrusting in and out.

Visella kisses him back, threading her fingers through his long silky hair.

Aemond breaks the kiss, breathing heavily.

Visella can feel herself clenching around him as his cock keeps hitting the same spot inside her.

“Ooo Aemond-f-faster. P-please”

“A-Are you sure?” asked Aemond.

“Yes. Please I want to feel you” whispered Visella.

Aemond groans as he begins to move faster pounding into her, their skin slapping together.

“Aemond-Aemond-”

“You’re so fucking perfect, mine all mine” growls Aemond as he reaches down and circles her pearl with his finger.

“Y-Yes, yours all yours” moans Visella squirming as her pleasure peaks and she explodes.

Aemond lets out a long low groan, removing his finger as his hips buck wildly. His cock twitching as he spills his seed into her.

Aemond’s hips finally stagger and stop, his cock still twitching slightly. His face buried in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as he rests for a moment before he slowly pulls out.

Visella gasps as he slips from her, and Aemond looks down to see a mix of blood and his seed staining his cock.

Aemond then laid back against the pillows, his silver hair tousled and half-falling from its tie, his bare chest rising and falling steadily.

The weight of the moment still clung to the air, thick with everything they had done.

Visella rises to sit on the edge of the bed, her back to him, as she reached for her gown pulling it over her bare shoulders in silence.

Aemond’s voice broke the quiet, quiet but steady.

“You can stay the night if you want-”

Visella paused, her fingers halting as they tied the ribbons of her gown. She didn’t turn to face him, not yet. Her voice came soft and uncertain.

“I-I don’t think that’s wise”

Aemond’s jaw shifted, a quiet breath of something between amusement and resignation escaping him. He dragged a hand through his tousled silver hair, pushing it back from his face.

“Of course,” he muttered, eyes flicking toward the dim embers of the fire. “Wouldn’t want to cause a stir now, would we.”

Visella stood, quickly stepping away from the bed as if distance might offer clarity. She slipped into her robe, smoothing the fabric as she turned her back to him.

The silence grew heavier with each second.

Once Visella deemed herself presentable, she moved to the door. Her hand found the iron handle—but she hesitated.

She turned, just slightly, glancing over her shoulder.

Aemond hadn’t moved. He sat against the pillows, the firelight catching the sharp lines of his face, his single violet eye fixed on her—

There was something in her expression—uncertainty, or perhaps the ghost of something else.

But whatever words might’ve risen died before reaching her lips.

Her gaze dropped.

And without another word, she opened the door and slipped out, the quiet click of it closing behind her.

The carriage wheels clattered softly over the stones as it passed through the gates of the Red Keep, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the courtyard.

The moment the carriage came to a halt, Visella stepped down gracefully, her riding leathers caught slightly by the breeze.

She turned, nodding her thanks to both the driver and the footman before striding toward the keep’s entrance.

Behind her, Ser Erryk followed at a brisk pace, his jaw clenched. He’d not spoken more than five words to her since morning—his anger still simmering from the previous night, when she’d given him the slip. He was her sworn protector, not her jailor, she’d reminded him.

That hadn’t gone over well. But she didn’t have time to argue now.

“There you are!” came a breathless voice, and Luke came rushing across the courtyard toward her, eyes wide and anxious. “Where have you been?”

Visella blinked, startled by the urgency in his tone—and the unusual flurry around them. Lords and ladies were moving with haste, their heads down, and expressions tight.

“Flying with Vermithor,” she replied evenly. “Why? What’s the rush?”

Luke glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in. “Mother has summoned the court.”

Visella’s steps faltered. “Did she say why?”

“No,” he said, frowning. “But she’s demanding full attendance. No exceptions.”

Visella’s fingers tightened around her riding gloves as she exhaled. This wasn’t the usual gathering—Rhaenyra’s courts were regular, predictable affairs, always set on specific days.

Not sudden. Not like this. Then a chill slid down her spine.

What if she knew?

Visella’s throat tightened.

What if someone had seen? The corridor had been mostly empty, but there had been that one lingering maid—quiet and watchful.

Visella tried to reason with herself. No. Surely her mother wouldn’t air such a thing publicly—

But her stomach twisted at the thought. But then-

What if Cregan was here? What if he had accepted the match, and travelled all the way from Winterfell—only to be humiliated?

The moment she stepped through the towering doors of the throne room, her heart nearly stopped.

There was Aemond, standing before the Iron Throne, clad in his usual black attire his silver head bowed.

Her mother, sat still upon the throne. Daemon stood to one side, his expression unreadable, a hand resting on the pommel of Dark Sister.

“Your Grace—” Aemond’s voice rang out, loud and clear “I come before you with knowledge I believe to be of interest to the Crown. A matter that concerns the future of the realm.”

Visella froze. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

“It concerns your daughter- the heir to the Iron Throne”

Visella’s knees nearly gave out.

Rhaenyra raised a brow, her eyes narrowing. “Speak plainly, Prince Aemond.”

Aemond briefly turned his gaze to her, and the moment his eye locked on hers, she knew.

“Last night,” Aemond began, “-Your daughter betrayed the duties expected of a woman promised in marriage. She came to my bedchambers and gave herself to me”

A wave of gasps, shocked murmurs, and hasty glances swept through the throne room.

Jace and Luke both moved instinctively, stepping in front of Visella like shields. Jace growled something low and furious, barely contained.

“She did so willingly,” Aemond added. “Her virtue is no longer intact-”

“Lies!” someone shouted.

But Aemond only smiled—cruel and triumphant. “I have proof”

From the crowd, a maid stepped forward, eyes low, arms trembling as she carried something. She paused before the Iron Throne, then unfolded the cloth with practiced precision.

Bloodstained sheets.

Visella’s stomach lurched as the recognition struck like a dagger.

The maid—it was the one she had passed in the corridor. Her heart thundered in her chest. There was no denying it now.

“How do we know that’s her blood?” Jace snapped, voice thick with rage.

“Enough!” Rhaenyra’s voice cracked across the throne room like a whip.

But then the hand of the Queen Princess Rhaenys, raised her hand calmly. “Let us hear from the Princess”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. But after a long pause, she nodded. Her gaze slid to Visella.

“Visella. Step forward-”

Her body moved before her mind could even protest. Her legs felt like stone.

But Aemond interrupted “There’s more-”

The maid spoke again, softer now. “I-I saw the Princess. Leaving Prince Aemond’s chambers. She looked-dishevelled and flushed”

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line, displeasure etched in every line of her face.

“Is it true?” she asked.

Visella’s mouth opened, but no sound came.

And then—her mother saw it. The truth flickered across her daughter’s face like lightning.

Then a beat of silence before the whispers started.

Visella could feel every single eye boring into her as she stood before the Iron Throne.

Alicent looked aghast, shaking her head at Aemond. Aegon’s melodious laugh echoed round the throne room, Helaena muttered something incoherent about moths and flames and Daeron rolled his eyes.

“Enough!” Rhaenyra thundered. “This is a private matter. The court is dismissed.”

Guards stepped forward to usher the lords and ladies out.

As the great doors shut, Aemond came to stand beside Visella, his hand pressing against her lower back—a possessive gesture. She flinched away instantly.

But Aemond only smiled.

Jace didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, shoving Aemond hard.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Guards quickly swarmed him, dragging him back by the arms. Jace fought like a feral creature, his eyes blazing.

Visella turned to Aemond, her voice broken. “We had an agreement”

Aemond leaned close. “We did,” he murmured. “But I never agreed to keep it quiet”

Across the room, Rhaenyra stood. Her voice softened, dangerously so. “Tell me, my daughter. Were you coerced?”

Aemond stood deathly still, his singular eye wide. He knew as well as she did that this was her way out of the trouble, he’d landed her in.

She could say she was coerced- that he had lied and manipulated her. His head would no doubt be struck from his shoulders for the offense and Vhagar would be free to be claimed by another or to simply live her life in peace.

But then-

 “No,” whispered Visella. “He did not force me. I-I went to him of my own free will.”

Rhaenyra barely reacted. “I suspected as much,” she said coldly. “And now what, Prince Aemond? You’ve sullied her. Ruined her chances of a betrothal to Lord Stark”

“I would make it right,” Aemond said. “Let me wed her and in return I offer you my loyalty and the might of Vhagar.”

Visella narrowed her eyes.

This had always been Aemond’s plan. He had ruined her on purpose. A second son with no lands or titles to inherit, now stood to marry the Queen’s heir and become King Consort.

Rhaenyra didn’t speak, but then Princess Rhaenys leaned in, whispering something and her expression hardened.

She looked to Visella. “What say you, my girl?”

Visella glanced at Daemon who stood quietly at the edge of the throne’s shadow, his hand on Dark Sister, his expression unreadable—but when she met his eyes, he nodded once.

Visella drew a breath. Her voice was steady “I accept Prince Aemond’s proposal”

Aemond smiled, stepping forward. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys-” he murmured (My wife).

Rhaenyra’s tone was clipped. “Very well. The wedding shall be arranged. And a letter of apology will be sent to Lord Stark—and it will be written by Prince Aemond-”

Aemond dipped his head. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Before he could turn back to Visella, Alicent stormed forward, seizing his arm dragging him away. “What in the seven hells do you think you’re doing?”

Aegon laughed from behind her. “I’m impressed brother-”

Helaena twirled a strand of her hair, now murmuring about a flame amongst the darkness.

Daeron looked mildly bored by the entire thing.

Visella turned away from the tumult and moved across the throne room to Daemon. He regarded her proudly, his hand still resting on Dark Sister.

“Sȳr�� gaomagon, ñuha riña-” Daemon murmured (Well done, my girl).

Visella smiled “Kirimvose, Kepa” (Thank you, Father).

Later, when the storm of court had ebbed and Aemond’s proclamation had spread like wildfire through the halls of the Red Keep, Visella found herself once more on the familiar path toward her father’s solar.

The torches flickered low, the air thick with the scent of old stone and smoke. She slipped past the guards without being announced.

She never needed to be.

Daemon was seated at the carved table near the hearth, one boot propped casually atop the bench, goblet in hand, a smirk already playing on his lips.

“Well,” he drawled, before she could speak a word. “I see the little princeling took a bite?”

Visella rolled her eyes, but she couldn't quite suppress the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“You might say he swallowed the whole damn hook-” she said, lifting one brow.

Daemon chuckled, low and pleased, and gestured to the chair opposite him. “You’ve always had a good sense for bait,” he said. “Though I admit, I didn’t expect you’d go so far as to seal the deal.”

Visella rolled her eyes. “You told me to do it-”

Daemon arched a brow, finally turning to face her. “I suggested you consider every weapon at your disposal. What you chose to do with that advice-” He sipped his wine, voice smooth, “-was entirely your own”

Visella tossed a cushion at him, which he dodged with a grin.

“You weren’t shocked when Aemond made his little declaration to the court,” she said, studying him.

“Should I have been?”

“You looked smug-”

Daemon swirled the wine in his cup. “I was smug. He gave us everything we wanted. Vhagar is now on our side and Aemond bound to you—and thus to Rhaenyra. And best of all, he thinks it was his idea.”

Visella snorted, leaning back. “You really think he’s that arrogant?”

“Even though he’s part Hightower cunt, he’s also a Targaryen,” Daemon said dryly. “-Of course, he thinks it was all him.”

Visella looked into the fire for a moment, thoughtful. “I don’t know if I should feel triumphant or-”

“Feel powerful,” Daemon said. “You did what Queens do. You played the game. And you won-”

Visella nodded thoughtfully and there was a moment of silence.

Daemon then refilled his own cup before he handed her a cup of wine “You’ve done me proud, Visella. You were born to ride dragons and rule the realm. Just like your mother-”

“You really think it was the right move?”

Daemon leaned forward, dropping his voice to a velvet murmur. “My dear girl, you’ve done what no council meeting, or treaty could. And Aemond—gods help him—is too deep in his own obsession to see how thoroughly he’s been played”

A smile crept across Visella’s lips. “I merely gave him what he wanted-”

“He thinks with the wrong sword,” Daemon said, lifting his brows pointedly.

Visella choked on the wine. “Seven hells, Father.”

Daemon then lifted his cup “To cheeky little seductions and the fools who fall for them-”

Visella raised hers in return.

They drank. And in the quiet that followed, Daemon watched her with a flicker of pride in his eyes. Not just satisfaction, not just cunning—true, fierce pride in her.

“You’ve done well, Visella-” he said softly. “-But remember in this Game of Thrones, you are no mere piece to be moved about the board- you are the player”.

FIN.

[societyfolklore]

Plus One - The Aftermath

Title: Plus One - The Aftermath Pairing: Loki x SHEILD Agent!Female Reader

Summary:  The new year had brought a return to routine, but the memory of the Christmas party lingered like a ghost, haunting you in the quiet moments when your mind wandered. But unfortunately secrets never stayed buried for long.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, smut, Oral sex (F receiving), fingering. No beta read.  

A/N: My first part two! Part One (Yes, there will be  part 3)

It began with Natasha, whose observational skills were as unerring as her aim. You had barely taken the first sip of your second coffee when she slid into the seat opposite you in the breakroom. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes gleamed with a curiosity that set your nerves on edge. “So,” she began, drawing out the word with a sharp lilt. “Anything interesting happen at the Christmas party?”

“Not really.” You frowned, adopting an air of innocence. “Tony went all out, as usual.”

Natasha’s smirk hinted at the arsenal of information she already possessed. “Right. And what about the part where you and Loki conveniently disappeared at the same time?”

Your heart stuttered in its rhythm, but your resolve held firm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, don’t insult me,” she replied, her tone light but her words cutting. “The way he was watching you all night wasn’t exactly subtle. And then you both vanish? Please.”

You opened your mouth to refute her claims, but Natasha raised a hand to halt you. “Relax. I’m not here to pry. Just… be careful. Loki is, well, Loki.”

Her words followed you long after she left, planting seeds of doubt that you had carefully avoided. Who else had noticed? How much had they seen?

By mid-afternoon, her warning replayed itself on an endless loop in your head, blending with every glance or half-smile Loki had sent your way that night. Had you really been that obvious? You tried to remember if there had been a moment when anyone might have noticed you both slipping away. Natasha’s insight wasn’t the kind born of rumour-it was sharp, precise, a weapon honed from years of observation.

When you bumped into Steve later that day, his polite smile faltered for a fraction of a second before settling back into its usual warmth. "You doing okay?" he asked, his voice steady, though there was an undertone of curiosity.

"Fine," you replied too quickly, brushing past him without making eye contact. The encounter left you unsettled. If Steve had noticed anything, you wouldn’t hear it from him directly-his tact was ironclad-but his lingering look as you walked away felt heavier than usual.

By the evening, the paranoia Natasha had sown was blossoming into a tangled mess. You found yourself overanalysing every interaction, every seemingly innocent glance from your colleagues. The walls of SHIELD felt closer, more suffocating than ever, and Loki’s shadow loomed in every corner, his presence as inescapable as the doubts now trailing you. You resolved to confront him soon-not just for answers, but for your own sanity.

By the week’s end, the rumours had evolved from quiet whispers to pointed remarks. Clint, during a sparring match, dropped a casual comment about 'making new friends' accompanied by a smirk that made you falter mid-strike. His words lingered, distracting you enough to earn a jab to the ribs that left you wincing. “Focus,” he teased, though his grin made it clear he enjoyed having unsettled you. "Unless you got someone- thing else on your mind?"  You feel heat hit your cheeks that wasn't just from the physical exertions before getting grouchy and throwing another strike. 

Tony, as expected, was less subtle. He cornered you in the lab, his grin predatory as he tapped a wrench against the workbench with mock gravity. “So, you and Asgard’s Emo Lord,” he began, the words heavy with amusement. “What’s that about?”

You groaned, feigning exasperation. “Nothing. There’s nothing going on.”

Tony arched a brow, unconvinced. “Right. Because the way he looked at you at the party screamed nothing. You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Maybe you’re just imagining things,” you shot back, hoping to derail him. It was futile.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Tony leaned in, his smirk widening. “You know, if you’re looking for tips on how to handle moody divas, I’ve got experience.”

You turned back to your work with a frustrated sigh, but Tony’s knowing laugh followed you like a shadow, his taunts replaying in your mind long after he left. Every attempt at avoidance seemed only to feed the fire. Clint brought it up again over dinner, making an offhand remark about  'fraternizing with the enemy' that earned him a glare from Natasha and an apologetic shrug in your direction.

Even Bruce, ever the diplomat, offered a hesitant observation as you passed him in the corridor. “You seem… distracted lately. Everything okay?” His concern was genuine, and that made it worse. The weight of their collective scrutiny pressed down on you, fraying your nerves and leaving your defences ragged and ineffective. "I'm fine." It felt as if the walls were closing in, each rumour and teasing remark amplifying the tension that already simmered beneath the surface.

When you finally crossed paths with Loki in the library, your resolve was a fragile thread, pulled taut. He lounged in a chair, the picture of unbothered elegance, a book balanced between his long fingers. His smirk when he noticed you sent a flush of irritation through you.

“We need to talk,” you said, folding your arms in a feeble attempt to keep your composure intact.

“Ah,” Loki drawled, closing the book with deliberate care, “my darling has finally come to her senses. Here to beg for more, are you?” His gaze swept over you, a languid appreciation that made your skin prickle.

“Stop,” you snapped, your tone sharp, though it didn’t seem to faze him. “The comments, the teasing-it ends now.”

Loki stood, his movements slow, deliberate, as if to savour your growing frustration. “Why?” he asked, his voice dropping into a husky, velvety timbre. “Because it frightens you? Or because you’re afraid of how much you enjoy it?”

You bristled, taking a step back as he advanced, the air between you electric. “Whatever happened at the party-it was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“A mistake,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sardonic grin. “Then why are you still thinking about it? About me?”

His words struck like a blow, but before you could muster a retort, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “You want this,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low purr. “I can feel it. You want me.”

Your breath caught, your defences wavering as his hand brushed against yours, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re wrong,” you managed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Am I?” Loki asked, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Tell me, then. Look me in the eye and say you feel nothing. That you don’t think of my hands on you, my lips against yours. About me inside you.” How did he manage to get a purr like that in his voice.  “Say it, and I’ll leave you be.”

You opened your mouth, the words on the tip of your tongue, but they refused to come. The memory of his touch, his heat, burned too brightly in your mind. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. “I thought so.”

You jerked back, your heart pounding. “This isn’t a game, Loki.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice softening, his gaze intense. “It’s not. But neither is it something to fear.”

“I don’t trust you,” you admitted, your voice trembling under the weight of your honesty.

“Trust me?” His finger grazed your cheek, his touch featherlight but searing. "You trusted me at the party. Trusted me with your body, with your pleasure." His voice was lower now, rich with seduction.

You sucked in a breath, trying to summon a rebuttal, but he pressed on. “Shall I remind you of the way you clung to me, of how my name fell from those lips of yours.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, and you averted your gaze, but Loki wasn’t about to let you off so easily. His fingers tipped your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet his. “There’s no shame in desire, pet. Not when yours is something so delicious," he purred, his thumb lightly stroking your jawline. "Why hide from it?”

 Before you could formulate a response, his lips descended upon yours, brushing softly at first, testing, teasing. The touch was maddeningly light, and when he pulled back slightly, your shaky exhale betrayed you as you leant back into him, seeking more.  All you felt a  a smug, knowing curve of his mouth as it pulled into a predatory smile. "There it is," he murmured. "Sweet surrender."

His mouth claiming yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the heat between your bodies threatened to burn through the layers of fabric that separated you. His other hand found its way into your hair, his fingers tangling as he angled your head to take more, to consume.

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly your back hit the bookshelf with a soft thud. Books shifted and fell forgotten to the floor as Loki pressed against you, his body a firm and unyielding presence. The kiss turned frantic, urgent, as though he were staking his claim, demanding a response that your body was all too eager to give. His hands roamed freely now-one sliding down to grip your hip, the other trailing along your spine in a slow, deliberate caress.

"And I suspect," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough, "that other parts of you taste even sweeter." His lips trailed from your mouth to the sensitive curve of your jaw, then down to the delicate line of your neck. The sensation was electric, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his teeth grazed your skin, a soft gasp escaped you, and you felt his lips curl into a smile against your throat.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you struggled to form coherent thoughts. Loki’s proximity, his touch, his voice-it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Your hands, seemingly of their own accord, found their way to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He hummed low in his throat, the sound vibrating under your palm. “Good girl,” he murmured, his words a decadent tease, his eyes locked on yours with a predatory gleam.

Before you could react, his hands moved, deliberate and confident, sliding down to the hem of your skirt. His fingers brushed against your thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake as he slowly, almost reverently, pushed the fabric upward.

"Such a pretty thing," Loki murmured, his voice thick with desire as his hands caressed the soft skin of your legs. The soft cotton beneath his fingertips only emphasized the heat radiating from you. He eased down to his knees, his movements unhurried, his focus entirely on you. His gaze burned as he looked up, his hands gently urging your thighs apart, his thumbs brushing over sensitive skin, drawing a tremble from you that he savored. "I’ve been thinking about this," he admitted, his tone laced with hunger. "About how utterly exquisite you’d look surrendering to me like this, completely at my mercy."

The ache between your legs grew more insistent under his touch, every deliberate stroke of his hands sending waves of heat through you. You tried to stifle the soft gasp that escaped your lips, but Loki caught it, his smirk deepening as his fingers slid higher, tracing a teasing path along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Ah," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, "you can’t hide this from me, darling. Your body is far more honest than you are darling."

Your breath hitched as he pressed a kiss just above your knee, his lips soft but deliberate, trailing a path upward, leaving your skin tingling and your resolve crumbling as needy noise leaving you.  "Such eagerness," he purred, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. "Do you feel it? This need simmering between us? You’re burning for me, aren’t you?"

His fingers traced patterns along the inside of your thighs, featherlight yet electrifying. You could feel the wet need pooling between your legs  "Do you know what it does to me, seeing you like this? Watching you try so hard to resist when we both know you’ve already given in?" He leant in, casually breathing in the scent of you like he was sampling wine. 

You shivered under his touch, every nerve in your body alight as his lips followed the path his fingers had drawn, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "You're going to give me what I want aren't you?" he purred, his breath ghosting over your skin. "When fall apart on my tongue," 

Your voice caught in your throat, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the fire his touch ignited within you. Loki’s smirk deepened, a dark, knowing curve of his lips. "Your going to make all those wonderful noises again like you did in the hallway aren't you?" he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs more firmly before his face drew closer to where that thin piece cotton that hid you away from him. Teasing he leant closer, his nose running along the fabric of your underwear. Loki’s nose bumping into your clit, letting out a strangled noise as your throat closed as pleasure shot up your spine. "I told you, I want to hear you." His tongue teased along the fabric, Loki finger ran up your leg curling around the sides of your underwear pulling them down. The cool air danced across your skin, heightening the sensitivity, you knew you were unable to hide your reaction to him now. You could feel his warm breath whispering against your wet folds, teasing you with promises of what was to come. "Look at that.” His tongue ran along the seam of you, tasting the nectar you were offering. “Is this what you need? My mouth on you." The words you spoke next were barely more than a whisper, but they carried the weight of your surrender. “Please..” His fingers, now free from the task of removing your underwear, gripped your thigh, lifting one leg to rest on his shoulder. “So polite now aren’t you pet?” His tongue slide against you again before he pushed it between fold mouth closed over you, the warmth and wetness enveloping your sensitive flesh.

“Arh-ah.” The noise came from in a desperate pant as you felt his tongue swirl over your clit like a wet snake.  His tongue, a masterful instrument, danced and swirled, coaxing sounds from you that you couldn't contain.

"Oh, God," you moaned, your hands grasping for something, anything, to hold onto as the world spun around. Loki's tongue probed deeper, his mouth sucking gently, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. "So sweet," his voice muffled against your skin. "A crime that I have deprived myself for this long..” His hands tilted your hips allowing him better access before you felt his tongue slide up inside you, both of you moaning loudly. He feasted on you now, his tongue reaching up higher into you as his nose pushing into the nub or nerves at the apex, building heat in your blood.

As his tongue slid back to your slit, you felt a rush of sensation, your body arching towards him, your hips bucking upwards. "Ahh...oh God, yes," your voice cracking as his tongue slid across your clit. You didn’t notice one had leaving you thigh, until you felt Loki’s finger slid up inside you, slick velvet walls clenching around them, trying to hold him in place as his tongue continued to dance across your clit.

"Mmm...so tight," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your core "I can feel you squeezing."

Your response was a series of desperate pants, your body straining towards him as his fingers slid in and out of you. "More...please, more," you begged, your voice hoarse with desire.

Loki's tongue slid back to your clit, his mouth closing over you once again suckling. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot that made you cry out in pleasure. "Ahh...yes, right there," you moaned, your body shuddering with pleasure. His own moans merging with yours.

As his fingers continued to slide in and out of you, his tongue swirled around your clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You felt yourself building towards that perfect end, your body straining towards him, your muscles tensing with anticipation.

"Oh...God, Loki, Loki I'm going to...," you stuttered, your voice trailing off as your body gave in to the pleasure your hands going from the shelf to grip at his hair.

Loki's response was a low, rumbling growl, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to push you over the edge, urging you forward. Your body answered his call, arching towards him, your muscles tensing as the orgasm built, and then, in a rush of heat and sensation. “Loki, Loki.. Loki fuck!” You were coming, your body shuddering violently as waves of ecstasy coursed through you, your voice rising in an unrestrained scream of his name, "Loki!" The sound of your climax seemed to echo in the dim library, blending with the rhythm of your ragged breaths. Your fingers tangled deeper in his dark hair, pulling him closer, as though you could tether yourself to him amidst the chaos of pleasure consuming you.

The world around you faded, melting into a haze of white noise and raw sensation, leaving only the heat of Loki's mouth and the overwhelming force of your release. Every nerve in your body seemed to hum with satisfaction, a symphony of euphoria that left you trembling, barely able to hold yourself upright against the unyielding shelf behind you. Slowly, Loki pulled back, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His hands slid down to your thighs, carefully guiding one leg off his shoulder as he stood to his full height. The sight of him-his disheveled hair, his lips glistening with evidence of your pleasure-sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth with an almost casual grace, his smirk curling into something devastatingly smug. "You taste even sweeter than I imagined," he purred, his voice thick with satisfaction and unmasked pride. "A feast worthy of a god."

You could only manage a shaky breath, your body still trembling in the aftermath of his ministrations. Loki leaned closer, one hand braced against the shelf beside your head, his proximity stealing what little composure you’d managed to regain. "Tell me," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive rumble, "did that satisfy the craving?" "I- I..." You were still struggling to form words, your lips trembling as you tried to summon even the smallest shred of coherence. The lingering sensation of his touch, his mouth, his overwhelming presence left you raw, exposed, and utterly undone.

"Let me know," Loki said, his voice silk and steel, "when you decide to give me the chance to be what you need." His words hung in the air like a tantalizing promise, equal parts command and plea.

With a fluid, almost predatory grace, Loki bent down, tugging your skirt back into place. The brush of his knuckles against your skin sent an involuntary shiver racing up your spine. His hand found your discarded underwear, his fingers hooking around the delicate fabric as he lifted it, holding it out to you with an almost theatrical flourish. "But if you want more, if you want me," he murmured, his gaze locking with yours, "you need only ask."

Your shaking hand reached out, trembling as you took them from him, the contact sparking like a live wire. Loki inclined his head, his expression inscrutable, though his eyes gleamed with something dark and tantalizing-triumph, desire, or perhaps both. "Take all the time you need." he said softly, his voice a quiet yet firm promise. "But know this-I am not going anywhere."

He stepped back slowly, his movements measured, deliberate, his piercing gaze lingering on you as though he were memorizing every detail. The intensity of his presence was almost suffocating, and yet, as he finally turned and walked away, the sudden void left you bereft. The soft sound of his footsteps receded into the distance, but his words, his touch, his very essence lingered, etched into your skin and seared into your soul.

Your knees threatened to buckle as the reality of what had just transpired washed over you. The trembling in your hands betrayed the tumult raging inside, a maelstrom of longing, confusion, and undeniable need. Loki had made himself clear-he wasn’t going anywhere. And as you leaned against the bookshelf, still shaking from the force of your release and the storm he had stirred within you, you realized with startling clarity that neither were you.

[sugurizz]

IDK IF YOU DO BREEDING KINKS BUT IF YOU DO MAY I PLEASE REQUEST JOO JAEKYHUNG X F BREEDING KINK (pls ignore this if you do not feel comfortable, i am so sorry 😔🙏) THANK YOU SO MUCH BABGORL 🧌🫶

Breeding kink is me. I’m breeding kink sis and so is Joo MF Jaekyung. He’s canonly a raw king *cough* chap.29 *cough* he hates condoms even more than he hates people lol.

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓/𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 +𝟏𝟖!! , 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈!! 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: STRONG BREEDING KINK DUH, established relationship, vaginal/ unprotected sex, begging, dirty talk.

Oh gosh Breeding Maniac! Jaekyung who cums buckets on every nut your tiny pussy squeezes out of him. His balls are always so big and full, so tight and warm after the long hours he spends training. The hours of sparring and working out, blowing off steam on his competition never seem to drain him though. If anything he’s back home with a visible hard-on grazing his boxers…He still got so much to give you nice and hard.

His raging pheromones get you soft and loose, almost dazzled into begging him to breed you. You never had to ask him twice anyways, not even once to begin with…

He’s addicted to the view of your pussy painted white, sticky and dripping with the viscous cum. He smirks at it like a brat, spreads you open and yanks your feet over his shoulders, staring longingly as if he just created a work of art between legs.

His foxy eyes lock with yours, grinning at your wasted expression and messy hairs sticking to your damp forehead…The lewd sight of you laying down on his bed, your breasts rising and falling with ragged cries. You look so damn pretty and nasty, begging to be bred over and over. Marked with his strong scent and warm sweat, his seed slowly dribbling down the swell of your asscheek…The mere thought could get him off on its own.

‘So good you can’t even breathe huh?’ He hovers over you and leans down, lips ghosting over your ear, ‘Don’t you faint on me, I’m far from done with you’

He pulls you by the waist, pounding into your balmy pussy. The ropes of your wetness and his cum join your hips back together. He gets wilder the longer he stares at your bodies slapping each other, going deeper in heat as you babble for him to breed you.

‘Oh fuckk- sir, godd…feels so fucking good-’

He pulls you closer by the neck, thrusting in and releasing inside you. You drag your nails over his back, drawing a couple groans out his lips…

The way he fills you up drives you crazy. His cum gets you addicted. You feel so complete when he does it :3 Keeps you all warm and docile, calms your body and mind…The sensation of being full of him inside you gets you all bubbly and happy. Feels almost like a little gift you carry of him every time he touches you.

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

Can you tell us dear author, if possible, what is a core memory that all our siblings have of MC ? Like we have seen in the update some of MC dearest memories with them (bird feeding for parim, learning how to silence our step with aurora + her playing the lyre ...) but what is theirs involving us if different ?

Also how long were parim hair before cutting ? -sarah

Oh, this was a cute ask! :3 ❤️💕

Parim: Lots of baby memories, like feeding messy baby mc with Aurora (he likes babies :3). A lot of stuff like bird-feeding/watching, family picnics by the Thiss, taking mc and his siblings to Thissys and other festivals and spoiling them by buying them toys and treats from different vendors. Also things like comforting mc when they got hurt or were sad, or letting mc have his dessert at dinner when they were sulking to cheer them up, etc. He takes pride in being a big brother. (also his hair fell about halfway down his torso before he cut it :3)

Aurora: MC would often join her in her room in the evenings when she was winding down reading on her divan. She’d read quietly with them or, when mc was young, she’d read to them with them in her lap or nestled between her legs and against her chest. With an mc with long enough hair, she’d also brush out their hair and style it for them—braiding and beading it like hers or stringing feathers through it etc. She took great pride in routinely maintaining her hair and she enjoyed caring for MCs hair too if applicable. She was excellent at sparring and a good instructor as well, and would train with all her siblings.

Castor: Rather taciturn, most of his core memories are more quiet moments with mc—like reading perched on the windowsill in the library or in the garden, playing games of wit/strategy, or studying together etc. And things like bandaging scraped knees or listening to mc when they were upset or just when they talked about things they like etc. Though he didn’t often break the rules, sometimes when mc was upset he’d sneak their favorite treats from the kitchen without the cooks noticing and bring mc a platter to their room while bringing a finger to his lips—our secret.

Ember: Most of their favorite memories with mc involve their outdoor escapades as kids—like taking mc fishing by the Thiss (and showing off their angling and archery skills), building mud castles and having mud fights (and returning home covered in mud to the horror of their mothers), going herping and catching lizards, snakes, salamanders, toads, bugs, etc. They also enjoyed tormenting Luca, often to get a rise out of mc. Despite their antagonism, Ember considered Luca basically like an honorary annoying sibling and often served to scare off bullies (as only he was allowed to tease Luca), though both of them would rather have died than ever actually admit that.

Nour: For a while after that snake slipped into their room as a child, they had trouble sleeping and were kept awake by nightmares. MC made them a little handmade attempt at a charm meant to ward off snakes and ill-omens, and let them spend the nights in their room and they built a little pillow fort, raided the kitchen for late night snacks, and stayed up late talking and reading and playing games until Nour finally fell asleep, though they usually had to sneak back to their room early the next morning so their mother wouldn’t notice. But it was the soundest they can remember sleeping in a very long time.

Farah: Most of her favorite memories are from before mc had to leave the palace as they were around more then—like sitting atop MCs shoulders to reach pomegranates in the garden fruit trees and having mc help her break them open and scoop the seeds out to share them. And sneaking into MCs room at night when she was frightened during rare thunderstorms and sleeping beneath a pillow fort or in MCs bed with them.

[bunni-v1]

May I ask your advice on something? I want to make a cookie that will be loved by shadow milk and I toss and turn the idea in my head thinking about his loneliness, but his arrogance in assuming most cookies aren’t worthy of his time makes it difficult. It leads me to building the cookie to be bigger and more powerful/elaborate than him so he immediately recognizes it, but that’s unsatisfying for me. I’d like them to be ordinary, clever of course, observant, and quick witted to not only keep up with shadow milk, but to even outpace him at times in a verbal sparring match. But most ordinary cookies don’t really fit the bill. They usually either worship or fear him depending on personality and self awareness. Both are good and what he needs/uses, but you can’t really be friends with a tool. Makes it hard to think of an ordinary cookie that might have caught his attention. I liked your analysis of what getting close to him pre corruption was and he’s a more viable candidate, but even he on some level looks down upon ordinary cookies that know less and don’t live as long. Namuwiki and regular wiki categorize his corruption as both an obsession with his own power as well as loneliness in a truth that broke him. I think the truth that did so or that at least planted the seed of corruption was: that cookies/people don’t care about the truth. He states as much so many times to pure vanilla to weaken his resolve, his dedication to truth. How cookies willingly/happily turn from the bitter truth to embrace a sweet lie. How cookies were more interested in listening to him speak than what he was really saying. It’s a one two punch realizing the cookies around you don’t really care about the thing that makes you you. And if they do it may only be for selfish gain, not for knowledge in itself. And the real rub is the reason they don’t care is often times due to some form of ignorance or stupidity. I mentioned this to a friend irl and she said,”oh he got bullied before he got corrupted. 💯” Which made me think of the cookies before his fall, who maybe took for granted that 1. The font of knowledge even exists and 2.That he would willingly and happily answer their questions truthfully forever and 3. Would never lose his patience. Because how much do you want to bet that the illusion from the sugar free road he taunted pure vanilla with, the woman yelling at him saying “tell us where to seek healing! Tell us how to be healthy to live in wealth and happiness! Use your power! Share your power with us! Do it if you truly care!” Were words from a cookie in shadow milks past? How many refused to seek the truth themselves, wishing no demanding he provide it for them. And criticizing him if/when he either refuses or lies, like bratty children. “Nothing but empty promises. All a lie.” Give them! Cookies who were so ignorant and stupid wanting to take away the thing that makes him him. Because that’s all he is isn’t he? His power his soul jam. Neither he nor anyone else it seems has seen him beyond his abilities. To who he is as a cookie.

Which is just another layer to his isolation, but all of which to say. Maybe the ordinary cookie who just happens to be curious, innovative, and above all patient and kind is his only balm against such words. And maybe that cookie crumbles under the weight of their deceit. Maybe that helps crumble his resolve. After all the main thing hes running from, the big lie he tells himself is that nothing bad ever happens to him. Because how could it? He’s a god, he’s all knowing, but not all powerful. Thoughts?

I think Shadow Milk's fall is the most interesting, because it could quite honestly be either he fell first or last. I'm a bigger fan of the him falling last theory, because it's very interesting to see how he would react to his friends becoming beasts and realizing he too will shortly.

With the new costume's story we can get a better look into him, and he's a lot like PV. Patient, kind, gentle, intelligent, and more than willing to share his knowledge with cookies. With such knowledge, he is very separate from other cookies. He knows and understands things that other cookies could never dream of.

That much knowledge will weigh on your being, even if you are a god. Especially if it's all you're supposed to be, a fount of knowledge for cookies. I think he does enjoy sharing his knowledge and the truths of the world. He cares for his cookies. How could he not? they are innocent and freshly baked, full of fear and confusion. His knowledge is meant to soothe them.

But, cookies fear what they do not understand. When they start asking harder questions, and he gives them the truthful answer, they don't like it. They lash out and deny the truth, and he realizes they would rather live in a lie than bear the truth. The fact that, even if it's unintentional, the very cookies he loves and cherishes are rejecting him... well, it would devastate anyone.

Shadow Milk Cookie became a beast because he was rejected by his people. He became the embodiment of lies to become what they wanted, rejecting the truth to show them the error of their ways. This is what they wanted, right?

I think that's why he needs a partner who challenges him. They can't just accept everything he does as okay. He doesn't want or need someone who just sits there and affirms him like his minions. His partner needs a backbone and a strong moral compass, the confidence to look at him and say, "Absolutely not."

They also need to have the awareness that he is the master of lies. They need to be able to see through his lies and illusions by themselves because he can't hold their hand all the time. He has this deep aching need to be seen, though he doesn't acknowledge those feelings. They have to be able to crack his shell by themselves and show that they care, and only then will he open up to them.

It's certainly not an easy feat for a normal cookie, but if Ginger Brave and co. can do it, I'm sure his partner can also do it. It takes a special cookie to get the master of deceit tripping over himself, after all.

[domain-expand-me]

I cant stop thinking about it, so

Imagine

Yuji Itadori becoming a gooner because of you

(aged up characters)

Imagine Yuji who's never focused much on touching himself. It's never really been something he thought about or felt a craving for. Sure, he's done it every now and then, everyone needs an outlet. It's only after he meets you, that something inside him seems to snap.

Imagine sparring together in compression clothes, tight black shorts that show off your thighs and ass, (and your bulge, if you got one), and a short sleeve compression shirt that does nothing but emphasize the shape of your pecs or breasts.

Imagine pinning him down with your thighs, sitting on his chest, thighs locked around his head. Yuji gets hit with an almost dizzying desire. This close he can smell you and feel you, and with a fleeting glance, because he doesn't dare to look for too long, he can see the shape of your crotch.

Yuji gets dizzy from how fast his blood rushes to his dick, shocking him because he's never gotten hard so fast in his life. He feels spit gathering in his mouth, and he swears he can feel his length dripping in his shorts.

After that he quickly calls off the spar, telling you that you won and rushing off faster than you've ever seen him run before. You swear he's waddling a little, but you can't be sure.

Imagine Yuji getting back to his room, and slamming the door shut down behind him as he wrestles his shorts off. He's almost drooling as he hurries the fabric off his legs, not wanting to lose the image of your body in that damned clothes.

His boxers are soaked through, clammy against his fingers as he wrestles them down his legs. But he only gets them halfway down his thighs, enough to release his aching hard-on, enough to get his hands around himself and start stroking.

Imagine how he holds the bottom of his shirt up with his mouth, eyes fluttering and rolling back as he strokes his shaft, slick noises filling the room as he grunts and gasps, knees buckling as pleasure zings through his length and balls, leaving him feeling inebriated.

His knees completely give out when he comes, spurting thick white seed into his palms and staining the wall and floor. He twitched and gasps, but he doesn't release himself, instead he starts stroking again, eyes clenched shut as he barrels into mind numbing overstimulation.

Imagine how, after that, Yuji finds himself touching himself, sometimes multiple times a day, one after the other, all because he can't get you off his mind.

Yuji finds himself muffling his desperate warbled moans into his pillow, as he soaks it with drool and tears of pleasure, hands gripping his deep red shaft as he makes himself come another time.

He can't even get himself to look at you some days, because he knows just glancing at you gets him chubbed. But he can't help it, and he always ends up somewhere private, desperately touching himself and drowning in the feeling of euphoria it brings him.

The only thing that could make it feel better is if you were there, but for all he knows, you have no idea about his habit. Or do you?

[crimsoncandy04]

Here's Wanderer sucking your dick after you two had a sparring match and he won.

(a little something for my male readers because I'm trying to practice writing from different perspectives)

"strip." His words were blunt and his tone showed just how serious he was as he looked you over. You were shaken still from your fight as your sword lay in the dirt next to you broken into pieces. It was supposed to be practice but damn, that bastard nearly killed you! And now he wanted you to...

"are you insane!? Dude when I said the loser owes the other a favor, I didn't mean you could use my ass!"

Wanderer crossed his arms and gave you a hungry look as he stared at your battered body still.

"you should have said something earlier if you were so afraid. Now don't make me say it again. Take off your clothes."

"no I have to draw a li-" you tried to be firm but Wanderer suddenly uncrossed his arms and sent you flying backwards onto the ground before you could even bother trying to make your geo vision do anything useful for once.

You landed with a dull thud and then in the blink of an eye he was on top of you. His cold fingers sliding underneath the waistband of your pants and tugging them down as you struggled to sit up again.

Wanderer blasts you back again. Your winded and your chest aches now as you feel the open air on your exposed length. He teases the tip with his finger a little as he stares at your pained expression from between your legs and smirks.

"Such a cute little cock. And you had the audacity to try and fight ME with something this pitiful between your legs?" His fingertip presses against your opening and despite how uncomfortable this made you feel, your dick was already leaking precum and getting harder at his touch.

"If you stop now I'll- ah!~"

"You'll what now?" Wanderer teases as he suddenly leans down and gives your head a gentle kiss. He gives you a smug look as you try to push him away and merely takes you into his mouth all at once.

You groan and instinctively grab onto his hair as he sucks on your cock in a way that makes your toes curl and your head fall back a little.

"Fuck. Keep going." You begin to try and move your hips a little but the sensation is too much. And you end up cumming faster than you intended. You watch as Wanderer easily takes your seed down his throat. Swallowing your essence and continuing to gently stroke your cock even after he leans back up and gives you a faint smile.

"That was fast. Someone's enjoying this huh?"

"Shut up. I could go longer. You just hit me hard earlier and-"

Wanderer rolls his eyes and grabs hold of your knees. Pushing them up a little more before positioning himself between your legs.

"Hey what the hell do you think you're doing!?"

"What does it look like?" He snaps as he tugs his own cock from the confines of his shorts and presses his tip against your tight virgin asshole.

You feel your entire body go rigid.

"You're nowhere near my level. Yet you don't seem to understand that and act like you're equal to me. I'm going to teach you your rightful place once and for all. Now be a good boy and relax for me."

"Don't you dare!" You try to kick him but in the blink of an eye, Wanderer merely spits on his fingers and rubs the tip of his massive member before shoving it deep inside of you.

You feel pain at first. But then... pleasure?

He starts to thrust. Not too fast or hard but deeply.

You try to take deep breaths and regain control over your body, but you don't get the chance. Wanderer reaches down and begins to play with your dick again (which is getting hard again much to your humiliation) making you go still as your body is overwhelmed with arousal.

You try to cover your face and keep some dignity but a hard thrust from Wanderer suddenly makes you moan loudly and causes you to lose your focus. You moan again after that.

This was so embarrassing but...

"You're taking it so well. To think someone as cute looking and as sensitive as you was allowed to believe he was tough for so long ~" Wanderer started to move a little faster now.

Your moans and whimpers grew louder. More desperate.

Why did this feel good?

It shouldn't feel good yet...

Wanderer leans down and pushes your hand away from your face before kissing you deeply. His tongue mingling with yours as he continued to stroke your cock with his free hand and fuck you at the same time.

This wasn't fair. You had always dreamed of what sex would feel like and now another guy was fucking you like this...

You feel yourself cum again then. Your hot seed spurting out and coating your tummy as Wanderer chuckles and starts to move even faster now.

"You're actually going to?"

"Yes. Get ready. I'm going to paint your asshole white."

Wanderer keeps going. His hips slam against you as you suddenly feel something cool and wet filling your ass. You cry out and pant softly as you feel Wanderer continue to thrust even after he ejaculated.

"okay you can stop now. Ngh~"

Again he thrusts harder. This time it felt good though immediately.

Fuck.

"I'm not done with you yet. I plan to keep going until I've had my fill. And you're going to keep taking my cock until then. This is the only thing you're good for after all. Get used to it."

You groan as he runs his hand across your belly. Pinching one of your nipples as he keeps fucking into you.

It looked like this would be a regular occurrence...

At least...

At least Wanderer's dick felt so good inside of you...

You could get used to this.

[flowerandblood]

Object of Delight (3/3)

[ dark • Aemond x Arryn • widow female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, domination, swearing, postpartum depression ]

[ description: Aemond is forced to marry a widow from House Arryn as part of the alliance and support of his brother in the war against the Black faction. Despite his initial reluctance, a bond develops between him and his wife that he cannot understand or comprehend. In this chapter I combine several requests into one. The female character has a specific eye and hair color. ]

Part 1 − Object of Desire Part 2 − Object of Despair Epilogue

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

The frequency and fervour with which he fucked his wife caused it to be less than three moons before the measter brought him the joyful news during one of his sparring sessions with Ser Criston, informing him that she was expecting his child.

He explained that he had been summoned by one of her servants when she suddenly fainted, and as it turned out, the cause of her indisposition was his inheritance in her womb.

He couldn't help the smirk of satisfaction and the amused look he threw Cole, for here it appeared that, in fact, her deceased husband had simply failed to perform his duty well − his seed was weak and his lineage would be forgotten.

Although he was buzzing with curiosity and desire to see her now, to take her in this blessed state, he decided not to show his weakness and make it to the end of his training following his daily routine, heading to her chamber immediately after taking a quick bath.

His long white hair was still a little damp when he crossed the threshold of her quarters − the door closed quietly behind him, and he looked at her sleeping figure lying on her bed, covered in thick furs. He hummed, walking slowly closer, recognising that she had made the right decision to rest − in her current state she needed to look out for herself more than before.

He stood over her in silence for a moment, fighting the burning desire to touch her face, to take an unruly strand from her cheek, but hesitated.

He only made gestures that someone might call affectionate after their intense closeness, when she slept snuggled against his naked chest, her hand on which she wore a golden ring in the shape of a sun with a sapphire eye, his gift to her, proof that she was capable of pleasing him both in and out of bed, rested on his heart.

He stroked her soft, smooth hair then, her bare shoulder, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, musing. The fact that she spent the nights with him became natural to them − he did not summon her and she did not wait for his permission, following him to his quarters immediately after supper. They didn't speak much, didn't confide their secrets to each other, instead getting to know each other's bodies intimately.

They were able to lie on their sides in the dark for hours satisfying and teasing each other with their mouths without giving each other fulfilment. He enjoyed watching out of the corner of his eye, trailing his lips over her hot, leaking womanhood as his wife sucked unhurriedly on his cock, licking and teasing it with her pink tongue, her caresses gentle and tender, making his fingers involuntarily clench tighter on the naked skin of her hips right next to his face.

There was something liberating to him in the fact that she did not require him to make confessions or sacrifice his regular daily life; although it had always seemed to him that a wife was merely an extension of her husband and his shadow, she preferred to remain a separate entity and he chose not to overuse the power he had over her, not finding it necessary.

He shuddered, snapped out of his reverie when her eyes opened lazily − she smiled barely visible, softly, perhaps even warmly at the sight of him.

"Are you trying to scare me?" She muttered, turning only to sink deeper into the soft bedding, looking at him calmly, her eyes bright, her face smooth, without a trace of a grimace.

He snorted, amused, turning his head away for a moment only to look at her again, sighing heavily − even though he tried to keep a grave face he knew she had noticed his contentment with the news that had reached him.

"I have been informed that you are carrying my son in your womb." He hummed low, deeply − she blinked, smiling wider.

"I don't know if it will be a son." She replied softly, and he hummed again; she shifted back as he walked closer to her bed and lay on his side, his face turned towards her, laying his head on the pillow right next to hers. They looked at each other for a moment in silence, feeling that although neither of them used words, this was a day of their shared joy, for here was the fruit of their efforts.

He raised his large hand at the thought, unable to contain himself − his fingers took a strand of her black hair and flicked it over her back with a light gesture. She smiled wider, knowing that he couldn't stand it when something covered her face.

Her eyes.

Taking advantage of the fact that he had already touched her, he involuntarily ran his thumb over her soft, plump cheek. He saw that she had closed her eyes, sighing quietly, his gaze focused on her long, dark lashes. His fingers tightened around her neck, drawing her to him and she purred loudly as his swollen lips pressed against hers in a wet, loud, hot kiss.

He pulled away from her with a quiet click, but her lips ran invitingly over his, telling him that she craved more, so he sank into their fleshy texture again, slipping the tip of his tongue between them, a sweet, innocent moan came from her throat causing his cock to throb impatiently in his breeches.

He took her more gently than usual, rocking his hips lazily deep inside her, each time the tip of his swollen manhood rubbing the spot between her muscles, from which a shiver of pleasure ran through her whole body, her fingers tightening on his muscular shoulders, her body beginning to meet his, wordlessly letting him know that he could accelerate his pace.

Her short, slender fingernails dug into the bare skin of his firm buttocks as he began to thrust into her more aggressively, wanting him to do it even harder − he stroked her cheek as she began to babble, asking, begging him to give her what she needed.

"− we need to be more careful now because of the baby − I know, I know you need it, shhh −" He hushed her, closing her mouth with his own, his hands gripped her thighs, with sure, deep thrusts pounding into her at an angle that he knew gave her the greatest pleasure − she arched her back with a sweet moan as his thumb began to tease her bud with circular, intense strokes, her walls began to squeeze him, soaking him all over in her moisture.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled pleadingly, in the way he adored most − he looked down at her panting loudly, resting his free hand on the bed frame in front of him, thrusting into her again and again with the sticky splat of his thighs against her buttocks, his cock throbbing hard, demanding fulfilment.

"− I know − I'll lick you good tonight and slap those buttocks a little − sounds good, hm? −" He gasped, looking at her with affection from which he felt a squeeze in his throat. She nodded her head quickly and cried out − he felt her muscles clench at the very thought, sucking him inside, her cheeks red from exertion and desire, her swollen, full lips parted wide, her hands trailing over his hot flesh.

"− yes − please − fuck me good − o-oh gods −" She mewled sweetly as her body shook with eager, overpowering fulfilment − she tilted her head back, writhing beneath him, her weeping cunt began to clench on him greedily, intensifying his pleasure.

"− good girl −" He exhaled wearily as with a few desperate, sloppy thrusts he came inside her with a loud sigh of relief, looking at her in disbelief.

The woman who had given him what he craved.

"− you did so well for me −" He whispered, leaning over her, being careful not to crush her with his body, sinking his nose into her soft cheek. She wrapped her hands around his waist, stroking his back, making a shiver run along his spine every time her fingers brushed over his hot, sweaty skin.

She knew there was a deeper meaning to what he said and that it didn't just refer to their intense closeness.

Her abdomen swelling from his inheritance was his reason for being proud − his hand lay on it and stroked it involuntarily during the evenings or mornings she spent in his company.

As she lay naked beside him at night, sweaty and welted from what he had done to her, her cunt all puffy and sore from the caresses of his tongue, he hugged his face to her womb, smiling involuntarily when he sometimes managed to feel the movement of the little dragon that was growing inside her.

Despite the maester's recommendation that they should not cohabit with each other when she was in such advanced pregnancy and their strenuous attempts to confine themselves to the use of their mouths alone, as she lay beside him, cuddled with her back to his chest, his manhood swelled involuntarily, slapping against her buttocks.

She would then spread her thighs invitingly, teasing him with the strokes of her hips, tilting her head back, whispering how wet she was, and he, impatiently lifted her higher, forcing the fat head of his cock with their sigh of relief into her tight, throbbing opening, and although they knew they should do it slowly, they fucked each other rough.

"− can't you last a few fucking days without my cock? − isn't it enough that you came on my face tonight? −" He exhaled, listening as his thighs slapped fast against her buttocks with loud smacks, his manhood thrusting into her with ease, her insides slick with her juices, his fingers between her thighs, their tips playing with her clit, not letting her escape.

"− I came having your cock deep inside my mouth − have you forgotten already? −" She gasped and he groaned low at the thought, quickening his pace, clamping his hand around her neck so as not to make it difficult for her to breathe and accidentally hurt the baby − he hid his face in her hair, feeling that he was embarrassingly close to another fulfilment.

"− no − that's not something you can forget − fuck −" He muttered, feeling her sticky walls begin to suck him inside in orgasm, her moisture spilling over his thighs, her moans making him let go, letting his hot seed spill inside her.

"− gods, so good − I can't stop −" He mumbled, and she sighed heavily, moving with him for a moment longer, stroking his arm that embraced her swollen abdomen.

"− me too −"

On the day of the delivery he was restless, pacing around his chamber, full of tension, unable to sit still. She felt the first contractions in the morning and collapsed as her servants helped her dress, whimpering, terrified that it had begun.

He consoled himself with the thought that her mother, the Queen and his sister were with her, that she was not alone, but he could not stop thinking about Aemma, her grandfather's sister and his father's first wife, how she had died and that, although he tried to push the vision away, the birth could prove complicated.

He swallowed hard, running his hand over his face, unwittingly seeing in his mind her pale, lifeless body, her empty violet eyes, her cheeks drenched in tears, her nightgown soaked in blood at the height of her thighs.

He groaned lowly, trying to calm down, repeating to himself that this would not happen, that she was not Aemma and he was not his father.

Hours passed, however, and he still hadn't received any news of her condition − he felt like he was dying inside, for some reason he wanted to weep with despair.

He saw himself with his hands placed deep in the fire of his fireplace, holding his dragon egg, clenching his lips in pain, begging the gods for it to crack.

He shuddered, snapped out of his reverie, rising to his feet as the maester stepped inside his chamber, his attention immediately drawn to the fact that his hands were all dirty in blood.

"Your Grace. You have a son." He said in a trembling voice, and he looked at him dully, as if he did not understand what he had said.

"What about my wife?"

He moved immediately to her chamber when he learned that she had endured the birth very badly, that there was no contact with her, that she had a fever.

That she might not survive.

He didn't even look at the wailing child in his Queen's arms − he walked immediately to the bed where her mother was sobbing, stroking her hands.

She looked exactly as in his vision, pale, her gaze blank, directed somewhere far away, her chemise all red with blood − if it weren't for the fact that her breast was rising and falling in shallow breaths he would have thought she was dead.

"− Your Grace, you shouldn't −" He heard the voice of one of the ladies of the court, but he just stood there looking at her with his lips pressed together, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest so strong that he had the impression that his whole body had begun to tremble.

He involuntarily moved towards her, climbing onto the bed, leaning on his knees, his trembling hand touched her hot, sweaty cheek, all wet with tears.

"− my love − my love, speak to me −" He whispered, but she didn't even look at him − she only twitched, one last, lonely tear flowed from the corner of her eye.

Something about the sight broke him − he pressed his forehead to her temple, panting hard, her wonderful scent filling his lungs again.

"− don't leave me − don't leave me alone in this world −"

He didn't know if his words had reached her, her fever intensified by the night he had spent by her side with her mother. He sat in a chair watching as she washed her face, already dressed in a clean, snow-white undershirt, covered by thick layers of furs, her body quivering all over, sunk in a deep, restless sleep.

"− I thought the worst was behind her − after that bastard −" She began, but pressed her lips together, as if unable to get it out of her − he looked at her anxiously, feeling his whole body tense up.

She had never told him about her first husband.

Nor had he ever asked about it, not even wanting to recall that another man had had her before him.

"− was he not a good husband? −" He asked impassively − Lady Arryn looked up at him with big eyes, her eyebrows arched in despair and anger at the same time.

Her hair were as dark as his wife's, but her irises were golden and bright, shining in the candlelight around them.

She swallowed loudly, her chin trembling all over, as if she couldn't get it out of her.

"− I − I didn't find out until a year later − that when it turned out she was bleeding, that she wasn't carrying his child − every month he made her sleep in godswood, in just her nightgown − h-he said − gods, he said that until she gave him an heir, she was like his sword, his book, or his horse − her servants took pity on her and when he fell asleep, they would take her to their chambers beneath the stronghold −" She muttered, tears of grief and bitterness running down her face. He looked at her dully, feeling as if he was about to vomit, his stomach painfully clenched − he ran his trembling hand over his face, hearing her words during their wedding night inside his head.

A wife is a gift. Like a sword, a book or a horse.

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, feeling a burning wetness under his eyelids that he did not let flow.

Her silhouette lying under the weirwood tree, then, as he followed her.

He thought she stopped visiting this place when it became apparent that she was expecting his child because walking such long distances began to be difficult for her.

"− my husband did the right thing − he deserved it −" She exclaimed, and he didn't speak again, knowing what she meant.

He only breathed a sigh of relief the next day when her fever had diminished and she was still breathing. She would wake up and only babble, her mother would feed her and help her dress, and he would just be beside her, overseeing everything, wanting to make sure nothing escaped his attention.

He knew that his son was in the care of his mother and sister.

As she began to regain consciousness, it was decided to introduce their son to her − one of the wet nurses, a plump woman with a wide smile brought in her arms an infant with his white hair and her mother's golden eyes. He smiled involuntarily at the sight, hoping that the appearance of her child would give her strength.

"Look, my Lady. It's your little boy. Would you like to feed him?" The woman asked softly, but his wife merely looked away, tense, staring out of the window, her fingers clenched on the thick fur that covered her. He pressed his lips together at the sight, feeling that something was happening deep inside her, that something had taken place during the birth that had broken her.

She did not want to look at the baby, touch it or feed it − she only expressed in a weak voice her satisfaction that their child was healthy.

Her mother tried to persuade her to at least take her son in her arms, that she would then immediately feel maternal love and attachment, but she shook her head quickly, tears running down her face as if she didn't even want to imagine it.

"− Your Grace, I'm afraid a heavy birth has caused your wife to lose her senses, she is rejecting her own child − I believe that at this point she is dangerous to Your Highness' son and should be left alone for a while to calm down −" The maester told him as he left her chamber to change and refresh himself, his lips tightened into a thin line at his words.

"− weigh your words − my wife is suffering, and you are to find the cause of it −" He hissed, furious, the man swallowed hard and nodded, not speaking again.

When he returned to her quarters, he noticed to his surprise that her bed was empty, her mother asleep in her chair, tired, no one else around.

He went outside in a panic, wondering where she could have gone, heading towards the godswood, however, he froze in a half-step walking down the corridor when he noticed that the door to the chamber his son slept in was ajar.

He walked slowly inside and stopped, noticing her silhouette sitting next to the cradle, looking blankly at the sleeping infant, her face indifferent and expressionless. She lifted her gaze to him at last, as if snapped out of her reverie, her eyebrows arched in pain, her fingers clenched on the fabric of her nightgown.

"What's going to happen to me now?" She muttered in a trembling voice and he shook his head, not understanding what she was asking.

"I do not follow." He replied; she lowered her gaze, her lower lip quivered, tears ran down her cheeks − she seemed to have fallen into some kind of state of panic.

"Now that I've given you a son. What are you going to do with me? Will you pretend I don't exist? Will you find yourself a lover?"

He stared at her stunned, feeling the quick pounding of his heart and the squeeze in his throat, horrified at the direction her thoughts were taking.

"Where did those words come from?" He asked in disbelief, feeling that he was struggling to breathe, his hands clenched into fists.

She hid her face in her hands, shaking her head, bursting into a loud sobs as if something inside her had cracked.

"I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't." She squirmed, drawing in air loudly − he moved towards her, kneeling in front of her, pressing her face to his chest.

"Calm down. Please." He whispered, her fingers clenching tightly on the material of his green tunic in a helpless gesture of despair.

"I am worn out. I'm a worn-out, empty vessel. There's nothing more I can give you." She whimpered, and he clamped his eyelids shut, pulling her close. Her body fell to the ground right beside him, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, cuddling her into himself like a small child, stroking her soft dark hair reassuringly.

"You are my wife. I will never betray you or our family. We can wait with begetting another child until you are ready. After all, we have our ways of doing that, don't we?" He asked in a soft, trembling voice, trying to comfort her, to let her understand that nothing was over, but on the contrary, in his eyes, it had only just begun.

"I've been contemplating for some time that I should take you in front of that guard who looks at you so shamelessly when you're wearing gowns of thinner material. When your breasts are visible through it. That would give him something to think about, hm? And the most important thing. Vhagar. The mother of my child must know what it means to ride a dragon." He hummed into her ear, playing with strands of her hair, feeling her shiver at his words, that she was returning to him, her body no longer trembling, her breathing calming.

"I thought I'd already ridden the world's greatest dragon." She whispered, and he involuntarily smirked and snorted, kissing her hair.

"Not like this."

They stayed like that for a while in each other's embrace, sitting on the floor, stroking each other's cheeks, shoulders and hair, for the first time so close, so tender, so sincere. They shuddered when they heard sobbing and whimpering coming from the cradle − they both rose and he turned his head, calling the guard, telling them to bring a nursemaid.

"No." She said softly, coming closer, leaning over the cradle, taking their son into her arms. She embraced him and began rocking him, shushing him reassuringly as she looked at his face.

"− hello, little one − I know − it's not your fault −" She muttered with difficulty, tears in her eyes − he looked at this sight with a squeezed throat and swallowed heavily.

"− come here − are you hungry? −" She asked, sitting down on the window sill, slipping the material of her nightgown off her shoulder, exposing her breast, all swollen, full of milk − he felt his manhood throb involuntarily in his breeches at this sight.

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as their son, nestled against her breast, found her nipple and, in a natural, subconscious instinct, began to suck on it greedily, clamping his small hand over her skin.

She looked at their child with curiosity and some kind of warmth that moved him.

He approached her, leaning over her, kissing the top of her head, sinking his nose into her soft hair, looking out of the corner of his eye at this almost mythological sight of a woman feeding her offspring.

"− what did you name our son? −" She asked quietly, and he felt hot in his chest hearing her use the word our.

"− I waited with this decision for you − you are his mother −" He replied softly, taking an unruly strand of her hair from her face. She mused, looking at the infant suckled to her breast and smiled softly.

"− Jaehaerys −" She whispered, and he hummed under his breath, delighted that they had thought of the same thing.

Of their common ancestor.

"− so Jaehaerys it will be −"