#lurch learns to dance

[georgeromeros]

The Addams Family - Season 1 Episode 13 (1964) Lurch Learns to Dance

#the addams family #lurch #ted cassidy #tvedit #comedyedit #horroredit #lurch learns to dance #my gifs #tv gifs #television #comedy #b&w #1960s #mine: addams family

[ilovetedcassidy]

#actor #ted cassidy #character actors #1960s #tv shows #lurch addams #my gifs #the addams family #addams family #lisa loring #lurch learns to dance #wednesday addams

[rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world]

Morticia: Lurch, you can learn to dance.

Lurch: The Watusi… the Hully-Gully… the Pick and Shovel? (snaps) Ohhh, nooo.

#the addams family #morticia addams #lurch addams #gomez addams #lurch learns to dance

[thequotescollective]

Wednesday: "It'll be fun."

Lurch: "I like being miserable."

Wednesday: "You might find a nice girl to be miserable with."

#The Addams Family #The Addams Family 1964 #wednesday Addams #Lurch #Lurch Learns to Dance

[ilookatthings]

#the addams family #lurch learns to dance

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining using a secluded space on base to do some yoga away from the 141, only to realize Ghost's been watching disapprovingly the whole time.

Like, what you lack in raw strength compared to the boys, you have in agility. You're not nearly as rigid. You're flexible, and it's only because you take the time to work on it. You have several methods but dancing and yoga are by far your favorite.

Neither hobby you can enjoy on base much, because well...you always get stared at. So, you take it upon yourself to clear out part of old studio space used for storage. It's kind of crappy, with cracked tile and dust bunnies galore, but it'll do. You play some music in your earbuds and do your beginning stretches on your mat.

When you're in the zone you're in the zone. You end up in a place far away and yet still within yourself. The burning stretch from some of your maneuvers feels so good you nearly groan. You get lost in the personal meditation. One certain position uses a specific pair of muscles in your lower back. It takes you a moment to realize why it makes you gasp. You bite your lip and decide to take a short break.

As you untangle your body you feel something's off. You're physically fine, but your heart starts to race. Your stomach lurches. You move to stand, suddenly startled by seemingly nothing.

"Yer doing it wrong."

And just like that Ghost makes himself known from behind a shelf. He's in his workout clothes, which isn't much but some slinky basketball shorts and a tank top. Black of course. His mask is the soft one he uses when he's not on the field.

You scoff at him, still feeling on edge but also relieved at no immediate threat.

"You do yoga?" You ask incredulously. "Fine, big guy. Show me how it's done."

He rolls out a mat and gestures for you to copy him. It's a simple move, one you've perfected. And yet he still shakes his head at your form. You try it again. Wrong. Again. Wrong.

"Where am I going wrong?"

You don't expect him to reach over and grab your back leg. He pulls it out further. You stumble and he rights you with the same arm. He tuts at you, but he's the reason you're off balance.

"Lift your back. No. Higher. Your hip should be down."

Next thing you know he's behind you, his large hands making your body twist and bend. You end up in the same position as you'd been in earlier, but this time you can really feel the stretch. Maybe he was right, you were doing it wrong.

You tilt your back up and feel the familiar stretch. It's better than you've ever been able to get it on your own. You can't help the soft groan that leaves your lips. The last time those muscles had been used was before you joined the 141, when you'd still had a boyfrie-

Two hands grab at those spots. Large thumbs work circles into the areas. Despite yourself, you moan. This was going a bit too far but...

The more he kneads the more you fall to your knees. You can't hold the position with your back up anymore. You practically collapse onto the mat, ass up, Ghost knelt over you.

He still doesn't let up. His thumbs dig into those circles hard enough it should hurt but instead you only feel bliss. You bite your lip, it feels so fucking good. Eventually he relents, and stops digging into you. You whine at the absence.

"That feels so good." You groan, voice sounding way too needy for what just occurred.

"M' glad." Ghost huffs amusement evident in his tone.

Ghost grabs you and flips you over onto your back. He grabs one of your legs and pushes it as far forward towards your head as he can without hurting you. He does the same to the other. It's a weird position, but it's not far off from some of the other ones you're used to. It burns but it also feels good. Considering you're flat on your back, you feel supported.

You smile up at him, a little breathless but also happy that he's willing to help you out. Yoga did not seem like something any where near his wheelhouse.

"I didn't know you liked yoga. How did you learn about this stuff?" You ask, using your own arms to hold your legs in position as Ghost gets up higher on his knees.

Ghost huffs behind his mask as he looks down at you. He narrows his eyes, his head blocking out the white light of the overhead flourescents. You feel a hand slide between the material of your shorts and the curve of your ass.

"The Kama Sutra."

#cod imagines #mw2 #call of duty #mw2 headcanons #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #simon riley x reader

[stars-bean]

✷ The Addams Family ✷ | 1.13 - "Lurch Learns to Dance"

#sitcomedit #tvedit #The Addams Family #by mnie #underbetelgeuse #userteri #userdiana #tusertha #userkristi #usermichi #userdeforest #tuserpris #userlosthaven #userkraina #winterseance

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken II (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity.

Author's Note: So, this did end up getting split in two. It just reached a natural stopping point and it made more sense to add a part IV instead of have an unnaturally long part II.

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

The next morning, she watched with red-rimmed eyes as the sun emerged over the horizon. As the brightness forced her to look away, she took a moment to thank whichever god had given her the foresight to send Aemond to sleep elsewhere. It had been another horrid night, and to explain it after all that had been said between them would have been far beyond miserable.

He would return soon, she was sure. With new honeyed words and gentle touches. With his beautiful pleading eye and perfect pouting mouth. With the softness of the elusive loving smile he reserved only for her.

Or did he? He had given Alys so many things she thought only they shared. Why wouldn’t he give the whore that smile as well?

The very thought had her stomach lurching again, but she raised herself to sit against the head of the bed and steeled herself against being sick. She took deep, controlled breaths, turned towards the eastern window to feel the fresh air coming off the bay, and set her mind free to wander.

Not entirely free, however. She did not let her thoughts go anywhere near her husband.

Instead, she thought of only nice things. The flowers that would soon bloom in the gardens with the coming of spring. The fresh fruits that would once more grace her table. Weather fine enough that she could ride through the Kingswood on her beloved steed, Litse, once more.

Eventually, the roiling faded, and she looked down to her stomach. “Kōdrȳsi rhinkpa jemo gaomua hae jālosa yno gaoman?” Is that as unpleasant for you as it is for me?

A soft thump near the top of her stomach felt very much like a noncommittal answer.

She laughed a little. “Iā jeme ñuha boteri raqāt daor?” Or do you enjoy making me suffer?

That question received no answer.

Just when she was about to say something more, she heard the door to her chambers creaking open and soft footsteps approaching. Of course, he would come to her so early; he had always slept so little. She clenched the sheets in her fists, preparing to face Aemond once more.

But it was not Aemond who walked through the door.

Instead of a single violet eye, she was met with a warm, brown, tear-filled pair that matched her own, and a helpless cry escaped her lips before desperate sobs overtook her. “Mama!”

Alicent ran to her side, taking her only remaining daughter in her arms and fighting back her tears. One hand rubbed soothing circles on her back while the other gently cupped her chin and lifted it so she could look into her daughter’s eyes. “Oh, my dearest girl…”

She buried her face in her mother’s rich auburn hair, savoring the comforting smell she’d known since infancy. There was no question that Alicent had been told about Aemond’s misdeeds – though whether he told her himself or she heard another way, she could not decide.

“I hate him,” she whispered weakly.

“No, you don’t,” Alicent countered immediately. She pulled away, took her hands, and softened her voice. “You are not capable of hating Aemond, my dear. Nor is he capable of hating you.”

“Then why did he do this to me?”

Alicent sighed, brow furrowing as she pondered her son’s actions. She did not have a good answer, for Aemond had always been the perfect son, save for the death of Lucerys Velaryon, and now, she supposed, this. It was behavior she had anticipated from Aegon, or had in the past. With her eldest son, she knew he acted out of his anger that he could not be the son his father wanted.

But with Aemond…

Aemond loved his wife. He was discontented with many things in his life – his position as the second son, his injury, and his father’s negligence – but never with her. His gaze had never strayed to any other woman, even before their engagement. Once they were betrothed, it was rare to find his gaze anywhere else but on her. He was so happy with her, always. What could have altered his devotion?

“I do not know,” Alicent finally answered. The words did little to soothe her weeping daughter. “Men… they can be wonderful when they truly love you. But even then, they have their weaknesses. Aemond was gone a very long time. Perhaps he was simply lonely?”

She shook her head and ripped her hands from her mother’s. “If he was lonely, he could have come back to me. He was supposed to return to me several times but never did.”

While Aemond was at Harrenhal, she, Aegon, and their grandsire had sent countless ravens asking for his return. Otto and Aegon asked so they could hear the news from the battlefield and try to adjust their plans accordingly. She asked because she missed and needed him. Badly.

He always sent some excuse. The battle was not yet over. Vhagar was too tired to fly. He did not want to leave his stronghold undefended when enemies lurked nearby. She had trusted each excuse like a fool.

“Did you know she’s carrying his child?” she asked, drawing the blankets further up her chest as if she could protect the life inside her from the horrible fact.

Alicent nodded. “I did. He told me.”

She frowned. At least Aemond had the decency to tell their mother himself. “What else did he tell you?”

“He was very upset, my dear.” She tried to suppress the kernel of joy that sparked at her mother’s words. “Not at you, of course, but at himself.”

“As he should be.”

“Yes, he should. But he loves you so much,” Alicent grimaced, setting a hand on her daughter’s belly. “And he loves your family so much. He is inconsolable at the thought that you may never forgive him.”

That kernel of joy went up in flames, and she looked at her mother with unfettered rage. “Why should I forgive him? He has betrayed me and has done nothing to regain my trust beyond his weak, selfish apologies.”

“Yes, but –”

“He lied to me again last night!” she cried. “He said it was only once. He looked me in the eye and lied! And he thought I would be stupid enough to believe him.”

Alicent sighed heavily as she looked away from her daughter. This wasn’t like Aemond – none of it was. Even after hearing his tearful explanation the night before, she was no closer to understanding it. Nor to finding a way to fix it.

“That was wrong of him,” she said at last. “All of it was – is. My dear, I do not know what to say or how to make it better. Your father, for all his faults, never strayed. I cannot begin to imagine the pain you are in. But – ”

“But what?” Her daughter glared at her with narrowed eyes, and her hand clenched into a fist by her side. “I cannot begin to imagine forgiving him, nor how I will ever look at him again without feeling this… this rage. Mother, I cannot be a wife to someone who hurt me so deeply, no matter his supposed remorse.”

She looked down at her stomach, then back to her mother. Though her eyes were red and wet, and her lip trembled, she wore a look of absolute determination. “I want to go. I don’t know where, but I don’t want to be here. I can’t bear to be with him.”

“Oh, my darling,” the queen pulled her daughter to her chest once more, not speaking again until she had calmed. “In any other circumstance, I would arrange for you to leave for Oldtown within the day. But it is not so simple.”

The princess stiffened in her mother’s arms.

“There are so few of us left, and we have already spent so much time apart. We cannot let ourselves become estranged.” Alicent bowed her forehead to rest against her daughter’s. “We cannot appear weak, especially not you and Aemond.”

She was frozen, but at that, she gathered enough strength to lift her eyes to look at her mother. “What do you mean, ‘especially’ not us?”

“There are no more heirs, darling, not of our line. But you,” her hand rested gently on her daughter’s cheek. “You are changing that. In mere weeks, your children – yours and Aemond’s – will become the new heirs to the throne.”

“They might not,” she argued weakly, her voice soft and breathless. “They may be daughters.”

Alicent smiled sadly, placing a hand gently at the top of the girl’s stomach. “This one has given you enough trouble that I would wager the Red Keep itself that he’s a boy.”

She put her hand over her mother’s as she tried and failed to smile. The Maester came to the same conclusion many weeks ago. Then, she had been thrilled at the possibility of giving Aemond an heir. Now, she wished desperately for daughters.

“Why do our heirs matter?” She asked. “Aegon will remarry and have his own soon enough.”

The question was met by a heavy, cloying silence.

“Mother?”

Alicent schooled her face into the careful neutrality that had served her so well as queen, though the tears shining in her dark eyes betrayed her heartbreak and grief. “I am afraid Aegon will not marry nor sire any more heirs. The Maesters… they predict he will leave us by the year’s end.”

Her heart stopped, then sank. “But that means Aemond…”

“Will be king soon,” Alicent confirmed. She again brushed her daughter’s hair behind her ears. “And you will be his queen.”

The implication hung over her like a black cloud: a queen could never leave her king.

-

Aemond knelt in the Royal Sept at the feet of the Father. He had not slept the night before, not after he told his mother what had happened and watched her cry harder than he had ever seen. He’d gone all the way back to his rooms – those he shared with his wife – before remembering the promise he had made.

He could not go back to her. To her arms. To his home.

So, he ended up in the Sept. He didn’t remember walking there, leaving the Holdfast and crossing the upper bailey. He just knew he’d been kneeling there long before the sun crested the horizon. He’d prayed and wept and begged the gods to either reveal to him a path to redemption or strike him down and spare him further torment.

The gods ignored him. He could not blame them for it.

His lamenting was halted by the sound of the carved stone doors opening, followed by a strangle rattling sound Aemond could not identify. He turned and saw his brother and king for the first time in months.

A servant stood behind Aegon to push the wheeled chair in which the kind sat with a blanket over his lap to conceal his crooked, atrophied legs, but was dismissed with a wave of a red, scarred hand. Aegon’s injuries after Rook’s Rest had been so horrific even Aemond struggled to look at him. The scars he now bore were hardly better. The king looked twisted, broken, and weak. It was a miracle little Jaehaera could look at her father without collapsing in terror.

As Aegon wheeled himself down the Sept aisle, Aemond steeled himself against the horrible expression on his brother’s face: empathy, disappointment, and rage.

In their youth, even Aegon had been protective of their youngest sister, to the point that he restrained himself from making too many lewd comments in her presence. And after years of Aemond calling him depraved, perverted, and whorish, he would, of course, delight in the irony that his little brother was just as weak as him.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Aegon drawled. His voice was as damaged as his body, weak and rasping. “But then I saw our mother. I always thought I was the only one that could make her look like that. So sad and weepy and disappointed.”

Aemond reminded himself that Aegon was finally the uncontested king and that throttling the life from him was now more than ever considered treason. “I hardly think you are qualified to pass judgment on me,” he growled.

“No,” Aegon smirked as he brought his chair to a stop at Aemond’s side. “But I think I am well qualified to gloat, don’t you?”

Suppressing his sneer, Aemond turned to face his brother. “Are you? How many unsuitable women have you bedded? How many bastards have you sired?” He scoffed, but his threadbare feeling of righteousness immediately gave under the lead weight of his desperation. “Why does my wife abhor me when I make this one mistake when Helaena never cared when you did the same over and over again?”

“Because Helaena never loved me, Aemond.” For the first time in their lives, Aegon was the calmer and more rational of the brothers. “She cared for me as a sister, but she never loved me as her husband. Not like our haedus loves you.”

“I love her, too.” Aemond’s face fell into utter regret and despair. “So much.”

“Yet you still broke her heart.”

Aemond turned back to the statue of the Father, bowing his head. “I did not mean to. I didn’t mean to hurt her – I would never intend to hurt her.”

“I know,” Aegon angled his chair and slumped slightly. “But you did. Over and over. I saw it. Not just with your adultery, but every time you did not come home when she asked. Whenever you took Vhagar into battle without warning her – and us. And each day you weren’t here when those babes put her through the seven hells with – ”

Aemond’s heart stopped, and his entire world with it.

“‘Babes?’”

Aegon’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t say that.”

The same blatant liar he’d been for years.

“You did,” Aemond insisted, his rage at himself now turning on his king, his mother, and everyone else who had kept this secret from him – other than his ābrazȳrītsos. He could still never be angry with her. “Why did you say that?”

After a moment of frustrated silence, Aegon finally answered. “Because the Maesters have determined that your wife is carrying twins. Something you would know if you had come home when we asked.”

“I was fighting your war,” Aemond growled, rising to his feet so his brother could no longer look down at him, “to defend your throne. It was not always possible for me to return.”

“You mean it was ‘never’ possible, right?” In that moment, Aegon truly seemed a king – mature and wise for the first time Aemond had ever seen. He almost resembled their father, as he had been on the few occasions they saw him sit the throne. “You never returned. Not for your duties, and not for your wife.”

“I…”

“If you’d come home immediately after you first fucked whoever-she-is, or any other time we summoned you, perhaps things would be better. But you didn’t, and now you must deal with the consequences of your own stupid mistakes. Again.”

Aemond flinched at the harsh words but could not deny their veracity. The death of Lucerys Velaryon had sparked a war that nearly tore House Targaryen and the realm apart. Now this… this could tear his marriage apart.

His family could be broken beyond repair before their child – their children – were ever born.

A scar-mottled hand grabbed his arm, pulling him away from his despair. “I apologize. I did not come here to make you feel worse than I am sure you already do.”

“Why did you come, then?” Aemond stared at the mangled hand that held him still. He could not bear to look in his brother’s eyes.

Aegon sighed. “I am sending you back to Harrenhal.”

“No.” Aemond ripped his arm away.

“Brother, the peace talks…”

“I said no.” He clenched his fists.

Aegon slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, the sound echoing through the Sept. “I am your king, and I am giving you an order! You do not get to say ‘no.’”

Aemond froze, his rage roiling, desperate to spill over. But Aegon was his king, and other than his ābrazȳrītsos, his duty to the throne and his family was the thing most dear to him. So, he remained still and silent as he listened without protest.

“Cregan Stark and his army are due to arrive at Harrenhal in mere days,” Aegon explained. “I am in no condition to travel so far, and it would insult Stark and the others who were loyal to Rhaenyra to ask them to travel even further. So, as you are still Prince Regent, you will return to the Riverlands and act as my proxy in the negotiations.”

Absorbed by all that had happened since he’d arrived in King’s Landing, Aemond had entirely forgotten that particular duty. He’d known he had to attend before he left, but how could he go now? What would his wife think if he went back to Harrenhal – where Alys remained – so soon?

“You will take our sister with you.”

“I cannot,” the weak, whispered words escaped him without thought, “I cannot do that to her. You cannot do that to her.”

Somehow, the idea of bringing her with him to Harrenhal was worse than returning there himself. What would happen if she saw Alys? Spoke to her? She was already so hurt, and he did not want her to break entirely. He could not stand it. He would not allow it.

“Aegon, please,” he begged, dignity cast aside in favor of protecting his ābrazȳrītsos. “Do not make her go.”

The king straightened in his chair. “I wish I did not have to. She has already endured so much, and I have no desire to cause her more pain. But I have no other option.”

“Why? What could be more important than keeping her safe?”

Aegon’s face was drawn and filled with regret and grief. “Ensuring the realm sees you as a strong king when I am gone.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the Red Keep itself, and Aemond’s heart grew heavier still when he realized what his brother meant.

“You do not have much time left, do you?”

“Likely only a few months, according to the Maesters. But I’ll be gone by year’s end,” Aegon answered, trying and failing to summon a wry smile. “It’s almost not worth it to un-name you Prince Regent, when the crown will soon be yours once more.”

Silence fell once more.

Aemond wanted to argue. Against going to Harrenhal. Against bringing her with him. Against being king. For if he was king…

“She will be bound to me forever,” he said, not realizing he was saying it aloud, “in a way far stronger than just our shared blood or marriage. She will never be able to leave me.”

Aegon gripped the arm of his chair tighter. “Is that what you want?”

“I…” Yes. No. Aemond fumbled for his words, running a hand down his face as his thoughts raced through his mind like a thousand whirling dragons. “I want her to stay with me, but not at the cost of her happiness.”

Aegon considered the answer, the picture of a king passing judgment. At last, he nodded once. “Even if she decides she hates you, she will not leave. Her sense of duty is nearly as strong as yours, and she would never wish to raise the babes without their father.” He gestured to himself, then Aemond. “She knows well what becomes of children with no true father.”

There came a knock on the Sept door before Aemond could say anything more

Aegon sighed. “It is time for you to leave, I’m afraid. The wheelhouse is waiting.”

“What about – ”

Aegon waved a hand. “Mother went to your rooms this morning to explain the situation to her and help her prepare for the journey.”

“Can we not simply fly?” Aemond did not want for her to have to be stuck with him for the entire journey. The gods forbid that they should be made to share a tent or room at a roadside inn. Though doing so would delight him. He’d missed her so much that he would gladly take any moment he could with her, even when she was so angry with him.

Because she would be angry with him, and spending time with him would do nothing but make her miserable. Her happiness was more important than his. Always.

His brother scoffed as he began wheeling down the aisle toward the door. “Not in her condition.”

Of course. Aemond felt a fool for not realizing it himself. He’d flown Vhagar with Alys, but… she was not as far along as his wife, nor as delicate. A carriage it must be.

He should never have flown with Alys. Not for her sake or that of her child, but because flying atop Vhagar was something he did with his ābrazȳrītsos. It was something sacred they shared, and he had willfully desecrated it.

Gods, he had to get Alys out of his head. He could never become the husband his wife deserved when the witch still haunted his every thought.

Aegon stopped at the threshold of the Sept, again reaching out to grab Aemond’s arm. His eyes glinted with violent promise as he locked eyes with his brother. “If you do anything to hurt her again, intentional or not, I will exile you to Essos, and you will never see her again. I will declare you dead and marry her myself to ensure her children inherit the throne.”

“She deserves a better husband than you,” Aemond spat. It would break him never to see her or their children. But he knew he would deserve it.

The king smiled wickedly, still only a shadow of his former self. “She deserves better than the both of us, brother.”

Aemond bit back his retort and inclined his head to his king as he had at the coronation. “I swear on my life, I will never hurt her again.”

-

Aemond was waiting for her in the courtyard when she finally left the castle, well bundled in a thick, fur-lined cloak. The weather had turned, a final storm of the departing winter. Now, the sky reflected her mood – gray and somber.

At least the explosiveness of her anger had calmed, and she was relatively sure she wouldn’t strangle Aemond along the journey. But to go to Harrenhal with him, to be in the very place where he had betrayed her, to face the woman who carried her husband’s bastard …

She could be brave. She had to be brave. This was her duty, and her duty was sacred.

Aemond had taught her that.

She did not acknowledge him as she kissed her mother and brother farewell, nor as she walked to the steps set at the wheelhouse door.

But then he held out his hand to help her in.

Reluctantly, she took it. The brief touch was marginally more tolerable than the possibility of her stumbling and him having to catch her by the arm or, gods forbid, her waist. That would be far too much of a touch, and she was not sure she was ready for it – if she would ever be ready for it.

He stepped in just behind her, the two of them standing there for a moment, wondering where to sit. In the past, they’d always sat next to each other at the rear of the wheelhouse, with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. But now, the thought of doing so again made her nauseous. So, she turned to the seat in the front.

“Wait,” Aemond grabbed her shoulder, then immediately released it when he saw her wince. He cleared his throat, then motioned to the opposite seat with his hand. “Please, sit here. I don’t want you getting sick riding backward.”

She looked from the seat to his wary smile. Surely he didn’t expect her to still sit with him, did he?

“I’ll sit on the other side,” he added after a prolonged moment of silence.

“Thank you,” she whispered with a nod of her head. But when she began walking to the rear seat, Aemond again stopped her.

“Before you sit, let me…” he trailed off, stepping to the front seat and gathering most of the pillows and cushions that lay atop it into his arms. Then, he deposited them on the other side. He spent several minutes arranging them until they were finally to his liking. “There.”

He reached out his hand again to help her sit. This time, she did not take it. She was more than capable of sitting down on her own, and she was well aware that Aemond knew that, too. He was merely trying to touch her again, and that, she would not allow.

Once she sat, Aemond began fussing again. “Please stop,” she sighed when he started crossing the wheelhouse to fetch even more pillows. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I do need to do this,” he insisted. She could have sworn his eye shone before he turned back to the pillows and blankets. “I want you to be comfortable. You deserve it.”

“A few pillows will not make me forgive you.” For a moment, as Aemond’s shoulders tightened, she almost regretted the words. She had spoken in haste and with cruelty. It was not something she was accustomed to. Somehow, his misdeeds were turning her into a mean and petty woman.

She was just about to apologize when Aemond spoke again, his voice more timid than it had been. “I know that, but I want to do it anyway. I want to show you how much I love you. Please.”

He looked at her pleadingly, desperately. It had been many years since he looked at her like that. When she was a girl, and she fell gravely ill, he stayed by her bedside against the instructions of the Maesters, holding her hand and begging her not to die. She had to look away from him to avoid falling into that memory.

“I am perfectly comfortable,” she said. “So you needn’t do anything more.”

With a sigh, Aemond threw the pillows in his arms carelessly on his seat, except for one – a small round cushion with the Targaryen three-headed dragon embroidered upon it. “Just this one more, please.”

She looked at it suspiciously, some instinct in the back of her mind telling her not to allow it. But his voice was so weak, so desperate. And if it could help her be more comfortable on the long journey, what harm would it do? She nodded. “Very well.”

Aemond beamed and crossed the wheelhouse. With the pillow in hand, he knelt in front of her and brought a hand to hover over her belly. Before he made contact, he looked up to her, a hopeful smile still on his lips.

But that smile was no longer reassuring to her. Instead, it brought on a wave of mistrust and fear. “What are you doing?”

Finally, he laid his hand on her. “I…” His cheeks flushed, and he suddenly could not meet her eye. “This is to cradle your belly while we ride so you are not rattled around so much.”

Her hand flew out and latched onto his wrist, her hold so hard the skin around her hand quickly grew red. She did not want to see him, so she narrowed her eyes until her coming tears blurred her vision. It took several tries for her to speak through her rapid breathing. “Did Alys teach you that, too?”

Aemond looked as if she had just driven a dagger through his heart. “She did, but –”

“I told you never to do that!” She ripped the pillow from his hands and threw it across the wheelhouse with all her strength.

He stayed kneeling, one hand braced on her seat. He had not flinched, only closed his eyes. “Wifey, if it makes you comfortable, if it helps you, then what does it matter how I learned it?”

“Because…” She furiously wiped her tears away, steadfastly looking away from him. “I don’t want you to think about her when you’re touching me.”

“I promise I am not thinking of her,” he insisted. “I could never think of her when I have with me.”

“No, only when I’m hundreds of miles away.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, his hand never leaving her belly. “How long have you known?” Aemond rasped out. “That we are to have two babes?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the words. How had he known? Who had told him? She did not look at him, did not want him to see the blush of shame that came over her. If either of them should be ashamed, it was him. What he did was far worse than keeping a secret, even one as important as this.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” she whispered. “But you did not come back when you were meant to – you were supposed to return and give Aegon a report on the war. You didn’t.”

Aemond bowed his head, hiding his cheeks – likely just as flushed as hers. He sniffed, as he often did when upset, and shook his head. “If I had known – ”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she snapped back. “Your… she was already pregnant by then, wasn’t she?”

For a moment, Aemond looked up at her in pleading before dropping his head again. “Yes,” his voice was thin and utterly defeated, “she was.” He reached to adjust the pillow by her side but decided against it. Then, he returned to the seat across from her, looking at her once before bowing his head and pounding on the roof twice.

Reins snapped, and the wheelhouse lurched forward.

-

The first hours in the wheelhouse passed in silence. Aemond hardly moved, staring at his clasped hands. She thought she felt his eyes on her several times, but whenever she looked at him, he did not look back.

She watched the world pass her by through the windows. She’d never gone north of King’s Landing before, other than a few short flights on Vhagar with Aemond. Then, she was too high to see the little differences, mile by mile. The trees changed and became sparser, as did the shrubs and flowers. The air felt different, as did the ground beneath the wheelhouse, which became softer and less turbulent the farther they went. Even the smell of the air changed. The slight brine she was so used to faded, turning into something green and damp. It was not an unpleasant change.

What was unpleasant was trying to fall asleep within the mountain of pillows and cushions Aemond had made for her. Once, she would have loved the plushness and softness of it. But with the babes in her belly, she had come to prefer more firmness.

She would have moved the pillows herself had she been able to. But between the sheer mass of cushions and her current size, maneuvering enough to do so was impossible. Grand Maester Orwyle had said even two months away from the birth, she was already larger than most mothers just before it. Of course, most mothers only had one babe to carry, not two. So, she was left with only wiggling around as much as she could to try and find a better position.

She didn’t.

With a huff, she looked at Aemond, hoping to silently glare at him and curse him for the stuffed throne he’d made for her. But this time, when she looked at him, he was looking back.

He wore an expression of concern, like he’d been watching her struggle for some time. His eye was wide, and his lips pinched together. She knew that look, and found herself now hating it. It meant he wanted to help, to understand what was wrong.

“I cannot get comfortable,” she explained, not that he deserved an explanation.

A spark of hope entered Aemond’s eye. “Do you…” he licked his lips. “I can hold you, if you’d like.”

“No!” She felt a slight pang of guilt at the hurt painted on his face at her rejection. He did not deserve her guilt, she reminded herself. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Aemond grimaced as if he could sense the lie. He probably could, for how well he knew her. “Are you sure? I can… I can just hold you. It won’t mean anything, I promise.”

Yes, yes, yes, her body seemed to scream. She had always found comfort in his arms, always slept best with him pressed against her. And him holding her would mean he would have to discard many of the ridiculous pillows. If she accepted, she could likely be asleep in moments.

But her heart… her heart would break to be held by him. She wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about if he had held Alys in this same way. If the whore had slept with her head resting on Aemond’s shoulders. If she had kissed his neck as she fell asleep, just as she had loved to do.

She would never be able to stop thinking about Alys. Every time Aemond looked at her, touched her, spoke to her. Alys would be a ghost that would haunt her forever.

A memory of the first time Aemond had taken her to the Dragonpit came to her.

He’d told her she couldn’t come with him, but relented the moment she started crying and dragged her into the carriage with him, Aegon, and Rhaenyra’s eldest sons. Jacaerys was the only one who argued against her accompanying them. He stopped complaining after Aemond shot him a threatening glare and declared that she was braver and more capable than he would ever be. But when they arrived at the Dragonpit, and Sunfyre was led up from the dens, she’d cowered behind Aemond. The sweet little creature - perhaps the size of one of the king’s hounds - she had once watched flit around Aegon wherever he went had somehow quickly turned into a beast larger than anything she’d ever seen, baring sharp teeth the size of her dinner knives. Aegon kneeled in front of her and nudged her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t worry, haedus. He won’t hurt you, I promise.” She still screamed when Aegon stepped within reach of those fangs. And again, when Aemond pulled her from behind his back so she could not hide from the dragon. “Do not be afraid, haedus. Sunfyre is only a dragon, as are you. The blood of the dragon runs true in your veins,” he said as she buried her face in her chest. Something about the words seemed to make Jace angry, but she didn’t know why. “I can’t help it, lēkia,” she whined. “He’s scaring me.” Aemond huffed slightly, petting her head tenderly. “You are afraid because you know very little about dragons. What we do not know can be terrifying.” He turned her to face Sunfyre, who was now perfectly docile while being saddled by Aegon. She squirmed to escape his grasp. “If you watch and listen to the Dragonkeepers, you will learn. The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.”

“Why did you do it?” she asked suddenly.

“My love?” Aemond looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns. But when she held his stare, he whispered gently, “You don’t want to know. Not really.”

“I do,” she declared.Though his answer may shatter her heart completely, she had to know. His childhood voice echoed in her head. ‘The more you learn, the less afraid you will be.’

She swore she could see him remember the same memory she had. His eye darted around the wheelhouse anxiously. “It is not a good reason.”

“Unless she held you at sword point each time, there is not a reason I would call ‘good.’” She hoped it was something like that, that he hadn’t been given the choice to refuse her. It would make everything better, almost fine. But if it had been something like that, he would have already told her.

Aemond was silent for a long while. Long enough for the sun to reach its peak and begin its descent.

“I’d seen only one battle before I arrived at Harrenhal – Rook’s Rest,” he began. “In that battle, one dragon and rider were killed, and Aegon and Sunfyre were permanently wounded.”

“I know,” she whispered. She’d been there when Aemond had brought Aegon, broken, bloody, and burnt, back to the castle. She’d seen what happened to him. Aemond held her hair back as she was sick in the corridor outside the Grand Maester’s rooms.

Aemond nodded. “I was so afraid, ābrazȳrītsos, of what I would see when I truly went to war. And it was just as terrible as I’d feared. Even worse than what happened to Aegon, sometimes.” He waited to continue until she had unscrunched her eyes as she fought away another wave of nausea. “Every time I was scared, raqiarzītsos... And alone. She offered an escape. A chance to not think about the war, for at least a little while.”

“And to not think about me.”

He blanched, moving to stand, but thought better of it and sat back in his seat. “My love, I never wanted to stop thinking about you. I promise. I thought about you every moment of every day. You are what gave me the strength to ride to battle again and again – knowing that once it was all over, I’d be able to return to you.”

She glared at him. “So, you thought about me while you were fucking her?”

“Gods, no!” This time, he did rise, crossing the wheelhouse to fall at her feet. “I… I didn’t think about anything when I was with her. Not about you, or the war, or even her. It was the only way I could empty my mind of all the things that tormented me.”

“… I tormented you?” The idea that she could have done anything to make him want to forget her brought tears to her eyes.

“No. Never.” He tried to reach for her to cup her cheek, but she shrank away from him. “Don’t ever think that you could. What tormented me was that I was so far from you – that I could not be there for you. And the babes.”

He could have been, she knew. He should have been. “You had many opportunities to return. Why didn’t you?” Her voice caught in the back of her throat as a sob tried to escape. “Were you too ashamed of what you’d done?”

“I was and am ashamed,” he declared, and she believed him, “but that is not why I remained at Harrenhal. I knew that if I saw you again, I would never return to the battlefield. It was hard enough to leave you the first time. I could not endure it again.”

There was silence.

She leaned back towards him and allowed him to finally lay his hand across her cheek – an unconscious attempt to soften the blow of her next question. “Is it true that you spared her only because you lusted for her? That you took her to your bed in your first week at that awful place?”

Aemond sobbed, one horrible, wretched sob. His hand dropped, and he lowered his head into her lap, clutching at her dress like a child. The urge to comfort him tingled in her veins, to pet his hair and murmur soft words to him, to gently remove his eyepatch and assure him that all was well.

She did not move an inch.

At last, Aemond lifted his head. The bottom of his eyepatch was just askew enough to allow the tears from his ruined eye to escape. “I spared her because she claimed to be a witch – a seer. The claim was backed by several residents of the keep who had no reason to lie. She offered to lend me her aid in the war, to share her visions with me so I could be prepared when I led my men to battle. I agreed. I wanted to avoid the kind of slaughter I saw at Rook’s Rest. To prevent anyone from going through what happened to our brother. Then…

“I did lie with her in the first week,” he turned away as though he couldn’t say the words while facing her. “On the sixth day. We were to advance on Darry the next morning, to… it doesn’t matter why, just that it was the first time I would lead men to victory of their deaths. I asked Alys to share her vision of what would occur, and she did. She saw how fearful I was and told me that to win the battle, I must go into it without fear. I tried to calm myself, but I couldn’t.”

He swallowed thickly, still avoiding her gaze, and dropped his hand. “Then she offered her… further aid. I will not wound you by detailing what we did. But I will assure you that I did resist.” He licked his lips. “At least at first.”

A small comfort, she supposed.

“When I was with her, all my worries faded to nothing. I thought it was perhaps a spell she put on me, but it was not. My body just needed to find that satisfaction and release. I was hoping it was a spell. For that would mean I did not truly betray you.”

He faced her again. She did not know whether it comforted or saddened her to look into his wet, despairing eye. “But I did. And I continued to do so every time my fear threatened to overwhelm me. Which was, regrettably, often.

“I was weak,” he said with a mirthless laugh, “I was so weak. I should have been braver – better. I should have been the husband you deserve. I will spend every day of my life regretting it and trying to right what I have done wrong. I swear it.” He nodded as if to affirm the oath, yet it brought her no assurance. “I am so sorry, my love.”

He said nothing else.

She still had so many questions, wanted to know so much more. Her fears had barely been quelled. But it was something. And at the very least, the emotions Aemond’s story subjected her to had exhausted her. Enough that she knew she could close her eyes and be asleep within a heartbeat.

“Thank you. For telling me,” she whispered as she moved back in her seat, away from him. “I would like to rest now.”

Aemond bowed his head and retreated to his seat without asking again if he could hold her.

Her traitorous heart almost wished he had.

-

It was raining when she woke. The weather had apparently followed them north. She leaned closer to the window, wanting the wet air to cool her, but stopped when she noticed the wheelhouse wasn’t moving.

“Ser Marston and one of the porters are arranging rooms,” Aemond said softly. She did not reply, nor look at him. A glance out the window informed her that they were in some village she didn’t know, outside a relatively large building whose worn sign, cut in the shape of a stone wall, read simply ‘Inn.’

That question answered, she still didn’t look at Aemond. She knew he’d likely been watching her since they’d arrived… wherever they were. Perhaps longer. Judging by the dusk settling over the horizon, she’d been sleeping quite a while. And yet she hadn’t woken. She wondered if she should start sleeping during the day instead of at night.

“Mother said…” Aemond halted, likely waiting for her to look at him. She didn’t. “We will be sharing a room.”

She whipped her head around to face him, ignoring the slight dizziness that came with the motion. “No.”

Aemond sighed. “Raqiarzītsos, if the innkeeper notices we are apart, he may talk about it. Rumors will start.”

“Can’t we just pay him to remain silent? That’s what Mother did to prevent rumors from spreading about Aegon.”

“And yet rumors spread nevertheless,” his voice was soft and firm, like a parent explaining something to their child. The thought sickened her.

She wanted to say that those rumors spread because their mother could not pay off every woman Aegon had his way with – there had been too many to even know who they all were. But it had been their mother herself who told her that this would happen, that she would have to somehow stomach being in the same room as Aemond at night. That the consequences of not doing so would be worse than those that would come from him being there.

“You will not sleep in the bed,” she ordered, finally facing her husband, “you will sleep on whatever chair or couch is in the room or the floor if there is none.”

Aemond sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Very well.”

Curious, she’d expected more of a fight. For him to insist that a servant could see the half-empty bed and raise questions. For him to try and ply her into letting him into the bed with promises of holding her and keeping her warm. For him to try something. But he didn’t.

“Good.”

-

It was not a very nice room.

The paint was chipping off the walls, and the floorboards creaked. The bed linens were faded, the fur blankets patchy. The small table on one side leaned to one side, and an unshaped piece of wood held the couch by the fire level.

At least there was a couch, Aemond supposed. And as it was near the fire, he would not have to sleep in the cold to avoid depriving his wife of blankets.

She crossed the room to the bed, sitting on its edge and looking out the window again. After he’d agreed that he would not try and convince her to let him join her in the bed, she’d spent the rest of their time waiting in the carriage looking out one window, then crossing to the other side of the wheelhouse just before they were called to their room.

Even now, he could see her eyes flitting from one building to another, following the villagers as they milled about and fixating on the livestock that wandered the streets – cows, donkeys, sheep, even a small group of piglets.

He thought it was a distraction at first. But when she continued to watch the inconsequential town for far longer than he ever would, even in a new town, he realized it was something more. When she quirked her head slightly to the right and the ghost of a smile flitted over her lips, he knew what it was.

This was the first village she’d ever been in.

She was born in King’s Landing, and other than their trip to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral… she’d never left the city.

Something in Aemond’s heart cracked. He should have done something, taken her on adventures. He should have brought her on Vhagar and flown her wherever her heart desired.

But he hadn’t. He’d left her in King’s Landing, in the Red Keep. In a cage.

But now… her first trip away from the capital was one she didn’t want to be on. It wasn’t a happy occasion. And their destination was likely the place of her worst nightmares.

He should never have let Aegon order him to bring her to Harrenhal.

Aemond opened his mouth to apologize to her again but said nothing. She had already been forced to be stuck in a wheelhouse with him for most of the day. The kindest thing he could do would be to let her alone for as long as he could.

So, he went towards the door, turning back over his shoulder to look at her for a moment. She was still watching the village. It made him smile a bit. “I’m going to get supper. I’ll be back in a short while.”

She did not say anything back. She only lifted a hand to rest on the window.

-

She’d hardly noticed that Aemond had left. When he told her where he was going, she had just seen a small group of children playing in the muddy road. One of the little girls had spotted her watching from the window and shouted something to her friends. Soon, all the children were staring at her. She lifted a hand to the window to wave at them.

Then, she heard the door closing, and when she turned to look, Aemond was gone.

When she looked back to the children, they had already run off. Her hand drifted to her abdomen. “Nyke urnēbagon jemī tymāt umban daor.” I cannot wait to watch you play.

Before Aemond left for Harrenhal, he had taken her back to the nursery where they’d been raised. The furniture had been covered, as neither Jaehaera nor Rhaenyra’s son Aegon were inclined toward play. Not after what they went through. So, both had moved to their own rooms when they returned to the keep.

But the nursery would not be empty for long.

Aemond had pulled away the sheet covering the toy chest and knelt before it, examining each toy as though it were a priceless jewel. He told stories about them, recalling how they had played with them, and made guesses about which ones their child would prefer and what their choices would foretell about them.

He rediscovered the two wooden dragons they had once painted and named for themselves – Kēlītsos and Balerion. There were too many tales of those little dragons to retell them all, so he told only the one where they imagined the dragons had come alive and had flown them to the ruins of Old Valyria. Aemond would slay whatever beasts had wounded Balerion and killed their great-aunt, Aerea. Then, they would reclaim their ancestral homeland.

He’d kissed her belly then, calling the babe inside the “heir of Old Valyria.”

Now, they were the heir – heirs – to something else entirely.

To a broken family.

To a throne soaked in the blood of their kin.

To the sins of their father.

For a moment, she wished they could simply be like those children, playing without a care.

But they never would be.

They would still be children. They would still play and laugh. They would be mischievous and sneak sweets from the kitchens or stay awake long past the time they were sent to bed. They would still cry for their parents when they scraped a knee or had a nightmare.

But they would also be heirs. They would be taught by the finest scholars in the world how to bear the weight of their responsibilities. They would be trained by mighty warriors on how to defend themselves from the enemies they would have since birth. They would always know that their life was never wholly theirs.

Now, they would also always know that their father had betrayed their mother. She knew that no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, somehow, they would learn of Aemond’s mistress – the mother of their bastard half-sibling.

Part of her hated that child, the small thing that was not even fully formed and yet was the manifestation of all her pain.

Part of her, perhaps a larger part, pitied it.

After all, it was a bastard. The world had never been kind to bastards. After the role bastards had played in the war, she could not imagine it would grow any kinder.

What would the life of the bastard be like? Would it play the same games as her children? Would it have the same favorite toys, or foods, or colors?

While its trueborn siblings were learning to rule the realm and ride dragons, what would it do? Perhaps it would be a servant, like its mother, or become a laborer of some kind.

Would it know who its father was? Would it know the blood of the dragon ran through its veins? Would it ache for a bond with a dragon, as Aemond had? Would it spend its life feeling incomplete, yet never know why?

As she caught sight of the tears shining on her cheeks in her reflection off the window, she decided she did not hate the child. It was not at fault for the sins of its mother, or its father.

She said a brief prayer for it – for its health and happiness. Then one for her own children.

When Aemond came back through the door, carrying a tray laden with steaming food, she wiped her tears away and looked only once more out the window.

The children had gone home.

“Are you hungry, ābrazȳrītsos?” Aemond asked.

No, she wasn’t. But she knew she must eat regardless, for the sake of the babes. So, she crossed the room and sat at the small table.

She did not speak as Aemond served her the meal – fresh, steaming bread, warm stew, and a pot of tea. He did not try and get her to speak. He simply ate his food, watching her carefully.

He faded into the background as her thoughts continued to wander to that poor little child growing in Alys’ womb.

Would it have silver hair? Purple eyes? Or would it inherit its mother’s coloring, whatever it was?

She did not know what Alys looked like. She knew so little about the woman who had shared in Aemond’s sin.

Was she beautiful? Was she intelligent? Was she kind?

It was hard to imagine that she would be kind. That any woman who would lie with a married man would be kind. After all, she was called a witch. Was there such a thing as a kind witch?

Was there even such a thing as a witch?

Aemond said that he spared Alys because she could foretell the future. That the reason he’d first brought her into his bed was because she told him he needed to be calm for the battle ahead if he wished to prevail.

Prevail he did.

Were the visions real, then? Had Aemond only returned from that first battle, the second, the last, because of what Alys had told him?

If Alys were to thank for Aemond surviving the war, should she not be grateful for it? But how could she be grateful for something that had so thoroughly broken her heart?

How was she supposed to feel? How was she supposed to know what to feel? What to do?

“I want to meet her,” she said suddenly. Even her whisper sounded like an echoing shout after so long a silence.

Aemond stared at her. Fear and regret and anger in his gaze. His mouth hung open, and his skin had gone deathly pale.

“Alys,” she clarified. “I want to meet her.”

“My love, please. You don’t.” His voice quavered like a rose in a thunderstorm. “I don’t want you to, it won’t – ”

“I have questions for her. I will ask them.” Tears fell down Aemond’s cheeks, but he did not argue. It almost made her smile. “You may be there if you wish. But I will meet her.”

Aemond nodded. “If that is what you truly want.”

She felt no fear or hesitation. “It is.”

-

After she finished her meal, her exhaustion finally settled upon her. It had only been a day since Aemond returned to the Red Keep. Only a day since both the war and her world ended.

She just wanted to sleep. In that moment, it was all she wanted.

She had Aemond turn away as she undressed and donned her nightgown. He obeyed, staring into the fire and never once looking back until she was beneath the rough-spun blankets on the bed and gave him permission.

He only removed his leather doublet and his boots before settling onto the couch by the fire, its high back blocking them from each other’s view.

The fire crackled.

“Good night, ābrazȳrītsos,” Aemond said. “Sleep well. I love you.”

She did not reply.

She so badly wanted to sleep. But it seemed both her body and the babes in her belly wanted otherwise. No matter how she lay, she could not find comfort. No matter what she thought of, her mind would not calm.

At least she took comfort in that her restlessness was likely preventing Aemond from finding sleep as well.

When she heard his voice again, she stiffened, preparing herself to argue with him again. But Aemond did not speak.

He sang.

“Bantis ropatas Night has fallen

Yn zūgagon daor But do not fear

Sȳndror ilos daor There is no darkness

Kesrio syt drakarys vamiot ilzai. For dragonfire is near.”

It was a lullaby. One he had discovered in an Old Valyrian children’s book he found in the back of the Red Keep’s library. He had sung it to her when she was still in her crib so he could practice their ancestral language.

He stopped singing for some time when his voice settled, adjusting to the new, lower pitch. But when he began again, it was even more beautiful than before. Quiet and soft, but still beautiful.

“Yn ozelēnagon daor And shiver not

Vasīr vēzos hembistas Though the sun has gone

Drakarys kesīr ilzai Dragonfire is here

Aōhi dijaves rāelagon. To keep you warm.”

When was the last time he sang to her? Obviously not in the past six months, but when?

“Aōhi bartos mazilībās Lay down your head

Se aōhī laehossa lēdes And close your eyes

Drakarys avy mīsilza Dragonfire will protect you

Yn sepār kesan. And so too will I.”

Ah, her eyes welled with tears when she finally remembered. It had been the first night after they learned they were to have a babe, and Aemond had bedded her more passionately than he had since their wedding night and more gently than he had ever been.

He sang when they were spent, and she curled into him to sleep. Aemond brushed his fingers in light patterns over her belly and sang. But was that for her or the babe?

The last time he had sung for her and only her… she could not recall. It had been some ordinary day when she did not know she should hold onto that memory and keep it close. She did not know it was a memory she would need when Aemond went to war.

“Dōnī ēdrurī emilās, ñuha raqno Dream sweetly, my love

Bantio rȳ ēdrūs Sleep all through the night

Nyke aōma unna I will be with you

Vapār ōños arlī amāzīlza. Until again there is light.”

She wanted to be angry at him, accuse him of only singing now so he could worm his way back into her heart. But she knew that accusation would be false. After the way he fussed over her today, she knew he was truly worried for her health – and the health of the babes.

Besides, his voice and the familiarity of the song were now truly lulling her to sleep.

She was grateful for it.

“Skorī ñāqes kesīr ilos When morning is here

Se īlvon geron vamiot ilza And our journey is nigh

Īlon henkirī īlvī zaldrīzī kipili We will both mount our dragons

Sepār, sōvīlā.” Then, we will fly.”

Her last thought before her eyes slid closed was that she hoped he had not sung the lullaby – their lullaby – to Alys or her child.

-

Aemond woke to the sound of something crashing. He was immediately awake, throwing off his blanket and bolting to his feet. But he saw no one.

What he did see was an empty bed.

In an instant, his panic had risen to a peak it had reached only once before – the day he’d found out that his half-sister and her husband had taken King’s Landing, and in the aftermath, Aegon was missing and his ābrazȳrītsos was now in the hands of his enemies.

A horrible retching soon alerted him to his wife’s presence on the floor of the room, halfway between the bed and the washbasin against the far wall. But it did not quell his panic.

She was panting between harsh bouts of sickness, her arms trembling as they struggled to hold her up. Aemond moved immediately, kneeling beside her and sweeping her hair away from her face. His words of comfort and concern died instantly when he felt her lean against him.

She was so thin.

Her nightgown was soaked through with sweat, allowing him a clear and horrible view of every knob on her spine and curve of her ribs. The further she pressed into him, the more he could feel the sharp planes of her shoulder blades and the sickening lightness of her form. She was like some of the near-corpses he’d seen in the war – hardly more than skin stretched taut over mere bones.

He had not seen it before. She’d been bundled in robes and gowns and furs. And when she changed into her nightgown earlier this evening, she had not allowed him to look at her until she was buried beneath the blankets.

She knew.

She knew how frail she was. He knew and had not wanted him to know…

Had not wanted him to worry. Not while he was at war.

“Ābrazȳrītsos…”

She sobbed once before she was sick again. He said nothing else until he was relatively certain whatever illness had possessed her passed, and tried not to be too grateful that she didn’t push him away.

“Little darling, please,” he pulled her closer so he could rest against his chest. She did not resist. “What happened?”

She shook her head, reaching to wipe her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown. Aemond stopped her, set her hand back on her lap, and used his own sleeve instead. She sighed as if the gesture somehow upset her, then slumped slightly. “Nothing happened. Nothing new, at least. This happens nearly every night.”

Every night. No wonder she was so thin.

“Still?” Aemond finally managed to ask in a rasping voice. She had been so sick in those early days – it was what had prompted them to take her to the Maesters, where they discovered she was with child. But it had gotten better in the days before he left for Harrenhal. She had said it was getting better.

She nodded, her eyes shut tight as she turned away from him. Was it from exhaustion or shame? “It…” she swallowed, and Aemond realized how dry her throat must be. He would fetch her something to drink as soon as she could stand. “It never stopped.”

“Oh ābrazȳrītsos…” his voice broke as the realization of how badly she had been suffering sank in. And all the while, he’d been sharing his bed with another woman.

If the Father truly cared for justice, he would have struck Aemond dead the moment he touched that witch.

Aemond held her close, panting with the effort it took to hold back his tears of shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She was silent for a long while. Then, “I’m tired, Aemond.”

“I know.”

A long pause. It took him longer than it should have to realize she was looking at him and longer still to recognize the plea in her eyes. She wanted his help. Or perhaps more accurately, needed his help.

So help her he did, eagerly. He sat her at one of the chairs by the table while he removed her soiled nightgown and dressed her in another. He brought the washbasin to her so he could help her wash her face, then brought her a pitcher of fresh water so she could rinse her mouth. He braided her hair once more and carried her back to bed,

Once he’d pulled the blankets back over her, he reached out to her. When she didn’t flinch away, he softly stroked her cheek. “Is there anything else I can get you, my love?”

She opened her eyes just slightly. “I’m cold.”

He turned on his heel to fetch his blanket from the couch. There was still warmth radiating from the hearth. He could move to the rug.

But when he’d settled that blanket on her as well, she opened her eyes wider and gazed up at him. “Aemond…”

If there was ever proof that the gods could be merciful, that was it.

Still, he had to be certain he wasn’t mistaken. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. Thank all the gods in the world, she nodded.

His veins buzzing with ecstatic joy, he walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside her. As he wrapped his arms around her, it almost didn’t matter that he could feel her frailness, that he knew she had only asked this because she truly was cold, or that his touch was tainted by his sins.

Aemond was sharing a bed with his wife. He was holding her. Her, and their children.

When her breathing finally settled, and she drifted off to sleep, Aemond closed his eyes, tucked his face into her hair, and prayed he dreamt of a world where he had slain Alys the moment he first saw her.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #aemond fluff #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #hotd #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #ewan mitchell #what is broken

[stargirlrchive]

This is Simon and his daughter when she wants to do dance and has one of those recitals where the child’s parent dances with them. He gladly walks up there with his little princess and does the dance with her. And obviously you would be recording the entire thing to watch over and over.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRc6C9tc/

this made me ascend out of my body !! and i word-vomited a little

like you’re a little hesitant to bring up to simon that there’s a father-daughter dance because you know it would break his heart if he couldn’t make it. and when you do bring it up, he’s so quiet.

you can see the cogs turning in his brain, the turmoil he’s feeling clear as day in his eyes before he’s blinking and it’s gone. giving you a small nod and mumbling something along the lines of ‘i’ll make it work.’

you don’t hear much about it after that. especially because the week practices are starting he gets deployed. you’ve honestly thought he’s forgotten all about it.

so for father-daughter practice you show up, not wanting to let your little girl feel left out.

weeks of practice go on, and you’ve both gotten the steps down. you’re so happy that your little girl doesn’t seem to be too bummed out that simon won’t be able to make it. she understands, even at such a young age, that dad’s got an important job!

but unexpectedly on week three, little riley’s ballet teacher comes up to you beaming. “i’m glad to hear mr. riley was finally able to get the recordings i sent over.”

and you’re so confused because you have no idea what she’s talking about. you hadn’t been able to speak to simon since a few days after he left. but as she explains that simon had asked her to send over a video of the routine so he could practice while away, your heart warms. tears pooling at your waterline as you give her a watery smile and bid your goodbye.

it’s about half an hour later that you’re both home and you get a facetime call from simon. instantly little riley is reaching for the phone and babbling away over all the things she’s done since he’s been gone.

reluctantly passing you the phone when simon asks to speak to mama. your eyes tracing over his masked face, smiling softly as you remember his hidden features. your heart lurching in your chest because you miss him so terribly.

“so, you’ve been practicing.”

the way he scratches at the back of his neck, you know he’s blushing under the mask. a bright smile blooming on your face as he nods.

“ask’d johnny to stand in h’r place to get the movements right.”

and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat, “gaz ‘nd capt’n been giving me pointers, but i’ve got most of it down.”

you sigh softly, just hearing him speak makes your heart thrum in pure happiness. but as your eyes flicker over to your daughter, you feel it plummet.

“m’not gonna tell her you’ve been learning the dance. it’ll get her hopes up and i don’t want her to be disappointed if you can’t make it.”

“i will be there.”

the conviction in his voice causes the sadness swirling in your chest to simmer down because you know he will.

but it’s only the day before the recital that simon gets back home. your daughter clinging to him desperately the whole day.

babbling excitedly about how he’s gonna be home to see her and mama perform. you both decided to let her find out it would be simon dancing with her until she was on stage.

which you are then sitting front row, camera ready and already recording as your little girls brows furrow in confusion as she sees you sitting in the seats. but before she can think too much about it, simon is coming out from the side of the stage, dressed in all black, a black tutu and a simple black balaclava.

the smile on your daughter’s face is the brightest you’ve ever seen and you have to force down the tears that are threatening to fall.

before the music starts you see little riley tugging on his arm, and after simon bends down to hear her, he barks out a laugh. your daughter’s giggles filling the room before the music starts and they start dancing.

her eyes shining brighter and brighter because her dad knew the dance. and caught her anytime her slippery shoes slid a little too much on the stage.

when she’s finally able to get back to you, she’s bolting into your arms. her words jumbled and excited over the fact that she got to dance with her dad, just like all her other little friends.

and when she finally calms down, simon is wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer as he presses a kiss to your temple and you can feel how fucking happy he is.

“what did she tell you before the performance started?”

a warbled noise left his mouth, his eyes full of mirth as he tried so hard not to laugh, “she asked me to not step on her cause mommy always does.”

#i want to give him a baby :( #simon riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #pdfs.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

It's Magic

This snippet is for @creweemmaeec11!

-------

Villain pressed the knife deeper into Hero's side, the blade glowing with harmful magic.

"Pathetic little thing," Villain laughed, yanking the blade out.

Hero gasped, lurching forward. They crashed down in the alleyway.

"Lesser beings like you should learn to stay out of my way," Villain said, "maybe your corpse will serve as an example."

Villain cast a spell, causing little cuts to open all over Hero's body. Hero whimpered in pain. They looked up with blurry vision as Villain strode away. Was this really how it was going to end? Killed by a magic user? Hero didn't have the energy to worry about it; they started to drift off, their head light and their limbs heavy.

----

Hero stirred to the feeling of a gentle rocking sensation.

"Mm..." they mumbled.

"Shhh," a voice soothed.

The rocking sensation stopped suddenly as Hero was laid down on a soft surface. They forced their eyes to open. They tried to sit up, but a hand gently pushed them back down.

"Don't-" the voice said softly, "don't get up. You're hurt."

Hero stared up at their rescuer. Their vision cleared, and their face went pale. Hero scuttled back on the couch.

"S-Supervillain," Hero breathed.

Hero's breaths quickened, coming out in short little gasps. Their heart felt like it was going to beat out of their chest. Supervillain held their hands up in a placating gesture.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," they said, "I promise."

Supervillain took a step closer, and Hero flinched hard, screwing their eyes shut. Instead of a harsh strike or a dark spell, Hero felt the gentle pressure of a hand on their forehead. They cracked an eye open and looked at Supervillain.

"No fever, that's good," Supervillain said.

Soft green light emanated from Supervillain's hands. Hero's breathing became deep of its own accord. Hero blinked in confusion.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Hero asked.

"It's a calming spell," Supervillain explained, "I don't want you to panic."

Supervillain gestured to Hero's shirt.

"May I?" they asked.

Hero felt themselves nodding, a forced calm settling over them. Supervillain thanked them and lifted their shirt.

"It seems to be healing well," Supervillain said, "my magic made short work of your cuts, but this stab wound was pretty bad."

"Magic?"

"Yes, my healing magic. You're lucky to be alive, if I hadn't found you... well, it doesn't matter now."

Normally the mention of magic would have Hero hyperventilating, but the calming spell was weaving its way through their mind and body, keeping them pacified.

"Let me work on your wound some more, you don't deserve a scar."

Magenta light flowed from Supervillain's hands into Hero's healing wound. The area began to feel warm and fuzzy. Hero watched as the wound faded away completely, leaving nothing but smooth, undamaged skin.

"Can I get you anything?" Supervillain asked.

"I, um..."

"How about something to eat and drink?" Supervillain offered.

Hero quickly shook their head. What if they poisoned it? Then again, Supervillain probably wouldn't go through the trouble to save them just to poison them... on the other hand, though, this was Supervillain they were talking about, and-

A floating tray of food interrupted Hero's thoughts. On the tray was a bowl of chili and a cup of water. Supervillain ushered the tray over with a finger. It settled a few inches over Hero.

"It's, uh, it's waiting for you to sit up," Supervillain said.

Hero sat up cautiously. The tray, satisfied, landed gently on Hero's lap. The spoon flew into Hero's hand. Hero yelped in surprise.

"Yes, that particular spoon is rather forward," Supervillain said apologetically, "you'll get used to it."

Hero gulped. What would happen if they didn't eat? Would Supervillain kill them in a harsher way? The spoon, growing impatient, zipped out of Hero's hand, filled itself with a helping of chili, and forced its way into their mouth.

"Mm!"

Flavors danced on Hero's tongue; the chili was absolutely delicious. The spoon left Hero's mouth and grabbed another helping of chili. It waited for Hero to swallow.

"I wouldn't poison you, if that's what you're worried about," Supervillain said, "I went through a bit of trouble to save you."

Hero swallowed hesitantly. The spoon eagerly shoved the next bite of chili into their mouth. Hero grabbed the spoon and started to feed themselves. Supervillain smiled.

"Why... why did you save me?" Hero asked.

Supervillain's smile faltered, replaced with a concerned expression.

"I couldn't just leave you there," Supervillain said.

"Yes you could've! You're Supervillain! You're the most powerful mage in the city, and I'm..."

"Yes?" Supervillain prompted.

"I fight mages! I'm your enemy!" Hero blurted.

Supervillain sighed. They waved a hand and an armchair tottered forward. Supervillain sat down, snapping their fingers. A cup of tea materialized out of thin air. Supervillain took a sip of it, then set it on the saucer, which was still floating nearby.

"Why do you fight mages?" Supervillain asked, as though Hero had come in for a therapy session.

"Because they use magic! And magic is- well, it's evil isn't it?"

"Look around you," Supervillain gestured to the room, "I've been using magic nonstop since I brought you here. Have I been using it for evil?"

Hero didn't respond.

"I've done nothing but heal you and tend to you with my powers," Supervillain continued, "what I want is for magic users and non-magic users to get along and enjoy each other's gifts. Of course, not everyone shares my sentiment, such as the mage who attacked you."

Hero shook their head, trying to rationalize Supervillain's words. Supervillain sighed again and stood. The tray floated away with the empty chili bowl. The spoon followed it back to the kitchen.

"You should get some rest," Supervillain said, summoning a blanket, which draped itself over Hero, "let me know if you need anything."

Supervillain began to leave.

"Wait!" Hero said weakly.

Supervillain turned.

"Yes?"

"Thank you, Supervillain," Hero said quietly.

Supervillain cracked a small smile.

"You're welcome..."

"Hero," Hero said, "my name is Hero."

"You're welcome, Hero."

Supervillain flicked their wrist, and the lights went out. They left the room to let Hero sleep. Hero snuggled under the blanket and closed their eyes. They were still very confused about many things, but maybe magic wasn't as evil as they had thought.

Ko-fi

Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld  @surplus-of-sarcasm

#hero x villain #writeblr #writing #creative writing #whump #hurt/comfort #hero whumpee #villain whumper #supervillain caretaker #hero x villain writing #hero x supervillain #hero x villain community #heroes and villains #magic #nonmagic hero #magic supervillain #mage #stabbing #magic healing #caretaking

[georgeromeros]

Ted Cassidy as Lurch

The Addams Family - Season 1 Episode 13 (1964) Lurch Learns to Dance

#the addams family #ted cassidy #lurch #lurch learns to dance #my gifs #tv gifs #retrotvblr #classichorrorblog #comedyedit #horroredit #tvedit #television #1960s #b&w #comedy #mine: addams family

[ilovetedcassidy]

Happy Birthday, John Astin!!!

#birthday #john astin #actor #ted cassidy #character actors #1960s #the addams family #lurch addams #gomez addams #tv shows #addams family #lurch learns to dance #my gifs

[rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world]

Lurch: Father was right.

Gomez: About what, Lurch?

Lurch: My being a butler.

Gomez: What did he want you to be?

Lurch: …A jockey.

#the addams family #lurch addams #gomez addams #morticia addams #ted cassidy #john astin #carolyn jones #lurch learns to dance

[alphabetboyluvr]

sundae (kinda love) | kth

pairing: non-idol!taehyung x female reader - childhood friends, unrequited pining, missed connection

premise: you always thought kim taehyung's lips would taste like chocolate sundaes, but when you learn -through a friend- that he tastes like watermelon chewing gum, the illusion shatters. so does your heart. in time, so will his.

warnings: a lil angsty, big question mark on a happy ending? (it's an ending! i'll give it that much!), short n sweet, mentions of alcohol, clubbing, tae is stupid!, but also not to be blamed (or at least not until the end), insinuation of emotional affair, big regrets, ballroom dancing, no smut and no fluff

wordcount: 1.1k

note from holly: originally written as a submission for my old writing groups monthly prompt - "I wanted it to be you. God damn, I really did." This is ooooooold, but it just felt apt with love me again and rainy days. i also believe it's the oneshot that someone on wattpad commented 'why are the tae ones always so shit' so MAKE OF THAT WHAT YOU WILL! lmaooo.

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

"Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow," repeats the familiar shrill of your dance instructor. "Nina, back straight! Namjoon, footwork!"

The village hall you're in is musty, dust particles imitating you as they dance in the sunlight that beams through the wide windows. It's a Saturday morning, and there's no place you'd rather be less. You're dancing with your best friend, Nina, because there are only three boys in your class of twelve.

There's Jimin, the star student; Namjoon, whose mother forced him to attend because she thought it would be good for him; And then there's Taehyung, their best friend.

He's only there because he has nothing better to do when his only buddies are too busy learning the paso-bloody-doble to hang out with him.

It's spring, and school is in full swing. They're growing, and as time lurches forward, they find themselves with less and less chances to enjoy one another's company.

And so Taehyung's shoes tap along the varnished parquet all rather naturally, much to the dismay of Namjoon, who really is trying his very hardest.

"Now! Turn!" Your instructor commands. "And switch!"

You throw Nina a look -one that she gives you right back- which you both understand to mean 'ugh'. Stupid switch you always think, and refrain from rhyming it with how you feel about your instructor.

There's no part of you that wants to hold hands with other random kids from your village as you Cha Cha Cha across the dance floor. You just want to spend time with your best friend.

The same can be said for Taehyung, but when the switch happens, he finds himself dancing with yet another random girl - Nina.

He glances over -checking who he stole her from- and when your eyes meet, he stumbles on his footwork. Nina giggles, and he looks down all bashfully; pink in the cheeks.

When he looks up, he's looking at Nina. She giggles again, and he gets a little shy, but he starts dancing with her like a duck to water. Something about them just seems to... work.

You suppose you should have seen it coming when the next week he asks to dance with Nina again.

At least, that's what you assume he's doing when he approaches the pair of you. She kind of just hops up and drags him away before he even gets a chance to ask.

When they reach an empty spot on the dance floor, Taehyung glances back over to you and purses his lips. His eyes are soft, and so wonderfully brown that you think he must taste like chocolate sundaes on a hot summer's afternoon.

You're fifteen when you watch from the sidelines as rosettes are pinned to their clothes.

Taehyung's in a suit - dark, a little too big for him. His bowtie is green; a congratulations gift from you, given on the night they smashed through regionals.

Nina is in a matching green dress. Pretty, hair pinned back, perfect. Just like always.

The village hall has been swapped for a convention centre in the heart of the big city. They've just won third place. Jimin and his partner snagged first. Namjoon didn't make the top twelve. He tried, though.

You're beaming, outrageously proud of their achievement - but when Taehyung's eyes find yours in the crowd, his smile falters. It softens after a moment, and he nods. You nod back. Smile. Whisper 'well done'. He grins, now, and Nina notices his line of sight on you, so she waves. You wave, too, but you'll tell her well done later.

When you're eighteen, in a bar in the heart of town, Nina tells you that Taehyung tastes like vodka lemonade and watermelon chewing gum. You don't see him that evening. He sends you a text as the sun begins to rise:

'Didn't see you tonight. Missed you tearing up the dancefloor.'

There's a smile on your lips, though you really wish there wasn't. You both know you've got two left feet. It was always Nina's thing.

You send him back a picture of the chocolate sundae you're nursing, and tell him that you hate watermelon.

He doesn't understand, and assumes you're drunk. You kind of are, legs slung over the side of a sitting room chair in your family home.

You mean what you say. Detest watermelon. Loathe it. Had been eating it the day before without a care in the world, but feel sick just thinking about it now.

You've loved the idea of Taehyung tasting like chocolate sundaes since you were a kid - but now you know otherwise.

It's ruined your perception of him.

Although it hasn't really.

Not in the slightest.

For when he shows up at your twenty-first birthday party without a gift, but a bottle of chocolate liqueur instead, you have to fight yet another smile.

"For all those sundaes," he says.

See, it's become a bit of a ritual.

Every time those pretty lips of his end up on Nina's -and he pretends to care about the fact you aren't around- a picture of a chocolate sundae lands in your message thread to him.

He still doesn't understand it.

Though he does smile when he sees them on menus, and he thinks about how much he'd love one whenever summer comes around. He never indulges, mind you.

Never.

Not until a few years later, when it's the only option for dessert in a gilded reception room, back in your hometown.

He doesn't think it's apt. It's autumn, not summer. Far too chilly.

It's been close to two decades since he first saw you dance - and you're still just as shit - but there's something beautiful about it, now. Maybe it's the flowers in your hair. Maybe it's the way you're looking at your groom, pink sunset pouring through the windows, fairy lights glittering above you. Maybe it's your dress.

Or maybe it's the way your eyes catch the light as you glance over towards him. He's holding your bouquet -Nina had palmed it off on him- and he nods. Smiles. The taste of chocolate is bitter in his mouth.

And only now does he really understand.

Because truthfully, he had wanted it to be you in that dreary village hall all those years ago, too.

God damn it, he really had.

Taehyung knows he shouldn't, but when he's had a few too many drinks, and your groom is off entertaining his friends, he sits beside you. You're watching your wedding party from the back of the room with a smile on your face.

When you look at him, you know -finally- he tastes like a chocolate sundae, now. Your smile falters. It's bitter. The sundaes are sweet, you assume. Haven't had one. Won't have one.

"Should've been you," he says so quietly it's almost a whisper.

You hate that you understand what he means. Hate that you nod. Hate that you're thinking about the way he tastes. Hate that your heart beats faster now than it did when you said 'I do.'

Hate that you say:

"Should've been us."

#bts fanfic #taehyung #kth x reader #kth angst #taehyung angst #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #kth oneshot #kth fanfic #taehyung fanfic #non idol au #kth #fanfic #bangtan ff #im so terrible with tagging still #waaaaaa #byholly

[ilookatthings]

#the addams family #lurch learns to dance #gomez addams is not leaving his children for such insignificant things as the nobel prize

[midnightreid]

Strung | Eddie x Steve x Reader

Summary: Eddie's always liked dishing out punishments, and when Steve fucks up, it's up to you and Eddie to make sure he learns his lesson. GN! READER!

Warnings: 18+ CONTENT, minors DNI. Dom! Reader, Dom! Eddie, Sub! Steve. Handcuffs, oral (male receiving) protected sex, pet names, teasing, edging, cum swallowing, slight s&m play, aftercare, kissing, vibrators!

Request: No

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Another Steddie x Reader fic for you all! This took me a while to figure out, and as you'll notice it is GN! for the reader, because I wanted everyone to be able to read it, plus I'm wanting to do more gn! reader fics. Enjoy!

REBLOG FOR MORE STEVE X EDDIE X READER!

The buzzing was the first thing you heard when you made it up the stairs of Steve’s second floor. It wasn’t loud, more like a faint sound that could nearly be mistaken for being outside, but as you got closer and closer to his bedroom door, you knew exactly where the noise was coming from. 

When Eddie told you he was heading to Steve’s after his shift ended at the record store, you could tell the metal head had something devious in his mind. Sure, you wanted to know what, wanted to know why, but you also knew it would be a better surprise. And undoubtedly, Eddie wasn’t going to be the one to spill secrets so easily. 

“Look, I’m not telling you anything, baby. But just know, our boy is in for it when I see him later.” That was the only thing Eddie said when he came by the diner, picking up some lunch for the two of them and brushing a kiss against your cheek. “Come by after your shift, I think Steve would enjoy a night in.” And then the long-haired man was gone, out the door and into his van, leaving you to wonder about the rest of the day. 

It was early evening when you got to Steve’s place, dumped your bag on the kitchen bench, kicked off your sneakers at the front door and quickly made your way up to his room, and when you came through the bedroom door, you nearly fainted at the sight. 

“Oh finally.” Eddie looks up from Steve when he hears you enter, a wicked smirk on his face and dark eyes dancing with a dangerous glee. Steve’s looking like he’s trapped in a mixture of heaven and hell, pain and pleasure, hands cuffed above his head and secured to the headboard, whole body naked and a vibrator resting on his stomach, turned on and buzzing against his skin. “Look here, Stevie, our darling finally joined us.”

Steve only lets out a loud moan, desperate for some sort of touch and friction on his leaking cock. It’s certainly a sight, seeing the man so strung out against the mattress, hair a mess and face scrunched up as the tip of the vibrator brushes against the base of his cock. 

“Holy fuck, Eds. When you said you had a plan and that Steve was in for it, I just thought you were gonna mess with him, not torture.” Eddie’s at your side then, lips sucking at your pulse point without hesitation, hands already under your shirt and sliding over your sides, eliciting a shiver from you. 

“Well, I heard from dear Buckley, that our Stevie boy was flirting with some customers yesterday. You know how he is, always such an attention seeker.” Steve whines at Eddie’s statement, shaking his head furiously, fingers curling as Eddie picks up the vibrator and brushes it against the tip of Steve’s dick.

“Not true…fuck Eddie.” Steve lurches up into the touch, another lot of pre-cum dribbling out of his hard dick, eyes opening for a moment to catch your gaze. “Munson’s got it all wrong, I promise.” You knew that tone, knew that Steve was making up excuses, saying anything he could to try and get out of the punishment that Eddie had planned for him. But you weren’t going to be easy on him either. And he knew that when you moved closer to the bed, sitting on the edge and moving your hand over his chest, catching his nipples with your nails slightly. 

“Oh, hush, pretty boy. If Eddie says you deserved to be punished, then who am I to disagree?” Much to Steve’s relief, you finally kiss him, leaning down and brushing a hand through his sweaty hair, smiling against his lips as he whines into the kiss. 

Eddie’s gone back to toying with him, moving the vibrator up and down Steve’s cock, watching as Steve shivers and shakes from the waves of pleasure. You and Steve both knew Eddie could be a menace when he had all the power, would push the two of you to the brink over and over until he was satisfied, and you couldn’t help but catch the dangerous glint in his eye, suddenly knowing that Steve was in for a lot tonight. 

You loved nights like this when Steve was like putty in your hands and Eddie held all the power over the preppy rich boy. Sure, it was always fun with the two of them, but on nights like this, there was an extra level of pleasure, a strong sense of need and sweet want. The night was all about Steve, punishing him for whatever transgression Eddie thought he committed, and you were just along for the ride. 

“Now, I’m thinking, Stevie here deserves to learn what happens when he’s not the faithful boy he ought to be.” Eddie’s whispering in your ear, lips brushing against your skin and hands shucking your shirt simultaneously, tossing it away to the other side of the room. Steve’s watching the two of you, eyes hooded and lips strung in a firm line. 

“What are you suggesting, Eds?” Eddie’s hands are in your pants then, rubbing right where you need him, firm and creating enough friction that you couldn’t help but buck into him, making him groan in response, already so desperate for you. 

“Oh, come on guys. Stop teasing me!” Steve’s voice is high, glaring at the two of you, but he’s quickly eating his words when you lean forward from Eddie’s grip and pinch the tip of his cock, bringing his rising orgasm to a stuttering stop. 

“Uh, uh. You know the rules, Harrington. You wanna keep talking back, you’ll just get punished more.” Steve throws his head back in response, wanting some sort of release so desperately he was willing to beg for it. But you and Eddie never gave him a chance, especially when Eddie finally tore your jeans off you, discarding your underwear in the process. 

Steve could see everything then, your bare body next to Eddie’s, your already slick thighs, Eddie’s hardening cock, everything so perfect and all for him. Or it should have been all for him, if he didn’t fuck up like he did. 

“Aw, you see that Stevie? Our darling is all ready and perfect for us. Shame you’re not going to get anything tonight.” Eddie’s kissing you, groping at your chest and letting his lips travel up and down your neck, body splayed out between your thighs, the perfect view for Steve to watch the show. And what a show it is, for the both of you, Steve strung out with the vibrator still against his cock, not high enough for him to come, and Eddie touching you right where you need him. 

“You know, Steve looks so pretty there, Eds.” Your voice is breathy, and you feel Eddie nodding behind you, hands on your waist to keep you steady as you lean into Steve’s space. “I wonder what he’ll look like when he’s all covered in come, begging for us.”

“Fuck, sweetheart. You keep speaking like that and you’ll have me blowing too early to make tonight worth it.” Eddie watches you with a grin as you take Steve’s cock in your hand, finally giving the man some sweet relief, his body arching in response. “How about this Stevie? You get to come once with our baby’s hand around your cock, and then we get to choose how to ruin you.” 

Before Eddie’s even finished speaking, Steve is nodding his head furiously, bucking into your touch and whining for you to quicken your pace, making sure not to speak in case you’d inflict more punishments. He’s in heaven, your hand going at just the right speed against his hard and weeping cock that he’s seeing stars, doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or not. He wants to last longer, wants to be good for you and Eddie, but after already being teased for nearly an hour by a cruel metal head, Steve knows he’s at his brink. 

Except he’s not ready for your mouth suddenly on him, or Eddie’s lips against his nipples, and soon Steve’s gasping, groaning, screaming into the space of the room, bucking furiously against the bed and fucking your face with no regard for your comfort. You were truly fine with it, happy to see one of your boys so blissed out with pleasure, and when you pull away, leaving a trail of saliva on Steve’s cock, he can’t help but come, falling off the edge. 

Eddie pulls away, not wanting to overstimulate Steve too much, and turns back to you, a hand going to your head and pulling you into him, kissing you with a speed you didn’t quite expect. It’s not fast, more slow and gentle, but that didn’t mean Eddie suddenly wanted to slow things down, you knew he was just getting started when his hand went to the apex of your thighs, fingers gliding over where you needed him the most. 

“I think, it’s time we get our own back, sweetheart. You ready for Steve’s cock?” Eddie’s already put a condom on Steve, not even needing to hear your very firm “yes” or see Steve’s wanting nods. You’re already ready for Steve, followed the directions Eddie gave you before he left you at the diner, and when you sink down onto Steve, it doesn’t take you long to adjust to his girth or length. 

It’s perfect, the feel of him inside you, the way his fists clenched, the way his eyes roll back in pleasure. Eddie’s watching with a smirk, hand working over his cock as he motions you to start moving on Steve, give him the pleasure you both think he deserves. 

“Stevie, look at me for a second, doll. I’m gonna use your mouth now, but if you need to stop at all, you drop this bell.” Eddie presses the small bell into one of Steve’s hands, and the younger man is looking at him with such affection even as you ride against him, his cock finally hitting that perfect spot inside you. 

And then Eddie’s sliding into his mouth, not giving the man any time to adjust or take a breath. Steve’s already spluttering, but Eddie doesn’t care, just wants what’s his, and starts pumping his cock into Steve’s mouth. You know what Steve’s mouth can do, had him between your thighs more times than you can count at this point, and when Eddie lets out a guttural groan and leans against the headboard, you know exactly how he feels. 

“Fuck, look out our boy, sweetheart. Such a slut for both of us. I reckon if we asked him to do anything right now he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes.” Eddie’s chuckling, a hand in Steve’s hair to angle his mouth the way the metalhead wants it, and you can’t help but shiver, leaning in so your hands rest against Steve’s chest. Eddie’s watching you shift your hips on Steve’s cock, running a hand up your back in an attempt to soothe you from the pleasure that has started to rack your body. 

“Oh, I think I have the perfect idea then.” You’re looking right at Steve as you suddenly lift yourself off his cock, emitting a whine from the sweaty boy. “Aw, poor baby boy, so close to coming, aren’t you?” You’re resting on his thighs, and Steve might die right there when you leave his cock, letting it bob against his stomach, so close to another orgasm. “How about this, Steve? You make me cum first, and you might get to come afterwards, but before Eddie.” Eddie’s laughing then, knowing you’re offering Steve a deal he can’t refuse, even though he feels like he’s at the brink, but he’s still nodding, cock poking the inside of his mouth as Eddie still uses him like a breathing cock sleeve. 

You’re riding Steve again, then, rough and fast and exactly how you need it. And he’s whining against Eddie’s cock, the sound muffled and wet in his mouth, his hands clenched closed and eyelids fluttering in delight. 

The edge is getting closer and closer for you, his cock hitting all the right places, and when Eddie leans over and nips at your neck, tweaks one of your nipples, you’re falling over that edge. It’s perfect, both boys not being able to look away as your body wracks with aftershocks and you ride the rest of your orgasm, skin sweaty and eyes closed in pleasure. It’s such a sight that Steve can’t hold back his own orgasm, crying out loudly and filling the condom. His body is arching, Eddie quickly pulling his cock from Steve’s mouth so the man underneath him can breathe, and Steve can’t help but shake and gasp, overwhelmed with his own pleasure, eyes clenched shut when you slowly release him, letting his softening cock hit his stomach. 

Everyone is silent for a moment, Eddie’s eyes wide and grin shining in the darkness of the room, and Steve and you both needed some time to gain your breath back, leaning against each other. 

“Holy shit, if I knew tonight was going to end like that, I would have cuffed you a lot sooner, Harrington.” Eddie’s voice is soft, still stunned as you and Steve lay in a pile, too blissed out to do anything else. But Eddie can take care of himself, wants to do it himself, and Steve lets out no objection when Eddie cums on his chest, a small moan escaping when the fluid hits his skin, Eddie sinking into the mattress next to the both of you. 

After a couple of minutes of stillness, Eddie’s uncuffed Steve’s hands and rubbed his wrists, making sure his skin wasn’t cut or rubbed too hard. Steve’s finally come down from his high, but now he’s feeling sticky and gross, and wants nothing else but a hot shower and maybe some takeout before the three of you collapse into his bed. With clean sheets of course.

You’re moving around, a wash cloth from the bathroom in your hand to wipe down you and Steve, breath mints for Steve and the lotion Eddie uses after putting restraints on someone. It’s a methodical system, each attending to the other when needed, and it works well for the three of you. And soon you’re all in Steve’s obscenely big shower, the three of you under the hot spray of water, hands against skin, lips against pulses and soap suds in hair (and Eddie’s eye much to his annoyance.) 

It’s this perfect picture, the three of you somehow managing to make it work when the forces of the world are against it. And no one argues when Steve picks up the phone and orders burgers with fries, Eddie chooses some dumb horror movie none of you will watch, and you make the bed with clean sheets. 

“We…we didn’t go too hard with you, did we, Harrington?” It’s only later when Eddie asks the question, resting against the headboard of the bed with your head in his lap and Steve’s side resting against his. You can see Steve shaking his head, chewing his food before answering the older man. 

“Eds, you know I would have told you if you were. I would have dropped the bell or used the safeword.” Eddie lets out a sigh in relief because he knows Steve is right, knows that Steve won’t put himself in harm's way with the two of you. In scenes like that, you’re there to look after him, and he’s not going to break that trust just for some moments of pleasure. “Also, to be honest…I think I like the vibrator.” Steve’s sheepish now, but you and Eddie are grinning at each other, happy with the result and that confession. 

“We’ll keep that in mind, baby. Now hush, the both of you. I’m trying to watch the movie.” Eddie and Steve laugh at your final statement, knowing you’re not really watching, but they shut up anyway, exchanging soft kisses and hand squeezes. 

It’s not conventional, the three of you, nor is it simple or always sweet and always perfect. But it’s good, and fun and what you need in this moment of time. And if that’s the little slice of paradise you get right now, then you’ll take it. You’d rather that than be strung tight all the time.

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