Heyy! My names Rowan, I’m really trying to get into writing but I think I can imagine it better than write it! But anyways I want to start writing again for DC and F1! Below you can find either!
What I’m currently watching!!
-rn I’m watching GOT, HOTD, and AKOTSK. As well as AOT (ngl I wasn’t the biggest anime fan and neither is my brother but he convinced me to watch it and it’s soooo good!)
My requests are open!
DC Masterlist
AOT Masterlist
AKOTSK Masterlist
F1 Masterlist
For DC I’ll write for the boys from the batfam! I’ll also write for any DC characters you request for x reader!
For F1 I have who I’ll write for on my masterlist but feel free to request for anyone else x reader!
I know also write for ASOIAF!
Additional info + Rules…
• I’ll write smut, it might not be the best but I will write it!
• If you request please be patient I’m trying my fastest!
• If you’re requesting please make sure to say who, where, setting like if you want smut or fluff or whatever!
• Minor please I beg MDNI!!!
I want to state that I in no way accept any copying, translating, or claiming my writing as yours. I appreciate reblogs so much but please don’t copy my work.
That’s it! And please if you request and I come out with the fic and it’s not what you wanted, please be nice I’m still trying to write descriptive details, like I’ve said I can imagine it so much better than I can write it! Go ahead and leave criticism but remember im human and I also have feeling!
Guys I wanna write for like jjk and aot but genuine question if say for example with jjk I give the reader a specified cursed technique or for aot I also give the reader a specified titan power but like there’s no physical description of the reader itself maybe some to the titan form or technique but none to the reader that’s still x reader right or is it technically considered x oc now 😭
I was thinking about the part where daerons like “Aerion wasn’t always a monster” and i got the idea of what if aerion and reader were best friends as little kids and like aerion was the sweetest (but still kinda evil for a kid) to reader. Like you gave him the attention and affection he lacked. You never laughed or mocked him for always believing he was a dragon, you listened. You saw Aerion, not Prince Aerion. You were his anvil. Until you had to move back to your house, to your family, or for whatever political reason.
And like he didn’t take that lightly. He craved that attention and after you moved there was no one to give him that love and affection. He tried to convince Maekar to let him visit you but it was always no that you had your duties and he had his. He tells Aerion that it was a silly childhood friendship that he could make more friends with boys his age. In Aerions minds it’s not as simple as “you went back home”. No he starts to twist his mind into thinking they took you from him.
Years later Aerion’s just the cruel dude he is but he hasn’t forgotten you. Without you Aerion learned that cruelty also brought attention, what he craved the most. And maybe it’s like at the Ashford tourney or just a tourney in general that he sees you again and he’s got a real smile on his face that isn’t out of mockery or hatred for the first time in years. He feels like you young boyish kid again seeing his crush. For him he finally found his anvil again. And like he expects you to be all giddy and excited to see him too. He expects you to light up and say his name like when you two were kids. He expects you to run to him and smile like you were never parted. But when your gathered with all the other ladies of your age, in your beautiful dress that hugs your body just right, they all gasp and quiet down, one of the girls besides you stiffens and whispers for you to not turn around. Still you turn around to see Prince Aerion Targaryen with the same silver gleaming hair, walking towards you all with his violet eyes sharp and burning, gaze locked on you. All the girls lowered their gazes to the floor, anything other than him shrinking back in fear, and you panic as well.
You’ve heard of Aerion and how he is now and it’s just not your Aerion anymore. You’ve heard the whispers of him being “mad” and “cruel”. As he gets closer to you your heart begins to pound and your throat tightens, but not from excitement, from fear. When he’s face to face with you, you don’t even look him in the eyes, you whisper “your grace” to him, not “Aerion” like you used too. And that hurts Aerion the most. Because that means you see him the way everyone else sees him, you chose to think like everyone else.
At first, he doesn’t understand what he’s feeling. He doesn’t understand why you’re afraid of him. He’s always loved the feeling of commanding fear and conquering men in jousts, but your fear devastates him because you were never supposed to fear him. When you continue to look elsewhere, but his eyes, he steps closer, tilts his head, softly tucking his fingers under your chin, raising it up so you look him in the eyes. And whispers just a breath away “have you forgotten how to greet me?”.
When you say nothing in return his smile falters once again. And he steps back to study your face still softly holding and thumb caressing the skin of your chin. And keeps talking “when we were children you would run to me, and always be by my side, what happened?”
Silence stretches but you whisper as loud as you can “like you said, we were children.”
By now the ladies you were with had scattered in all directions leaving Aerion and you open to those around. No doubt those who passed and saw a young lady in such position felt pity and fear for you but knew better than to interfere with Aerion. And you felt and saw the fear of those who surrounded and looked at you two. And Aerion saw you see the fear. He felt your fear. At first he continues to tell himself that you just need to properly remember him, after all it’s been years and you must have been frozen from shock of seeing him not fear.
During the first couple minutes Aerion is genuinely happy and chatting up a storm but it’s just not the same. You are not responding or even looking at him. :( why won’t you just look at him with your pretty shiny eyes?
Aerion continues to drag you around the tents to look at the vendors and those who knew of Aerion are confused. Is that a smile on Prince Aerions face? He continues to buy everything he deems would look nice on you but yet still, you have a frown. Too bad for you Aerion knows just how to turn that frown upside down! He’ll ask his father to marry you that way you two will never be separated ever again!!
After Aerions blabbering finally tells you what he has planned you shakily look him in the eyes and whisper his name “Aerion!” you say. That grabs his attention because you finally decided to drop the formalities. “Aerion I’m sorry, but I’m already promised to someone else, and even if I wasn’t, I don’t think I could ever marry you”.
Those words alone break poor Aerions heart. How could you be betrothed to someone else that wasn’t him, what kind of plans did your sick parents have. But the last part finally processes in his head. What do you mean you don’t think you could marry someone like him? You two were made for each other, everyone knew that. So he just chuckles taking everything you said as a joke. In that moment is when you get a little more courage and finally rip yourself from Aerions tight grip.
Realizing he isn’t getting the message you reply with more courage, “Aerion, I’m not joking I could never marry you, or even love you, we were just kids. I didn’t know any better, even if I had the choice it’d never be you.” You reply coldly.
Aerion had never felt such heartbreak, how could the one person he truly loved not love him back. And what was this he was feeling toward you, could it be? He was feeling anger towards the one person he never thought he could feel anger towards. You truly were just like everyone else. And from that day forward Aerion decided he too hated you as well.
Authors note: sorry if the ending doesn’t make sense I wrote this like two months ago and forgot to finish it and lowkey forgot where it was going so my bad…
SYNOPSIS: Jason Todd thought death was the worst thing the Joker could take from him, until he came back to a world without her. Haunted by memories of Y/N, the girl who died by his side in that warehouse, Jason spirals into grief, rage, and obsession. But even as he hunts the Joker with blood in his eyes, what hurts most are the moments when her ghost feels real enough to touch, and love becomes the sharpest knife of all.
“Some nights, she’s still alive. Some nights, I wake up with her in my arms and for a moment, I believe it. But morning always comes, and the bed is empty. She’s gone, and I’m still here. And that’s the cruelest part of it all.”
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WARNINGS: angst, major character death, violence, blood, torture (psychological and physical), PTSD, hallucinations, grief, themes of depression, mentions of sex (not explicit).
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Authors Note: my bad guys I kinda disappeared for a little long time. I started college up and I was doing fine writing and doing college but then literally had either no time or motivation to write but I finally got done writing this one and I lowkey love the concept of it but I feel like it’s all over the place so I apologize for that but it crushed my soul writing it.
The rain had started earlier, a cold drizzle that slicked over the Gotham rooftops, turning the city into a blur of neon reflections. Jason crouched atop a fire escape, his gloved fingers tapping impatiently against the metal. His eyes scanned the alley below, alert but restless.
“You’re fidgeting again,” a voice called from behind him. Y/N’s silhouette leaned casually against the rooftop edge, umbrella useless in her hand as the rain ran down her hair.
Jason glanced over his shoulder, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I like to be ready. Unlike someone who strolls in like she owns the city.”
“Please,” Y/N rolled her eyes, hopping lightly to perch beside him. “I own more than the city, I own the element of surprise. Which is why you’re going to look stupid if you miss it.” She tilted her head, wet strands of hair plastered to her face. “Also, do you always grunt like that when you’re irritated, or is it just with me?”
Jason snorted, shaking his head. “You know me too well. Which is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Y/N arched an eyebrow, amused. “I thought that was my specialty. You know, chaos with a side of sarcasm.”
Jason’s eyes flicked back to the alley. Shadows moved, subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough to make him tense. “Focus,” he muttered.
“Mm, focus,” she echoed, but her grin never faltered. “So we’re really doing this, huh? Sneak into Arkham, grab the files, and not get killed?”
Jason’s jaw tightened. “Exactly. That’s the plan. And I swear, if you even think about getting caught…”
“I won’t,” she interrupted, leaning closer, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “But if I do… you’d have to bail me out. And you know you’d love it.”
Jason groaned, partly exasperated, partly amused. “You’re impossible.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Y/N shot back, her tone light but her eyes sharp, scanning the street below.
For a few moments, they were silent, the only sounds the distant sirens and the rain hitting the metal rooftops. Then Jason’s grip tightened on the grappling hook. “Move.”
Y/N followed without hesitation, agile and quiet. They descended into the darkness together, shadows among shadows, two shapes moving with precision. There was trust here, unspoken, absolute. Jason didn’t say it, but he’d follow her anywhere, and she’d do the same for him.
Inside Arkham’s perimeter, the fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Jason ducked behind a pillar, eyes sharp. “Files are supposed to be in the east wing. Cameras are-”
“They’re old. Just like this building,” Y/N cut in, smirking. “I’ve already mapped it. We’re golden.”
Jason blinked at her, genuinely impressed. “And you never let me feel competent in my own plans, huh?”
“You like it,” she said with a wink, disappearing down the hallway.
Jason followed, heart pounding, not from the danger, but from the familiarity of it all. Her presence was grounding, her confidence infectious. And in moments like this, the world felt slightly less broken.
Until the laughter hit.
It was faint at first, like the echo of a nightmare, but unmistakable. Jason froze. Y/N froze.
“Well, well… what do we have here?”
The Joker stepped out from the shadows, grinning like a nightmare given form. His voice was silk over steel, taunting and cruel. “Ah… my little Gotham toys. How… delightful.”
Jason’s body tensed, instinct taking over. “Joker,” he spat, fists clenched.
Y/N stepped in front of him slightly. “We’re not playing your games,” she said, voice steady but cold. “Walk away.”
The Joker laughed, a sound that made the skin crawl. “Walk away? Oh no, my dear, you don’t get to walk away. Not tonight. Not ever.”
Jason knew then, this night wouldn’t end with a quiet return to the rooftops. It would end in fire, in pain, in something far darker than either of them had faced before. And he realized, with a hollow pit in his chest, that he’d do anything to protect her. Even if it killed him.
The Joker’s laughter echoed through the hallway like nails on metal snapping Jason back into existence. Jason’s heart pounded, muscles coiled, ready to spring, but he hesitated for the briefest moment too long.
“Jason” Y/N’s voice was calm, almost too calm, a grounding thread in the chaos. Her hand brushed against his arm, a small, steady reminder that they weren’t alone.
The sound of her voice was the last anchor he had before the world erupted.
Shadows twisted, and in a blink, the lights went out. Jason moved to push Y/N behind him, but a sharp electric snap cut through the darkness. Pain seared his chest, throwing him off balance. Y/N gasped, stumbling as another shock sent her sprawling to the floor.
“Ahhh… perfect!” Joker’s voice danced in the dark. “My little birds, fluttering right into my hands. How cooperative!”
Jason lunged, but the floor beneath him erupted with hidden nets of electrified wires. Sparks hissed around his feet, forcing him to stumble. Y/N reached for him, but another hidden mechanism dropped her into a pit. Jason’s arm shot out instinctively. She fell, almost hitting the floor but Jason, he didn’t even think. He dove, catching her wrist mid-fall. “Y/N! Are you-?”
“I’m fine,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Just- just keep moving.”
Jason nodded, but the instant relief turned to dread. They were surrounded. The walls of the hallway seemed to close in, and Joker’s face appeared at the far end, illuminated by flickering fluorescent lights. His grin was wide, horrific, and victorious.
“You both are exactly what I wanted,” Joker said. “Perfect little toys for my new… game.”
Before Jason could react, the walls behind them slammed shut, sealing exits. They were trapped.
The next moments were a blur, flashes of pain, of Joker’s twisted theatrics, of cold concrete against skin. He tried to shield Y/N as best he could, but the Joker was meticulous, cruel, savoring every second of their torment.
Through it all, Y/N stayed close, whispering under her breath, teasing just enough to keep the terror at bay.
“Remember when you said I was impossible?” she murmured after a particularly harsh shock. “Guess I’m still living up to it.”
Jason’s lips quirked into a grim smile. “You always do.”
Eventually time lost meaning.
The cell was dark more often than it was light, and when the light came, it was harsh and white, exposing their bruises, their blood, their shaking limbs. Jason had tried, in the beginning, to keep track of days by scratching marks into the wall with a rusted nail. Joker noticed, of course. He took the nail away and laughed as he painted over the scratches in garish purple.
“You don’t need to count, boy,” Joker crooned, his voice bouncing around the concrete walls. “Every day is the same. Pain. Screams. Silence. Repeat. It’s a song, and you two? Oh, you’re my favorite duet!”
Jason tried to ignore him. Tried to focus only on Y/N, her presence, her stubborn fire that hadn’t dimmed yet. Every night, when Joker was gone, he’d wrap his arms around her, as much to shield her from the cold as from his own nightmares.
“You okay?” he’d whisper, though he already knew the answer.
“No,” she’d whisper back, “but I’m still me.”
It was enough.
The physical torment was bad enough, chains that cut into skin, beatings that left Jason struggling to breathe, shocks that jolted through their bodies until they collapsed in trembling heaps. But Joker excelled at something worse: getting inside their heads.
He’d whisper to Y/N while Jason was chained across the room, his voice like poison in her ear.
“He doesn’t love you enough to save you, you know,” Joker sneered. “He’ll break before you do. And then what will you be? Nothing but another broken bird.”
Jason would thrash against his restraints until his wrists bled. “Shut up! Don’t listen to him, Y/N!”
And Joker would smile, eyes wide with mock innocence. “Oh, he does care. So much. That’s why it’s delicious watching him fail. He can’t protect you. He never could.”
Jason’s greatest fear wasn’t the pain. It was looking across the cell and seeing Y/N cry, seeing the cracks in her armor. He would whisper to her after Joker left, pressing his forehead to hers, desperate.
“You’re stronger than him. Stronger than me.”
“Then why,” she whispered back, “do I feel like I’m slipping?”
Jason couldn’t answer. He just held her tighter.
One night, the cruelty escalated. They woke to rough hands dragging them across the floor, ropes biting into their wrists, something rough and scratchy shoved over their heads.
Jason’s pulse spiked. He knew this game. He’d seen it before, played out in Gotham’s underworld. Execution-style.
“Ahhh, this is my favorite,” Joker sang, footsteps clicking against concrete. “A little surprise party! Hats on, guests tied up… all that’s missing is the cake.”
Jason tried to move toward Y/N, straining against the ropes, but the sound of her voice, small, trembling, froze him.
“Bruce…” she whispered under the sack. “Bruce, please…”
Jason’s chest constricted. He couldn’t breathe.
Joker leaned down, his voice close to Jason’s ear, sickly sweet. “Ohhh, there it is. Music to my ears. The begging. The hope. The desperate little chirps for Daddy Bat to come save you.”
Jason jerked against the restraints, fury boiling over. “He’ll come,” he spat. “He always comes.”
But Joker just laughed. The sound was so loud it rattled Jason’s skull.
“Oh, Jason, Jason, Jason… Batman’s not coming to save you.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Y/N sucked in a shaky breath, and Jason swore he could feel her break a little beside him.
Joker paced, humming. “Do you know what happens when the big, scary Bat doesn’t swoop in? You rot. You die. And you’ll die knowing you were never enough to make him come running.”
Jason screamed against the gag, his voice raw. “YOU’RE WRONG!”
But in the silence that followed, Jason heard nothing, no footsteps on the roof, no distant growl of a Batmobile engine. Just Joker’s laughter and Y/N’s quiet sobs.
That night, when they were dumped back into their cell, Jason pulled Y/N into his arms, his own tears mixing with the grime and blood on his face.
“He’ll come,” Jason whispered, though even he could hear the doubt in his voice.
Y/N clung to him. “Even if he doesn’t… you’re here.”
Jason buried his face in her shoulder, wishing he could believe that was enough.
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The following day Joker never showed up to come torment them. Until that night. They both got knocked out, waking up his eyes darted around the warehouse, taking in the barrels stacked against the walls, the wires strung across the floor like a spider’s web.
Joker was humming to himself, dancing in the center of the room, a crowbar swinging lazily from his hand. His voice echoed through the rafters, sing-song and taunting.
“Boom, boom, BOOM… goes the dynamite! Two pretty birds in a cage, one grumpy, one brave, and all it takes is one little spark to turn it into fireworks!”
Y/N stirred beside Jason, blood streaking down her temple, her face pale but her eyes still fierce. She looked at him, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew what she was thinking, even before she whispered it.
“Jason… this feels like the end.”
His chest tightened. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”
She almost smiled, soft, sad, but real. “Then tell me I’m wrong.”
Jason’s throat closed. He wanted to promise her they’d walk out of here. That Batman was already on his way. That Joker would pay and they’d be free. But the words wouldn’t come.
And Joker, as if sensing the weight of their silence, leaned close, his painted grin inches from Jason’s face.
“Ohhh, don’t look so glum, boy wonder. You’ll be together! Isn’t that sweet? The perfect tragic love story! Romeo and Juliet, Gotham edition. Only less Shakespeare, more… KABOOM!”
He laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls, and swung the crowbar hard against Jason’s ribs. Pain exploded through his chest, knocking the air from his lungs.
“Stop!” Y/N screamed, straining against her ropes. “Leave him alone!”
Joker turned to her, tilting his head like a curious child. “Oh, but why would I do that? Watching you squirm is the best part. You see, sweetheart, he thinks he’s protecting you. He thinks all that pain he takes on is sparing you. But we both know…” Joker crouched low, his smile stretching, “…you’re suffering more than he ever could.”
Jason coughed, blood on his lips, rage burning in his chest. “You won’t win. He’ll come. Batman will-”
“Batman, Batman, Batman!” Joker mocked, throwing his hands in the air. “You kids are obsessed! Let me spell it out for you, little birdie, He’s. Not. Coming.”
The words carved through Jason like glass. He looked at Y/N, searching for hope in her eyes, but found only the reflection of his own fear.
Joker twirled the crowbar one last time, then tossed it aside, his attention turning to a small black detonator in his hand. “Now, I’d love to keep this party going, but every good show needs a finale. And trust me… you’re gonna love this ending.”
Jason thrashed against the ropes, desperation clawing at his chest. “NO! Not her! Take me, leave her alone-”
Joker spun the small detonator in his hand like a toy, humming off-key.
“Tick, tock, birdies. Ten seconds till curtain call. Don’t worry, you’ll go out together. Isn’t that romantic?”
He pressed the button.
The red numbers on the digital timer across the room flickered to life.
00:10… 00:09…
Jason’s stomach dropped. He pulled at the ropes until his skin tore, but they didn’t budge. His wrists burned, his ribs screamed from the crowbar’s blows, but none of it mattered. All he could think about was Y/N, bound just a few feet away, her wide eyes reflecting the glow of the countdown.
00:08… 00:07…
Joker twirled away, laughter echoing like glass shattering in their ears. “Toodles! Try not to blow it, kids!” His voice trailed off as the steel door slammed shut behind him.
Silence pressed in. The only sound was the steady beep of the timer.
Jason looked at Y/N, his chest heaving. “I’m gonna get us out. I’ll-I’ll find a way-”
“Jason.” Her voice was soft, breaking. She shook her head, tears glinting in the flickering light. “There’s no time.”
00:06… 00:05…
He wanted to deny it, to scream until his throat tore, but the numbers stared him down like a death sentence. He could feel hope draining out of him, leaving only desperation.
Y/N’s lips trembled as she whispered, “I don’t want it to end like this.”
“It won’t,” Jason said, choking back a sob. He shifted, straining against the ropes until his body screamed in protest, and managed to inch closer to her. Not close enough to break free, but close enough that his forehead brushed hers.
00:04…
Her tears spilled. She pressed her lips to his, shaky, desperate, and final. It wasn’t long, but it was everything, the weight of years they’d never have, the promises they’d never keep.
Pulling back just barely, Y/N gasped, voice breaking as she whispered, “Jason, I lo-”
00:03… 00:02… 00:01.
The explosion swallowed her words.
Flame, heat, sound, everything vanished into white.
When Bruce arrived, it was already too late.
The warehouse was engulfed in flames, the roof caved in, smoke billowing into the night sky. He forced his way through twisted beams and fire, his lungs burning, his cape singed, his heart hammering in dread.
“Jason!” His voice cracked, echoing uselessly in the inferno. “Y/N!”
He found them in the rubble. Their bodies broken, still bound, lying together amidst the debris. Jason’s arm was slung protectively around her, even in death. Their faces were still, peaceful in a way that broke Bruce more than any wound ever could.
He dropped to his knees, the fire roaring around him, but all he could hear was silence. His hands shook as he reached for them, pulling them close, his vision blurring with tears he couldn’t stop.
He had failed. Not just one of them. Both.
“Jason… Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
The flames swallowed the night, and Gotham lost two of its brightest lights.
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The warehouse fire had long been reduced to ashes, but for Bruce, the flames never died.
Months passed. Then years. Gotham roared on, swallowing the tragedy like it did every other crime, but Bruce couldn’t leave it behind. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined them, their faces lit by the glow of that timer, Jason’s desperate eyes, Y/N’s lips forming words that would never be finished.
He had carried them from the wreckage himself. Their bodies were light in his arms, far too light, as if the explosion had stolen even the weight of their existence. He buried them side by side, but the graves gave him no peace.
The Bat Family saw the cracks. Alfred noticed it in the silence that stretched through the manor. Dick felt it in the weight Bruce carried in every mission. Even Tim, when he came later, understood that he was filling shoes that had been buried, not just Jason’s, but Y/N’s too.
Bruce’s guilt was a living thing. Not only had he failed his son, but he had failed her. And the cruelest part? In those final moments, Joker had been right, he hadn’t come in time.
He told himself he could not kill Joker. That The warehouse fire had long been reduced to ashes, but for Bruce, the flames never died.
Months passed. Then years. Gotham roared on, swallowing the tragedy like it did every other crime, but Bruce couldn’t leave it behind. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined them—their faces lit by the glow of that timer, Jason’s desperate eyes, Y/N’s lips forming words that would never be finished.
He had carried them from the wreckage himself. Their bodies were light in his arms, far too light, as if the explosion had stolen even the weight of their existence. He buried them side by side, but the graves gave him no peace.
The Bat-Family saw the cracks. Alfred noticed it in the silence that stretched through the manor. Dick felt it in the weight Bruce carried in every mission. Even Tim, when he came later, understood that he was filling shoes that had been buried, not just Jason’s, but Y/N’s too.
Bruce’s guilt was a living thing. Not only had he failed his son, but he had failed her. And the cruelest part? In those final moments, Joker had been right—he hadn’t come in time.
He told himself he could not kill Joker. That the line mattered. But when the clown smiled in the papers, Bruce’s hands shook, and for the first time in his life, he wondered if the line was worth crossing.
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One day, the world shifted.
No one in Gotham felt the cosmic tremor. The skies didn’t split, the streets didn’t quake. But something broke in reality itself when Superboy’s fists crashed against the barrier of existence. Ripples tore through time and space, bending fate.
And one of those ripples clawed Jason Todd back from the grave.
Jason’s first breath came like drowning in reverse.
He clawed at the dirt above him, choking on soil, his nails breaking against wood until the coffin splintered. The world above was dark and cold when he burst free, gasping, his body raw, scarred, alive.
But his mind… his mind was still burning in that warehouse. He could still feel the ropes biting his wrists, hear the beeping of the timer, see Y/N’s face lit by firelight. Her voice echoed in his skull, unfinished, “I love-“
Jason screamed until his throat bled.
He wandered Gotham like a ghost. Confused, broken, his memories fractured. Some nights he swore he saw her walking just ahead of him, turning corners before he could catch up. Other nights, he’d hear her laugh in the crackle of neon lights. But when he blinked, she was gone.
It was Talia al Ghul who finally found him. Broken, feral, half-dead again. She pulled him from the streets, and when she lowered him into the Lazarus Pit, the waters hissed and steamed around his scarred body.
When he emerged, his wounds were gone. His body was whole. But his mind, his mind was twisted, violent, furious.
The Pit did not erase Y/N. It etched her deeper. Every hallucination was sharper now, every memory a blade carving into his skull. He’d see her face in mirrors, hear her voice whispering his name when no one was there. Sometimes she begged him to stop, other times she screamed.
But the truth remained: she had not come back.
Jason had clawed his way out of death, but Y/N had not.
And that was the wound that never healed.
Bruce never knew the exact moment his son lived again. But he felt it, in the weight of his guilt pressing harder on his chest. He visited their graves more often, sometimes standing in silence until dawn. The world had moved on, but Bruce had not.
Two graves. Two names. Two ghosts.
And only one of them had returned.
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The first time Jason donned the helmet, he felt whole again.
The red mask slid into place, sealing him in darkness, and for the first time since the explosion, the memories didn’t consume him, they fueled him. The world saw a criminal. The underworld saw a rival. But Jason Todd? He saw a soldier reborn, armed with grief and rage sharper than any blade.
And at the heart of it all was her.
Every bullet he fired, every scream he ripped from the Gotham scum, it was for Y/N. For the nights they lost. For the words she never finished. Days got easy.
But the nights…
The nights belonged to her too.
Jason would wake in a cold sweat, his breath ragged, his sheets damp. But the dreams, the dreams were always so real.
One night he dreamed of waking with her in his arms, the sunlight streaming into some apartment they’d never have. Her hair was messy, her smile soft, the sheets tangled around their bare legs. He remembered the warmth of her skin, the quiet comfort of her breathing.
He reached for her when he woke. His hand met cold sheets. The room was silent. Empty.
Another night, he dreamed of the family they might have built. A little boy with Y/N’s eyes running across the yard, a girl with Jason’s stubborn chin clinging to her hand. He dreamed of her laughing, turning to him, her voice warm with love he would never hear again.
He’d wake with tears burning his eyes, his chest aching as if someone had ripped it open.
Sometimes, the dreams were of making love, not dirty, but tender, filled with whispered promises in the dark. Her fingers tracing scars on his body, his lips pressing against her skin like a vow. Love made real, tangible, infinite.
But no matter how beautiful, no matter how real… he always woke up. Alone.
The dreams were a gift and a curse. They gave him moments of peace, but the mornings were agony. Waking was like losing her all over again.
The hallucinations were worse.
He’d catch sight of her in mirrors, in the corner of a crowded street, hear her laughter echo in abandoned buildings. Once, mid-fight, he swore he saw her face instead of a thug’s, he froze, nearly got himself killed, and only when he blinked did reality return.
Sometimes the hallucinations comforted him. Sometimes they mocked him. But they were always there.
Jason knew that eventually he’d have to face Bruce, but the night he did brought back so much pain.
Jason stood in the shadows, helmet under his arm, eyes locked on the man who had raised him. Gotham’s rooftops stretched out below, but all Jason saw was the cowl, the silence, the judgment.
“You replaced us,” Jason spat, his voice low, trembling with fury. “You didn’t avenge us. You didn’t kill him. You buried us, and then you moved on.”
Bruce’s jaw clenched. “Jason-”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare say my name like you still get to use it.” Jason’s voice cracked. “You let him live. After everything he did. After he beat me, after he killed her. You let him breathe.”
Bruce’s voice was heavy, guilt filled. “I live with that choice every day. Do you think I don’t see your faces? Every night?”
Jason laughed bitterly. “You live with it? I died with it. And she…” His throat tightened. “She never got a second chance. You let him win, Bruce. You let him take her away from me, and you did nothing.”
For a moment, Jason swore he saw Y/N at Bruce’s side, her eyes sad, her lips whispering don’t. But when he blinked, she was gone.
The anger returned, hotter, sharper.
“You’ll never understand,” Jason growled, sliding the helmet back into place. “You never lost her like I did. You never wake up alone every single day.”
He stepped back into the shadows, the red mask glinting in the moonlight. “I’m not your soldier anymore. I’m not your son. I’m Red Hood. And the only justice I care about is hers.”
Jason vanished into the night, but the dreams followed him, always waiting. He knew he’d wake to emptiness again, but for a few stolen hours each night, she was his again, soft, alive, loving.
And that made the waking world all the more unbearable.
‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊
The hunt for Joker was not precise. It was not calculated. It was brutal.
For weeks, Jason had torn through Gotham’s underworld like a storm. His reputation as the Red Hood had already spread like wildfire, but now, now, he was hunting. He left bloodied dealers dangling from fire escapes, snapped kneecaps in back alleys, cracked skulls in warehouses. Every whispered rumor of Joker’s whereabouts, every lead, every scrap of information was wrenched out of Gotham’s lowlifes until fear of the Red Hood nearly rivaled fear of the clown himself.
And finally, it led him here.
An abandoned refinery on the outskirts of the Narrows. The stench of oil and rust filled the air, masking the faint chemical tang of gunpowder. Jason kicked down the door, twin pistols blazing, tearing through Joker’s thugs with ruthless precision. Bullets sparked against pipes, screams echoed, bodies crumpled.
And then it was just him and Joker.
The clown stood at the center of the room, unarmed, clapping slowly with a grin that cut like a knife.
“Bravo, little Robin. You finally figured out where Daddy keeps his toys.”
Jason’s fist smashed into his jaw before he could finish. Joker went sprawling, laughter bubbling up even as blood spilled from his lip. Jason dragged him upright, chained his wrists to a rusting chair, and jammed the barrel of his pistol against his forehead.
“No more games,” Jason growled, his voice dark and low. “Tonight, you pay for everything.”
It didn’t take long for Batman and Nightwing to arrive. Jason knew they would. He wanted them to. He wanted them to see.
Bruce’s cape swept the ground as he stepped from the shadows, his eyes hard behind the cowl. “Jason. Don’t.”
Jason didn’t move. “He dies tonight.”
Dick’s voice was softer, almost pleading. “Jay, listen to me. Killing him won’t bring her back.”
Jason’s laugh was hollow. “Don’t you get it? This isn’t about bringing her back. This is about making him pay.” His hand trembled on the trigger. “He beat us, Dick. He tortured us. He took her from me, and Bruce just let him walk away. He replaced us. He replaced her.”
Bruce flinched, but his voice stayed even. “It won’t change what happened.”
Jason snapped, whirling on him. “YOU WEREN’T THERE!” His voice cracked. “You didn’t hear her screaming for you. You didn’t see the way she-” His throat closed. Tears burned his eyes behind the helmet. “You let him live. You let him keep laughing while she rotted in the ground.”
Joker’s laugh rose again, sharp and mocking. “Oh, this is delicious. The prodigal son, crying over his little girlfriend. She begged so sweetly, didn’t she, Jason? Every ‘please’ like music. I almost miss her.”
Jason’s gun dug harder against Joker’s skull. His whole body shook with rage.
And then-
“Jason?”
The voice was soft. Familiar.
Jason’s head snapped up. And there she was. Y/N.
She stood in the corner of the warehouse, her hair tangled, eyes full of sorrow. She looked exactly as she had the day she died, bruised, broken, beautiful.
Jason’s heart stopped. “Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper.
Dick froze, his stomach dropping. He couldn’t see her, but he didn’t need to. “He’s hallucinating.”
Bruce said nothing, but his silence was louder than any words.
Jason dropped to his knees, staring at her. The gun slipped from his fingers. “You’re here. You’re really here.”
She reached out, but didn’t move closer. Her eyes shimmered. “Why are you doing this?”
Jason’s chest heaved. “Because he killed you. Because no one else will stop him.”
Her voice was soft, trembling. “This isn’t you.”
Behind him, Joker howled with laughter. The distraction was enough, by the time Bruce surged forward, Joker slipped free, vanishing into the shadows with his cackle trailing behind him.
“Jason” Bruce reached for him.
“Stay away!” Jason shouted, clutching at empty air, staring at where Y/N stood. “Don’t take her away from me again!”
And then he was gone, leaving Bruce and Dick with the echo of his broken cries.
‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊
That night, Jason collapsed onto his bed, exhausted, hollow. His body ached, but his soul ached worse. Sleep wasn’t rest anymore. It was escape.
In sleep, she came.
The sheets were warm, tangled around them. Y/N’s skin glowed in the pale moonlight. Jason traced circles across her back as she laughed softly, pressing kisses along his jaw. Her hands slid over him with tender familiarity, her eyes alight with love.
They whispered promises into each other’s mouths, tangled limbs, tangled hearts. There was no world outside this room, no pain, no Joker, no Batman. Just the two of them, whole and safe.
It wasn’t lust. It was love. Pure, breathtaking, infinite.
Jason buried his face in her hair, inhaled her scent, let himself believe. This was his favorite part of the day, the dream where they had a future. The dream where she loved him and lived.
He wanted to stay here forever.
But morning always came too soon. Jason woke in a cold sweat, the sheets cold beside him.
Except, this time, they weren’t.
She was there.
Y/N lay beside him, her eyes soft, her hand warm against his cheek. Jason froze, breath catching, terrified to move in case she disappeared.
“You’re here,” he whispered, tears spilling. “God, you’re really here.”
Her smile was sad, but tender. “Jason… what happened to you?”
His throat closed. He sobbed, clutching her hand. “I tried. I tried to be strong. I tried to make them pay. But I’m nothing without you. Please- please don’t leave me again.”
Her thumb brushed his cheek, gentle as ever. “You’ve let your pain turn you into someone I don’t recognize. That’s not the boy I loved.”
Jason shook his head desperately. “Don’t say that. Don’t- you’re all I have. Please, Y/N, I can’t lose you again.”
Her eyes shimmered, full of love and grief. She pressed her forehead to his, whispered against his skin:
“Jason… I love you.”
And then she was gone.
Jason’s arms clutched empty air. The bed was cold. The room was silent.
He stayed there for hours, shaking, hollow, broken.
And in the end, he realized the truth.
No matter how many times he dreamed of her, no matter how many ghosts he chased.
I was thinking about the part where daerons like “Aerion wasn’t always a monster” and i got the idea of what if aerion and reader were best friends as little kids and like aerion was the sweetest (but still kinda evil for a kid) to reader. Like you gave him the attention and affection he lacked. You never laughed or mocked him for always believing he was a dragon, you listened. You saw Aerion, not Prince Aerion. You were his anvil. Until you had to move back to your house, to your family, or for whatever political reason.
And like he didn’t take that lightly. He craved that attention and after you moved there was no one to give him that love and affection. He tried to convince Maekar to let him visit you but it was always no that you had your duties and he had his. He tells Aerion that it was a silly childhood friendship that he could make more friends with boys his age. In Aerions minds it’s not as simple as “you went back home”. No he starts to twist his mind into thinking they took you from him.
Years later Aerion’s just the cruel dude he is but he hasn’t forgotten you. Without you Aerion learned that cruelty also brought attention, what he craved the most. And maybe it’s like at the Ashford tourney or just a tourney in general that he sees you again and he’s got a real smile on his face that isn’t out of mockery or hatred for the first time in years. He feels like you young boyish kid again seeing his crush. For him he finally found his anvil again. And like he expects you to be all giddy and excited to see him too. He expects you to light up and say his name like when you two were kids. He expects you to run to him and smile like you were never parted. But when your gathered with all the other ladies of your age, in your beautiful dress that hugs your body just right, they all gasp and quiet down, one of the girls besides you stiffens and whispers for you to not turn around. Still you turn around to see Prince Aerion Targaryen with the same silver gleaming hair, walking towards you all with his violet eyes sharp and burning, gaze locked on you. All the girls lowered their gazes to the floor, anything other than him shrinking back in fear, and you panic as well.
You’ve heard of Aerion and how he is now and it’s just not your Aerion anymore. You’ve heard the whispers of him being “mad” and “cruel”. As he gets closer to you your heart begins to pound and your throat tightens, but not from excitement, from fear. When he’s face to face with you, you don’t even look him in the eyes, you whisper “your grace” to him, not “Aerion” like you used too. And that hurts Aerion the most. Because that means you see him the way everyone else sees him, you chose to think like everyone else.
At first, he doesn’t understand what he’s feeling. He doesn’t understand why you’re afraid of him. He’s always loved the feeling of commanding fear and conquering men in jousts, but your fear devastates him because you were never supposed to fear him. When you continue to look elsewhere, but his eyes, he steps closer, tilts his head, softly tucking his fingers under your chin, raising it up so you look him in the eyes. And whispers just a breath away “have you forgotten how to greet me?”.
When you say nothing in return his smile falters once again. And he steps back to study your face still softly holding and thumb caressing the skin of your chin. And keeps talking “when we were children you would run to me, and always be by my side, what happened?”
Silence stretches but you whisper as loud as you can “like you said, we were children.”
By now the ladies you were with had scattered in all directions leaving Aerion and you open to those around. No doubt those who passed and saw a young lady in such position felt pity and fear for you but knew better than to interfere with Aerion. And you felt and saw the fear of those who surrounded and looked at you two. And Aerion saw you see the fear. He felt your fear. At first he continues to tell himself that you just need to properly remember him, after all it’s been years and you must have been frozen from shock of seeing him not fear.
During the first couple minutes Aerion is genuinely happy and chatting up a storm but it’s just not the same. You are not responding or even looking at him. :( why won’t you just look at him with your pretty shiny eyes?
Aerion continues to drag you around the tents to look at the vendors and those who knew of Aerion are confused. Is that a smile on Prince Aerions face? He continues to buy everything he deems would look nice on you but yet still, you have a frown. Too bad for you Aerion knows just how to turn that frown upside down! He’ll ask his father to marry you that way you two will never be separated ever again!!
After Aerions blabbering finally tells you what he has planned you shakily look him in the eyes and whisper his name “Aerion!” you say. That grabs his attention because you finally decided to drop the formalities. “Aerion I’m sorry, but I’m already promised to someone else, and even if I wasn’t, I don’t think I could ever marry you”.
Those words alone break poor Aerions heart. How could you be betrothed to someone else that wasn’t him, what kind of plans did your sick parents have. But the last part finally processes in his head. What do you mean you don’t think you could marry someone like him? You two were made for each other, everyone knew that. So he just chuckles taking everything you said as a joke. In that moment is when you get a little more courage and finally rip yourself from Aerions tight grip.
Realizing he isn’t getting the message you reply with more courage, “Aerion, I’m not joking I could never marry you, or even love you, we were just kids. I didn’t know any better, even if I had the choice it’d never be you.” You reply coldly.
Aerion had never felt such heartbreak, how could the one person he truly loved not love him back. And what was this he was feeling toward you, could it be? He was feeling anger towards the one person he never thought he could feel anger towards. You truly were just like everyone else. And from that day forward Aerion decided he too hated you as well.
Authors note: sorry if the ending doesn’t make sense I wrote this like two months ago and forgot to finish it and lowkey forgot where it was going so my bad…
Imagine Maekar noticing Aerion has an attachment to his young new wife.
I imagine that when maekar first married youngewife!reader and sees Aerion constantly staring at his wife he imagines it’s more anger or just judgement towards her but when he starts to notice aerions longing gaze toward his wife that travels all around her body without a care is when he knows it’s not just anger or judgement, its obsession. He knows Aerion has obsessive tendencies where he gets territorial and takes what he wants, so he wants to keep his young wife away from that before it’s too late but in this case it was already too late.
I wanted to come on here and apologize for writing literally only one piece of AKOTSK and dipping even tho I said I was going to start writing for it. It’s jsut I started watching anime for the first time after thinking it was cringey and I fell in love. I’ve finished AOT and I’m currently watching JJK but yk i wouldn’t hate it if people requested things for AOT or JJK 🤭
SYNOPSIS: When Bruce enrolls Damian to the pristine Gotham Academy, Damian takes on a mission. Survive School. Which it’d be easier if he made friends except more kids already learned to be rats and use others from their parents. That is until Damian meets her. Y/N’s not like anyone else at Gotham Academy, she’s not arrogant or even a snob, she’s just her and maybe, just maybe Damian actually likes her. Too bad he needs to keep her out of his vigilante world.
‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊
𖤓
WARNINGS: language, some sexual content toward the end but it’s just teens being teens, violence?, Damian being Damian.
Damian Wayne hated Gotham Academy. He hated the pristine white hallways, the forced smiles of the students, the shallow conversations, and most of all, the way everyone stared at him like he was some kind of exhibit.
Of course, they knew who he was. Bruce Wayne's son. The newest Wayne heir to grace their high-status halls. A Wayne always drew attention, and Damian hated attention.
"Hey Damian, right? You’re sitting with us at lunch, yeah? We’ve got a table near the window," said some boy, Adam something, who clearly wanted something. They always did. Status, money, fame by association.
"No."
Damian didn’t even look at him before walking away.
It was only his second week, and he already had a reputation. Cold. Arrogant. Rude. The teachers tried to pair him with others in class to help him "adjust," but he always ended up working alone. Until now.
“Damian Wayne,” his literature teacher called, drawing his attention from the window. “You’ll be working with Y/N L/N on the outside research paper. It’s due next Friday. You two will coordinate outside of school to complete it.”
A few students snickered. Some gasped. Y/N? The quiet girl who never talked unless prompted? Half the class had probably never heard her voice.
Damian turned his head slowly, eyeing the girl sitting at the back of the class. She looked up from her notebook, her eyes meeting his briefly, calm, disinterested, and completely unimpressed. Then she gave him a small smile.
“Guess we’re partners,” she said softly.
She didn’t gush. She didn’t ask for his number. She didn’t ask what it was like to live at Wayne Manor or meet the rest of the family. She didn’t ask anything.
Damian narrowed his eyes.
Interesting.
The next few days at school were… tolerable.
Damian and Y/N had been assigned a section of their literature curriculum that revolved around gothic novels and the theme of isolation. Fitting, Damian thought, considering both of their reputations.
Most of their conversations were short but surprisingly easy. Y/N wasn’t shy, he realized, just selective. Her words were thoughtful, sometimes sharp, but never unkind. She took notes in neat, tidy handwriting, underlining key passages and occasionally doodling small animals in the margins.
"You draw animals," Damian observed one afternoon.
She glanced at her notebook. A little cartoonish ferret was tangled in a scarf at the edge of the page.
"Yeah. I have a few at home. Pets. I like animals more than people."
He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Understandable."
That was the moment she actually smiled. Really smiled.
“You’re not as rude as everyone says, y’know.”
"They’re not entirely wrong."
Y/N just shrugged, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as the final bell rang. "I’ve had worse lab partners. So... tomorrow at my place? For the project?"
Damian hesitated. “We’ll see.”
Wayne Manor was quiet when he returned. Alfred had already left a plate for him in the dining room, but he ignored it, heading straight for the Batcave. Predictably, the rest of the family was there, Tim hunched over the computer, Jason lounging on the couch with his boots up, and Dick doing pull-ups like it was a casual Tuesday.
“So,” Dick said without even looking at him, “word on the street is you’re going to a girl’s house tomorrow.”
Damian froze halfway down the steps. "It’s for a school project."
Jason snorted. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say. Next thing you know, you’re holding hands over Shakespeare.”
Tim didn’t even look away from the monitor. “Is she cute?”
Damian glared at him. “I’m not discussing this with you clowns.”
Dick dropped from the bar, grinning. “Just be safe, little D. Wear protection, by that, I mean emotional boundaries. Gotham Academy girls are vicious.”
“I hate all of you.”
Jason raised a toast with his energy drink. “Love you too, baby bat.”
The next afternoon, Damian stood in front of Y/N’s house.
It wasn’t huge like the manor, but it had personality. Plants spilled from window boxes, and the gate creaked with a kind of charm. Before he could knock, barking exploded from behind the door.
The moment she opened it, a Belgian Malinois practically launched itself at him, only to stop inches from his leg at her quiet command.
“Sorry, that’s Vega. She’s very protective,” Y/N said, stepping aside to let him in.
The inside of her house was... chaotic. But warm. A cat was perched on top of a bookshelf, eyeing Damian like it knew something he didn’t. A ferret darted across the hallway carrying what looked like a sock. A large fish tank bubbled softly from the living room.
“You run a zoo,” Damian muttered.
Y/N grinned. “Kind of. My parents are barely home, so I guess they think buying animals is the same as parenting. Works for me.”
The cat leapt gracefully down from the shelf, landing at Damian’s feet. It sniffed his boot, then, shockingly, rubbed against his ankle.
Y/N stared. “She doesn’t like anyone. Not even my parents.”
Damian bent slightly to scratch behind the cat’s ear. “Smart creature.”
Y/N watched the two of them, something unreadable in her expression.
“Come on,” she said finally. “Let’s work on this isolation paper in the least isolated place in my house, the sunroom. Fair warning, it’s also the ferret’s kingdom.”
Damian followed, only half aware of his surroundings.
Interesting, indeed.
The sunroom was bathed in golden light, dust motes swirling through the air like lazy fireflies. The walls were lined with ivy-covered windows, a tangle of plants in pots and hanging baskets. The ferret, appropriately named Chaos, kept taking off with Damian’s pen every time he set it down.
Y/N was curled on the floor across from him, papers spread out in organized chaos, a pencil tucked behind one ear. Vega lay at her side like a silent sentinel, eyes tracking every movement Damian made.
“You don’t talk much about yourself,” she said after an hour of solid work.
Damian looked up from his notebook. “Neither do you.”
“Fair,” she said, tapping her pencil against her chin. “But I’m not the one with a father who owns half the city and a last name that could buy my house over ten times.”
“That’s not something I consider worth talking about.”
Her gaze lingered on him, sharp and soft all at once. “Do you even like it? Being a Wayne?”
The question struck deeper than she probably intended. Damian stared at the ferret chewing on his eraser, his expression unreadable.
“I like Alfred,” he said finally. “And my animals.”
Y/N chuckled. “So that’s a no.”
Damian didn’t respond.
There was a long silence before she leaned back against the wall, tossing her pencil into the air and catching it lazily.
“My parents are never home,” she said casually. “They think throwing animals and Amazon gift cards at me makes up for it. I’m basically a well fed orphan.”
Damian's brow furrowed.
“I don’t mind it, though,” she added quickly. “I get to be alone. People can be... loud.”
He didn’t know why he said it, but the words came out before he could stop them. “You’re not loud.”
Y/N smiled again, softer this time. “Neither are you, really. Once you stop scowling like you're planning someone's funeral.”
Damian snorted quietly. “That’s just my face.”
Then, the front door creaked.
Y/N sat up straight, frowning. “I didn’t hear a car-”
Chaos squeaked and bolted. Vega let out a low growl, ears alert.
“Y/N?” a voice called from the hall. “We brought snacks!”
Y/N blinked. “We?”
Before Damian could say anything, Dick Grayson strolled into the sunroom holding a bag of chips. Behind him, Jason and Tim trailed in like they owned the place.
“Who the hell let you in?!” Damian snapped, shooting to his feet.
Dick raised his hands innocently. “Front door was unlocked. Also, we tracked your location. GPS in your belt, remember?”
Y/N stood too, looking between them, confused but not scared. “Uh... what?”
Jason gave her a quick once over, then grinned. “So this is her, huh? She’s cute.”
Damian looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “Leave.”
Tim looked around. “You live in a greenhouse?”
Y/N crossed her arms. “Okay, what is going on? Who are you guys?”
Damian hesitated. It was the first time Y/N saw him unsure. Off balance.
“They’re my... brothers. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“It’s complicated.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, but before she could press further, Dick pointed to the cat now sitting calmly in Damian’s lap.
“Wait. Is that... is a cat letting you touch her?!”
Y/N blinked. “She’s been doing that since he got here.”
All three of them turned to Damian with exaggerated expressions.
Jason fake gasped. “Oh my god. He has a friend.”
Tim responded “Alert the press.”
Dick added, “Alfred owes me twenty bucks.”
Damian groaned, pushing past them toward the hallway. “We’re leaving.”
But Y/N just laughed. A real, bright laugh. “You guys are a disaster.”
Jason winked. “You have no idea.”
As the door closed behind them, and the chaos finally faded, Y/N looked down at the pencil in her hand.
Damian Wayne was full of secrets. And she had a feeling she'd only just started uncovering them.
The project had been finished weeks ago.
Turned in. Graded. A perfect score, naturally.
But that hadn't stopped Damian from coming back.
It became a rhythm. A quiet cadence to his days. School. Patrol. Y/N’s sunroom. Laughter. Games. A world where he could breathe without the weight of a mask.
The Batboys noticed, of course.
“You’re grinning,” Jason pointed out one night in the Cave, peeling off his helmet. “Like, genuinely. What, did the cat purr at you again?”
“Must be serious,” Tim added, typing away at the Batcomputer. “He hasn’t threatened to stab me all week.”
“Aw,” Dick cooed dramatically. “Little D has a crush.”
“You’re all insufferable,” Damian muttered, but the flush in his ears gave him away.
At Y/N’s house, everything was easier. The chaos of her animals, the smell of popcorn, her quiet voice singing under her breath, it grounded him.
“You know,” she said one evening, sitting beside him on the couch with a sketchbook in her lap, “if someone had told me I’d be hanging out with Damian Wayne voluntarily, I would’ve laughed in their face.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m insufferable?”
“Because you’re intense,” she teased. “But you’re not that bad. Sometimes you even smile.”
“I do not.”
“You literally just did.”
He didn’t respond, only nudged her shoulder with his. Her laugh was soft, and it did something to his chest he didn’t want to think about.
She looked up at him then, the light from the tank casting blue shadows on her face. Her eyes flicked to his lips, and for a moment, just a second, he leaned in.
But he stopped himself. Again.
She didn’t push.
It happened a week later.
They were lying on the sunroom floor, side by side. The storm outside cracked against the windows, but inside it was warm and still. Chaos was asleep in Damian’s hoodie again. Hex lay curled between them like a barrier they’d both ignored.
Y/N turned to face him. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from his face. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”
His breath hitched.
Something in him broke past its limits.
He leaned in before he could stop himself this time. And she met him halfway.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Intentional. Honest.
And then his phone buzzed.
We need back up. Quick.
He pulled back, reluctant, forehead resting against hers.
“Do you need to leave?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer right away.
“I’ll be back soon.”
She smiled, a little dazed. “Okay.”
The mission was simple. In and out. Intercept. Extract. Evade.
But Damian’s head wasn’t in it.
He replayed it in his mind over and over, the way she touched his face, how warm her lips were, the sound she made when he kissed her. The way he felt like something inside him finally clicked into place.
And it terrified him.
He fought harder than necessary. Pushed himself more than usual. Like pain could distract him from the truth:
He liked her. Really liked her. And if she stayed in his life, she’d be a target.
He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn't.
By the time the mission was over, he’d already made up his mind.
“Good morning. Meet me at our spot before class? I have something dumb to show you”, read the message on Damian’s phone screen.
He didn’t open it. Didn’t reply.
He read it five times.
Then turned off his phone.
Y/N sat on the low wall behind the greenhouse, their usual meeting place before first period. The morning air was crisp, and she hugged her hoodie closer to her frame. She waited.
And waited.
The first bell rang.
He never came.
In literature, Damian walked in two minutes late. His eyes didn’t even flick toward her.
Y/N stared at him, eyebrows raised, searching his face for any hint of the boy she’d kissed on her sunroom floor. The boy who smiled, however slightly, when she teased him. The boy who lingered after school just to feed her fish.
But he didn’t look at her.
Didn’t say a word.
When the teacher asked them to pass papers down the row, he took hers without meeting her gaze.
“Wow,” someone whispered from behind them. “I guess the rumors were true. He really is cold.”
Y/N’s chest tightened, and she quickly looked away. She didn’t cry, but only because she wouldn’t let herself.
Back home, Vega paced the hallway after school. Chaos squeaked impatiently from his nest of blankets. Hex sat near the front window, tail flicking, eyes alert like they were waiting for a knock that never came.
Y/N didn’t say a word. Just scratched behind Hex’s ears and whispered, “Me too.”
At the manor, Damian ignored dinner.
He was sharper. Quieter. Brattier.
Bruce noticed first.
“You’re distracted,” he said evenly. “Sloppy.”
Damian scoffed. “I’m fine.”
Dick tried next. “Did something happen with Y/N?”
Damian glared. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Tim frowned from behind his laptop. “So... we’re back to being a cryptic, broody assassin now?”
Jason just muttered, “Knew it wouldn’t last.” He didn’t genuinely mean it, it’s just Damian was always, well, an asshole.
Patrol that night was brutal.
Damian was reckless. He didn’t wait for backup. He cut corners, took hits he didn’t need to, moved like he had something to prove.
Finally, Dick intercepted him on a rooftop, panting.
“You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep going like this.”
“I can handle it.”
“You’re not acting like someone who wants to.”
Damian didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on the distant skyline.
Then he said, “I’m going another route.”
Jason raised a brow through comms. “That’s not the sweep route.”
“I’ll meet back up with you after,” Damian snapped.
He moved fast, like he was being pulled.
Across town, a figure landed silently on a rooftop.
The window was slightly ajar, just enough for him to see the flicker of soft light inside. Y/N’s bedroom. Hex was curled at the edge of the bed. Vega lay on the floor near her desk.
And there she was. Asleep. Tired. Sad.
Damian crouched on the rooftop, arms on his knees, watching.
He couldn’t hear her. Couldn’t be near her. But this, at least, felt like something he could allow himself.
He could protect her, from a distance.
And she’d never know.
But his heart ached with every second he stayed
Y/N kept texting for a while.
Not every day. Just enough to still hope.
“Hey, I fed Hex some tuna today. She hissed at me like I was an intruder.”
“Hope you’re doing okay. The sunroom’s too quiet without someone criticizing my Spotify playlists.”
“Vega stole my sandwich today. I know you’d call it weak prey instinct, but I’m mourning.”
Each message was left on ‘Read.’
Each one stared at by Damian for longer than he’d ever admit.
He waited for them. Woke up hoping one was there.
Each one nearly answered, until he erased the reply and locked his phone, jaw tight.
He knew what to say. He just couldn’t say it.
Then one day, nothing came.
No text. No meme. No “thinking of you” hidden in dry sarcasm.
And suddenly, his phone felt heavier in his pocket than his utility belt.
At school, she wasn’t looking for him anymore. She didn’t hesitate in the hallways. Didn’t glance at their usual meeting spot.
She laughed at someone else’s joke.
Sat next to a boy in chemistry, some smiley, too blond, too perfect guy who offered her gum and leaned too close.
Damian watched it all in silence.
Until the boy somehow tripped over a conveniently placed chair during lunch.
A few people laughed. Y/N was too busy helping him up to notice the silent boy two tables over who looked away before anyone could see his clenched fists.
What could he do?
She looked happy.
And wasn’t that the whole point of leaving?
Back at the manor, the Batboys were catching on.
“Why are you extra broody lately?” Tim asked, sipping coffee like he was exhausted by the drama.
Jason sighed. “He’s not even fun to annoy anymore.”
Dick leaned in during training. “Did she move on?”
Damian didn’t answer. He just kicked harder.
Even Bruce noticed.
“You’re being reckless. You’re not yourself, what’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” Damian snapped.
Bruce raised a brow. “You’re lying.”
That night, Bruce tried something different.
“You can talk to me, you know,” he said quietly in the study.
Damian didn’t meet his eyes. “There’s nothing to say.”
“You were happy, for a while. That matters.”
“She’s better off.”
Bruce didn’t push, but the silence between them said everything.
In a rare show of brotherly concern, Dick dragged Damian out the next weekend.
“Come on,” he said. “You need air. You need food. You need to stop pacing the manor like a trapped animal.”
Tim and Jason tagged along, mostly for chaos.
They ended up at the mall.
Damian sulked.
“This is beneath me,” he muttered.
“You’re fifteen, it’s exactly your level,” Jason said, handing him a boba tea. “Drink this and try not to stab anyone.”
And that’s when Dick saw her.
“Hey,” he said, nudging Damian. “Isn’t that-”
Y/N. With the blond boy. Laughing. Smiling. Holding a drink.
Damian’s eyes locked on her for a fraction of a second.
Then he turned his back.
“I don’t see anyone,” he said coldly, and started walking in the opposite direction.
The Batboys exchanged looks.
Dick blinked. “Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all.”
Jason grinned. “Tragic.”
Then came the call.
Y/N’s number lit up his screen. Not a text this time. A call.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
It rang out.
A voicemail followed.
“I know you’re not going to call back. But I think Vega ran off. I can’t find her. I’ve checked everywhere. If you get this… I just… I could use your help.”
His blood went cold.
Y/N pulled on her coat and slipped out the back door. It was after 11 PM, but she didn’t care. Vega was out there somewhere.
She searched the alleys. The dog park. Behind the bakery where Vega loved the smell.
No leash. No flashlight. Just fear.
And then-
“I told you not to be out this late.”
She spun around, heart in her throat.
Robin stood at the end of the alley, half in shadow, cape billowing faintly in the wind.
Y/N blinked. “You- how do you? H-”
He stepped closer. “It’s not safe.”
“I don’t care,” she said, breath shaking. “My dog is missing.”
Robin paused, gaze unreadable beneath the mask. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“Too late for that.”
He almost flinched.
Y/N crossed her arms. “Why do you care, anyway?”
Silence.
“I’ve seen you before,” she whispered. “On rooftops. Watching.”
He didn’t deny it.
She stepped closer. “Do I know you?”
His breath hitched. But before he could respond, a bark echoed from down the alley.
“Vega!” she gasped, running toward the sound.
The dog came bounding from the shadows, muddy but unharmed, tail wagging wildly. Y/N dropped to her knees, hugging her like a lifeline.
When she looked up again, Robin was gone.
But her heart was pounding. And somewhere deep down, she was sure,
She did know him.
The morning after finding Vega, Y/N woke up with dirt on her jeans, dog hair in her mouth, and something else clinging to her like smoke, unease.
She kept going over it in her head. The voice. The way Robin had stood. The way he’d known she was looking for Vega.
She wasn’t dumb.
She just didn’t want to believe it.
But by that afternoon, she was half sure, she had known him.
And it was eating at her.
Hex sat on the windowsill, eyes tracking every bird that came within five feet of the house. Vega sprawled out on the couch, tired from the night’s chaos, while Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, finishing the last stitches on a tiny fleece harness.
It wasn’t for either of them.
“Alright, Finn,” she murmured.
The ferret poked his head out from under a blanket.
He wiggled his nose, crawled toward her, and allowed the harness to be strapped on like a tiny explorer suiting up.
Her newest pet, a rescue from the shelter after she’d impulsively adopted him that morning, seemed to bring her some calm.
But not enough to stop her thoughts from returning to him.
She didn’t tell anyone about the night in the alley. Not even the blond boy who kept texting her memes she didn’t laugh at.
Instead, she wandered to a craft store, picked out wrapping paper, and carefully packed a small gift box with black ribbon.
Then, the next day after school, she took the bus.
To the Wayne Manor gates.
She didn’t ask for him.
Didn’t press the intercom.
She just left the box at the gate, tucked gently in the curve of the stone post.
Inside it, a hand bound leather sketchbook, a tiny model of a katana made of obsidian glass, and a note that said simply,
Happy Birthday. You once said no one ever remembers.
Inside the manor, Damian stood at the window, his hands behind his back.
He hadn’t gone to school.
He didn’t want to risk seeing her. Or worse, not seeing her.
When Alfred brought the box inside, silent and warm eyed, Damian didn’t move.
But later that night, when everyone else was asleep, the box was open.
And the sketchbook’s pages were already half filled, filled with sketches of her.
The next day, Dick caught him staring out the window during patrol prep.
“You gonna tell her?” he asked casually, tossing a grappling line onto his belt.
Damian didn’t look away from the glass.
“She doesn’t need to know.”
“Right,” Jason muttered nearby. “Because secrets always make relationships stronger.”
Damian scowled.
“It’s not a relationship.”
Tim raised a brow. “Does your journal know that?”
Damian tossed a batarang at him. Tim ducked.
Dick smiled gently. “She likes you. You like her. What exactly are you waiting for?”
Damian’s jaw tightened. “For her to be safe.”
Jason leaned against the wall. “Kid, newsflash, life’s not safe. And ignoring her won’t make it safer. Just lonelier.”
Damian didn’t answer.
But when they landed on rooftops that night, his eyes never stopped scanning the streets below.
Looking for her shadow.
Wondering if she was looking back.
Y/N stopped wondering. She started watching.
Every time she passed Damian in the hallway, eyes averted, shoulders stiff, her heart beat a little faster. Not from longing. From instinct. Like she was circling something sharp and familiar.
She stayed late in the library one afternoon and pulled out an old Gotham Gazette article about WayneTech’s charity gala. The photo on the front page showed Bruce Wayne and his son, Damian. Sharp jawed. Watchful. A shadow behind his father’s shoulder.
A shadow she’d seen on rooftops.
The next night, she wandered again. This time not to find a lost dog, but to chase a feeling she couldn’t shake.
Damian felt it before he saw her.
He was on patrol, earpiece in, perched on a gargoyle with Dick in his ear giving updates from six blocks over.
Then, movement below.
He looked down.
Her.
Hood up. Sneakers quiet. Pacing. Looking over her shoulder.
He cursed under his breath and dropped down behind her.
"Are you following me now?" he asked, voice masked, rougher.
She didn’t flinch.
"Are you following me every night?" she snapped back.
His silence was all the answer she needed.
“I knew it,” she whispered.
He took a slow step back. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“You don’t get to decide that anymore.”
She crossed her arms. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because I wanted to protect you.”
“From what? You?”
His hands clenched at his sides.
“I didn’t want you to be a target.”
“I was never a target until you ghosted me,” she said quietly. “You think ignoring me made me safer? All it did was make me miserable.”
Silence.
Then a beep in his ear.
Dick’s voice: “Robin. Code Red. Joker’s crew. East End. Go.”
He hesitated.
Y/N saw it in his eyes, the push and pull.
“Go,” she said.
He did.
The fight was brutal. Damian fought harder than usual. Sloppier. Jason clocked it first.
“You good?”
“I’m fine,” Damian snapped, dodging a crowbar.
But he wasn’t fine.
Back at the cave, bruised and bloodied, he ripped off his gloves and stormed to the punching bag.
Bruce followed. "You left her in the alley?"
“She told me to go.”
“But you didn’t want to.”
Damian said nothing.
Jason leaned on the railing overhead. “He’s officially whipped.”
Dick smirked. “About time.”
“I heard that,” Damian growled.
“Then do something about it,” Tim called. “Talk to her. Or someone else will.”
Someone else already had.
The next morning, Y/N was at her locker when blond boy who never gave up, slid beside her.
“Hey. I was thinking… movie, this weekend?”
She smiled. Soft. Distracted.
“Maybe.”
Across the hall, Damian watched. Jaw tight.
She didn’t look toward him once.
That night, he found himself back on her street.
Same rooftop. Same dark.
Same ache.
Through her bedroom window, he saw her curled up on the bed, Finn and Chaos curled on her chest, Vega at her feet, Hex on the windowsill.
She looked peaceful.
He looked away.
And finally, he let himself fall to sit on the rooftop, arms resting on his knees.
Because maybe staying away wasn’t protecting her.
Maybe it was just punishing them both.
The following day, Y/N was cornered at her locker once again, the blond boy all too eager with his offer.
“Just one movie. Doesn’t have to be a date,” he insisted, grinning with too much confidence.
Y/N chuckled lightly, closing her locker. “I never said it was.”
From down the hallway, Damian watched, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. Every second the blond boy leaned a little too close, laughed a little too loudly, Damian’s scowl deepened. Tim, walking by, noticed and muttered, “You’re gonna burn a hole through his head.”
“Maybe he deserves it,” Damian growled.
The blond boy leaned in slightly. “Come on, Y/N. Just you and me. It’ll be fun.”
Y/N hesitated.
And that was all it took.
Damian stalked down the hallway, his presence cutting through the air like a blade. Students parted instinctively.
He stopped a foot from them. “Move.”
The blond boy blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I said. Move.” Damian’s voice was low, dangerous. His fists were clenched at his sides, barely resisting the urge to grab the guy by the collar.
Y/N stepped in quickly, grabbing Damian’s arm. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed, dragging him away.
The blond boy watched, scoffing under his breath, but there was something uncertain in his eyes now. Something defensive.
In the stairwell, Y/N spun on Damian.
“You don’t talk to me for weeks, and now you want to pick a fight because someone asked me to a movie?”
Damian didn’t answer. His eyes were on her mouth, her eyes, her hand still wrapped around his wrist.
“You ghosted me,” she said, voice cracking. “I waited. I worried. I texted. And nothing. Nothing, Damian. And now you’re jealous?”
“Yes,” he said simply, voice raw.
She blinked.
“I hated seeing him next to you,” Damian said. “I hated not being next to you. I hated knowing I made that your choice.”
“You did.”
“I know.”
He took a step closer.
“I missed you every single second,” he said. “I read every text. Typed out replies. Deleted them. I thought I was protecting you by staying away. But all I did was lose the only thing that made me feel like I wasn’t drowning.”
She stared at him, heart racing.
Damian stared back, eyes filled with more emotion than he’d ever let anyone see.
Then, he kissed her.
It was rough, aching, and desperate. And she kissed him back with just as much.
When they finally pulled apart, flushed and breathless, she whispered, “Don’t you dare disappear on me again.”
He shook his head slowly. “Never.”
That night, she left her window open.
And when she heard the thump and the groan, she knew.
She rushed over. “Damian?!”
He was leaning heavily against the frame, bleeding and bruised.
“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You’re not. Get in here.”
She helped him in, muttering under her breath as she dragged him to the bathroom.
“You’re so stubborn,” she said, tearing open the med kit. “Coming here half dead like I won’t freak out.”
He sat silently, letting her clean his wounds. Her fingers trembled.
“I should’ve told you everything,” he said quietly.
“You should’ve,” she agreed.
“But I was scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of losing you.”
She paused, then cupped his jaw gently. “You’re not losing me.”
He leaned into her touch, eyes burning. “You’re all I think about.”
Y/N smiled sadly. “You’re all I ever wanted to understand.”
He kissed her again.
Softer this time. Like a promise.
That night, he slept curled against her, her pets piled around them like sentinels. She ran her fingers through his hair until his breathing slowed.
And for the first time in forever, the weight in both their chests lifted, if only a little.
The next morning at school, Y/N expected things to feel strange.
They didn’t.
Damian stood by her locker, hands in his pockets, looking more at ease than she’d ever seen him in the halls. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at her like she was the only thing he wanted to memorize.
"Hey," she said quietly.
"Hi."
A pause. A twitch of his lip that hinted at a smile. "I want you to come over for dinner tonight. At the Manor."
Y/N blinked. "Wait, like, dinner dinner?"
Damian nodded. "With my family."
Her heart skipped. "That’s... a lot."
"I know. But I want you there. Please."
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Okay."
Wayne Manor was even more intimidating in person.
The gates creaked open as Y/N approached, gripping a small box wrapped in brown paper, a simple hostess gift, because what in the world do you bring Batman's family?
Alfred greeted her at the door with the kindest smile she'd seen all day.
"Miss Y/N. We've all been quite looking forward to meeting you officially."
"Hi," she smiled back, stepping inside. "You're Alfred. Damian talks about you a lot."
"All good things, I hope."
"Mostly," she teased, and he chuckled.
She was led through ornate halls and into the dining room where the chaos had already begun.
Bruce stood at the head of the table, tall, serious, composed.
"Y/N," he greeted with a nod. "Welcome."
"Thank you for having me, Mr. Wayne," she replied, nerves fluttering.
The boys, well, young men, were already seated. She recognized them immediately, Dick, Jason, and Tim. Their civilian faces now perfectly matching the vigilante ones.
Dick grinned and waved. "Hey, Y/N! It's good to talk again."
Jason raised a brow. "You know, I half expected you to slap the brat for ghosting you."
Tim leaned in with a smirk. "Or throw soup at him. There's still time."
Y/N laughed, already feeling more at ease. "You guys are even worse without the masks."
Dinner was loud, teasing, and absolutely nothing like she expected. Bruce stayed mostly quiet, observing, though he occasionally added a dry remark that made the table erupt in laughter. Alfred served dishes that Y/N couldn’t believe were real, like they belonged in a five-star restaurant, not a family dinner.
The teasing didn’t stop.
“So, how long have you been putting up with him?” Jason asked.
“Since the start of the semester,” Y/N replied sweetly. “It’s like having a very grumpy cat.”
Damian scowled. “I am not-”
“Grumpy,” Dick cut in, “moody, brooding, you’re literally a mini Bruce.”
Even Bruce cracked a smirk.
After dessert, Damian took her hand and led her down the long hall toward his wing of the house.
They stopped in the atrium first.
“I wanted you to meet them,” Damian said, opening a side door.
The room was filled with motion and sound, Damian’s pets.
Titus bounded over first, tail wagging like mad. Then came the cat named Alfred, curled up on the windowsill until she opened one eye, saw Y/N, and immediately jumped down to wind around her ankles.
“He never likes anyone,” Damian muttered.
“Guess I’m just that charming.”
A low chirp came from the side as a ferret popped its head out of a plush hammock, blinking blearily at them.
“That’s Goliath,” Damian said, nodding toward the massive bat-dragon sleeping in the shadows of the adjoining space. “He’s asleep, for now.”
“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” Y/N whispered.
Damian watched her kneel to greet Titus, his chest aching at how natural she looked there.
“Come on,” he said after a moment. “There’s one more thing.”
He led her outside into the gardens, quiet, bathed in moonlight. They walked to a small bench surrounded by flowers and koi ponds.
“This is the only part of the Manor that ever felt like mine,” he said softly.
Y/N looked around. “I get why. It’s peaceful. Beautiful.”
“Like you,” he said.
She turned to him, startled.
Damian looked down at their intertwined hands. “You make everything less... heavy. You make me better. I’ve never wanted something this much.”
Her eyes softened.
“Y/N,” he breathed, “Will you be my girlfriend?”
She leaned in and kissed him. “I thought I already was.”
He smiled. “Now it’s official.”
That night, they ended up tangled together in his room.
One kiss turned to another.
Then laughter. Then flushed skin and murmured promises.
Her hoodie slipped off. His shirt landed somewhere behind the bed.
Then-
“DAMI-” The door slammed open.
“OH MY GOD!” Tim screeched, shielding his eyes.
Jason was screaming. Dick looked like he was about to collapse from laughter.
“WE KNOCKED!” Dick gasped. “YOU DIDN’T ANSWER!”
Damian snarled, practically throwing a pillow at the door. “GET OUT!”
“WE JUST WANTED TO SAY GOODNIGHT!”
“THIS ISN’T OVER, GREMLIN!” Jason shouted.
From somewhere deep in the house, Bruce’s voice carried, “If I become a grandfather before you all graduate, I’m cutting the wifi for a year!”
Damian slumped against Y/N, who was half hiding behind him, laughing into his shoulder.
“I hate them so much,” he muttered.
She kissed his cheek. “I don’t. This was perfect.”
Imagine Maekars wife and mom of the children dying in childbirth
I'm 100% sure it would take daysss and at least 4 men to pull him away from her bloody corpse😭
I swear that man give obsessed and devoted vibes, mans would not leave his wife alone, not even in death😩
girl, not you and me having our convo about this. the amount of angst fics i have coming up on going to depress you all.. but it’s too good, because he is devoted. 🫠😭
can you lie next to her, and give her your heart?
summary: you had five beautiful children between you and your husband. and despite everything you loved eachother more than even the histories could put down. and when he lost you? no scroll, not piece of earth was left unturned in his rage.
pairing: maekar targaryen x wife!reader
warning(s): angst, character death, childbirth, depression, talks of suicide and gore.
word count: 3.8k
a/n: i wrote this much too easier than i do smut, idk what that says but here goes. don’t tell your therapist :))
He had not left your side since it happened.
No maester, no serving girl, no firm hand even from his brother was going to take him from you. Not now and not ever. He made a vow that day you stood hand in hand before the Gods, one he intended to keep til you were both departed.
He didn’t think of how it would happen, he never had, and how stupid he must have been. He’d taken every precaution on the book into his hands, protecting you from every battle threatening your homeland, every war he returned beaten and bloody from, every prying eye at court.
And yet not even his strength could pull you from this.
Maekar cursed himself, blamed himself, bearing the weight of every invisible chain he'd wrapped aorund himself possible. You had everything you could have wanted together, you managed to work your way around him unlike any other. There was no scowl to be had on his face with the gentle looks you gave him, your knowing one, the way you matched his humour and shot down his crude jests with a single flick of your wrist hitting his chest. And all of it, was no more.
Your glow had gone, your face a dampened pale, greying around your eyelids and the corners of your mouth, like life itself had certainly been breathed from you.
Though that wasn't the worst part, that came when he wasn't there. Not entirely, not at first. Tnstead he had been too busy rolling his eyes, listening to another lord drone on in the chamber of the High Council. Baelor had urged him to listen, clapping a hand at his back encouraging him to listen, though he didn't, the dark haired man at his side continuing to speak freely, as he surely let his thoughts wander. That’s when one of the squires rushed in. He’d known that rush before, heavy oak swinging open with a startled face meeting the seated men. He’d known it five times before, each one as daunting as the last. But with five, healthy children, he hadn’t deemed anything to worry about.
Though he rose quickly, sitting straight as he set the cup of wine from his lips down, brows raising expectantly. He hadn't cared to dismisss himself from the aseembly behind him as the younger man announced your labours.
“My congratulations, brother. Now go.. go and take care of them." Baelor nodded steadily toward him, silencing the other lord's murmurs with few single sentences, ones that would stick with him from that moment forward.
Take care of them.
The words spun around in his head, shaking it lightly as he strode forward, urging the young squire down the hall in front of him. The squire had attempted to calm his worries, assuring the prince that she was in good hands, practiced and proper, but he only waved him off.
“I will see it for myself.” Maekar announced, eyes straight ahead as his boots prodded into the stone flooring.
By the time they both neared the corridor leading your chambers, he heard your screams. They were different to what he was used to, to what he'd heard many times before.
These were raw, truly pained, like your body was betraying you with every movement, not just the pains of childbirth. The maesters encouraged you, speaking their flattery and words that died on their tongues with the shake of your head, hands placing cool, damp towels on your forehead. He walked quicker after that, shoving his way past the boy, shoving the door open despite protest from either end.
“Your Grace.. I don’t believe it wise to see such..” The squire called after him, prying the door open from where it spun shut.
“Shut it. I have been beside her every labour before this, I will not fail her now.” He had meant it, stomping his way into the room, to be faced with a maester.
“My Prince, please she is..” The maester attempted hands to move at his chest, a silent warning.
“She is what..” He didn’t bother looking at the maester, only noticing his hands covered in blood, your blood. Then back up to you. They all shuffled around the bed, your shared one, pulled over to the one side as maid sand servants doted on you. He grunted as he pulled him aside, Maekar’s eyes fixed ont you beyond the sea of heads. You had not yet seen him, your eyes tightly shut through the pain.
“The Princess she is.. having trouble. The babe is breached, preventing her from pushing properly.” The maester followed after him as he moved toward the bed.
“Then do something.” His eyes wandered downward, spitting his command behind him, voice shaking slightly with an unaware of what was to come.
“But..”
Your scream echoed throughout the room stopping both men from speaking, a guttural cry ripping from your throat, clutching one of the maids' arms, “My husband.. where is he.”
“Do something.” He said at last, boots rushing to your side, squeezing through the people around you and waving them off. The maester grabbing his partner to colect any herbs and ailments available.
“My love.. Iam here.” His palm moved to your face where it was clammed and damp, his fingers sweeping back the hair stuck to your face.
“It feels.. it feels wrong this time. I..” Your voice trailed off as you writhed back and forth, your knees bent into the air with what felt like too many eyes on you, and the stabbing of a thousand swords.
“They are going to change that.. they say the babe needs.. assistance.” He did not stop looking at you, crouching over the bed as you reached for him, gripping his hand for dear life. He offered a small smile, a rare one, the one he gave when he was just as scared. One he often gave you in the most vulnerable moments.
The voices around you were a hush and he had barely paid attention, your vision blurred by the low candlelight and ache of the pure pain piercing your abdomen. Maekar’s eyes pricked up at every work of their hands on you, though unmoving, he curled his fingers around yours tighter.
“You can do this.. you are strong, far stronger than I know.”
You hugged a laugh, weak and tired, but your lips curved anyway, showing the fangs of your teeth as your eyes glazed over, looking at him. He softened at that, only by the slightest, chest rising and falling in a growing agitation as he looked to the maesters. The older man only shook his head, hands checking and feeling around where you were most sensitive, checking for a head, poking and prodding as you whined. Nothing.
Their whispers grew so much so it angered him, and he rose, hand still tightened around yours.
“You are hurting her.” Maekar snapped, eyes blazing as all heads looked up.
“She is not able to move this child, your Grace, it will injure her more.”
You cried out once more, gritting your teeth as your head shoved back against the propped up pile of pillows. “Please..”The maids rushed to your side to aid, a chalice of a creamy substance rasied to your lips, Milk of the poppy. You drank it down in small sips as they stood at the other side of the bed, Maekar’s eyes flashing between that of them and the maester still fussing. It calmed you for a few moments as the liquid reached your system, cooling the burn and narrowing the pain to a buzz. Numbing your body and mind.
He hadn’t realised it then, with the clatter of cups and forceps. It was not just to soothe you, but to prepare you. And if he’d have known, knowing they all knew the increasing inevitabilty, he’d have taken it himself then and there.
“Then tell me what do I do.” You shivered back into the bed, knees still braced and shaking with every pulse, but your body did not let you do so much. Your gown was dampened and wet from the force of your body, blood seeping at the hem from the tearing. He stayed beside you, your hand slowly slipping from his grasp as the medicine took over. Maekar rolled up his sleeves, shrugging the crimson coal doublet from his shoulders, and tossing it onto the chair beside the bed.
The maester gave no argument this time, seeing the Prince so prepared, desperate through your state. “We must attempt to turn the babe, and we need your hand.” The man took his hand, placing it just over the curve of your belly, and your husband allowed it without question,“You must push down and move it. The head must come first.” His gaze flashed between you and the servants around him, all widening looks at your husband, much less their prince performing a servant's act. But it was no favour, it was minimum to him. He moved to the end of the bed, and between your legs, placing a heavy palm onto your stomach.
You hissed, shaking your head at him through where you met through lidded eyes, “It hurts.. .” He nodded, pleadingly, “I know, my love just let me..” He followed the maester’s instructions, pushing firmly down and turning, feeling through thick skin the outline of your child, slowly but surely turning with his movement. But he could not do it for long, your cries cut through in protests, stopping him not wanting to hurt you further. The babe had moved mere inches, further than any of the maids or maesters had given, but it scraped your insides, preventing from going any further.
“This cannot be done, it is paining her.” His brows furrowed, silver strands of hair falling into his face from where it had been neatly kept. His palms raised from you, giving you some relief, thumbs circling you in a soothing motion, calming his own breathing.
“This is the only way..” The maester mumbled under his breath for a moment, looking down, racking his brains for every outcome, “What the fuck are you saying?” Maekar stood tall, his hand touching your knees lightly, not bearing to leave you.
“Unless we.. remove the babe from her.” The man met his eyes, the grey of his cloak disheveled and wrapped at his shoulders.
“What are you saying right now.” He did not give the man to answer, his mouth opening and closing, before Maeakr moved to a dangerous whisper, “I will not have my wife cut open for the sake of this babe. Save her.”
The man nodded at once, waving the maids to get more towels, widening your knees to give him better inspection. Maekar returned at your side, your body was weakening and as much as his anger would allow, his resolve was breaking, panicking underneath, though he did best not to let you see.
His fingers slipped through yours, tightening back around his. Your lips wobbled as you looked up at him, out of distress, and out of a mere amusement. Your husband was a state, troubled still utterly handsome in the low light, hair messed and face wrinkled, even his beard mussed.
“You are a sight..” Your head rocked sideways as you slowed your motions, a quiet filling the room, a hopeful one as you calmed. He chuckled heartlessly, chin resting onto his knuckles as he watched you intently.
“So I can imagine..” You patted his hand, having realised his panic. Trust you to notice, you always did.
“Fear not, my love.. they are having trouble. Must get it from you.” You smiled once more, the last bit of calm before it was lost. A jest at him, and by the Gods you were right. It was the last one he saw from you. Your body exhausted, colour slowly draining from your face and yet you still had the heart to be so beautiful, it only tore him further apart.
——
Minutes had passed like hours, and you were screaming again, fingers clutching into his arm with every forced push, the maids at your other side with pleas of encouragement. The maester was quiet, a horror etched on his face as he scrambled to retrieve your child.
All seemed well. The babe was born, tearing from you with a hearty cry. Healthy. That was all you had noted over the world spinning around you, the heads around you turning into a blot of colour.
Maekar had not noticed how long he was holding his breath, exhaling lowly and trembling, shoulders falling as you were left to recoup. He almost smiled, could have cheered with the weight that was lifted in the room. The maids took the babe from you, disconnecting it from your body with a steady snip of shears as they cleaned and bundled it into the corner, passing the small body back to the maester.
“A girl.. my Prince." The maester announced, handing the small bundle into his arms. Maekar’s hands shook as they closed the space, firming the tiny body into his strong hands, looking back to you. A reddened face with a full head of silver hair, eyes too tightly closed for them to see just yet.
You hummed, clean cloths wiping at your forehead. His body sat onto the bed, leaning down to you with a proud appearance, not quite a smile through the fear, but loving, pressing his lips to your temple.
“Our daughter.. you did it again, my heart”. You nudged against him, sighing contedly looking once to the babe in his arms, and once to him. The moment felt just the three of you. Like it had been with every child, the world reduced to nothing but your love, a bubble reserved for only you.
Maekar would have dismissed them all then and there if he could, he did every other time, allowing you to rest in his arms as he held your child, soothing them through the night.
Though such blessings did not come. Not this time.
The maester’s voice cut through the quiet, your quiet. And his head snapped up.
“Oh Gods..” He didn’t register much else from then on.
The maids had gathered at the end of your bed, stopping from their sowing and tending, as the maester’s hands moved with coated towels wiping at bedding. In the force of pushing out your child, the outside of your body was not the only part that took such damage, your body had taken too much of the weight.
Blood coated every surface of every cloth, seeping into the sheets of the bed. Even Maekar’s hands as he moved to see, attempting to help, attempting anything. But it was too much to be saved.
You called out once more. One word, one only.
“Maekar..”
And you were gone.
Your lips parted, and your eyes fell back into your head, but you still looked like you. Your head only rocked back onto the pillows, you looked as if you could have been sleeping. You must have been, you must have been so tired, so exhausted.
He had moved the babe carefully into the arms of a maid when she started wailing, he had not known what to do. Like even the babe itself felt you leave them. He collapsed at your side, fingers clutching around yours, and this time, they did not reach back. They lay limp in his own, your knees falling into one another as the maester laid them down, preserving what dignity you had left.
“My love.. it is alright.” He whispered to you, voice shaking with the realisation he refused to believe. His voice breaking at the others, “Fucking do something.”
They barely met his eyes, heads bowed in silence, honouring out of respect. That was later to be known, the Princess was dead.
You were gone.
“The lot of you are fucking pathetic.” His hands felt around you, your face, your arms, rounding the bed to where your body was still leaking blood. Your life draining from you before his very eyes. Unsure of whether to stay at your side or tear the room apart.
His eyes widened, flicking over your form, so still, so peaceful.
“Get out, get out, all of you.” He didn't look.
“My Prince, she is..”
“No. You killed her. You..” His voice broke turning to face them, watching the maid in the furthest corner hold your child, rocking back and forth gently through the shouting. Though the words were not for the maester, the pain he was pointing at, nor for anyone.
Only for himself.
Killed. Dead. It all swirled in his mind.
He collapsed in on himself then, tears brimmed his eyes as he dropped at your side.
“My love, my heart..”
You did not answer him, and you always answered to that. No matter the tone, or the moment you were in, even if you were upset, even at him. You answered.
Were you made at him now?
——
No one had approached either of you.
His body guarded you like a dragon did its gold, like a man did his everything. And he did, his body fallen over yours, arms wrapped around you, shaking and weak, like all muscle had disappeared from his broad frame.
Baelor was the only one to break the silence, the only one able to come close. And he let him, though he said nothing. The door opened and closed behind him with a sharp click, the air was tight. Incense burned lowly from scented sticks left by the maesters when he had refused to have you moved, preventing the odour from swarming the space.
He was in more of a state than he was days before. He had not bathed, had not moved, nor eaten.
“Father wishes to speak with you. For matters regarding..” Baelor tested his words, stepping forth into the room.
“Matters regarding what.” Maekar bit back, voice muffled from being pressed into his hand, resting onto the bed.
“The procession..” Baelor’s voice was careful, keeping his distance, continuing to step so he could see he his brother’s face. It was ashen and worn, pallor creeping into an ill embrace. A funeral. Yours. His eyes drifted between you both, his own sister in law, sister he had called you, from the very day you and his brother were betrothed, and he had loved you like one. The sight pained him, tore at him so much he could barely breathe.
No one had imagined losing you.
Maekar said nothing, tearful, broken eyes looking only to you. Your face was sunken, radiance prevailing through the sunlight peeking through the curtains. Your beauty had not faded, only frozen from where it had been, and where it would stay. Baelor recalled walking the gardens with you only days before, sharing a laugh of the names you might choose for the babe, who to honour. He remembered your smile when you jested of naming a daughter Visenya, or perhaps Maegor for a boy. He had smiled heartily back, embracing you, walking amongst the flowers.
“Brother..” His voice was firm, boots scuffing around to nearer his side. “It must be done.. she deserves more than this.”
“She had called out for me. She wanted me in the end and I..” His voice wobbled, raising up onto rest on his chin, peering up at Baelor.
“And she has you. You cannot stay here.”
“No I should sooner die here.” Baelor watched on, Maekar’s face falling into his hands.
“You have a child. All but a few days old, a girl. In which your other children look upon. Care for. And they look upon their father.” Baelor snapped, not unkindly, but desperate.
He had stood by your children for the days they had not seen their father, for the days following your passing. They were not unfamiliar with his temper, but he was not distant, he had never been. Not like this, and yet they had to learn of your death themselves, told by their own uncle, left to grieve without him.
He said nothing.
“What would she say.” His words cut deeply, but it was the only thing that could make him think.
You’d have struck him, surely scolded him for doing such a thing.
They both knew the answer.
Tears welled in his stinging eyes, they were red and bloodshot now, his body unable to move. Baelor’s hand moved to his shoulder, and it tensed under his touch. He gave one final flicker to you, a long blink taking you in for the final time, fingers delicately reaching over to pull at your eyelids, closing them from where they fell slightly open.
Giving you your final invitation to rest.
“Come..” He murmured gently, turning back to Maekar, slowing, “Please..”
Maekar had wanted to turn around and fight, shout in his face and scream for him to leave. But he could not, his throat was worn already, his fists too weak from holding you so tightly. He looked at you then, as if asking for permission. Though you did not answer, you did not look. But you lay there, perfect, and still, and he knew, knew though he had not wanted to move, to let go of you.
He had to, otherwise he never would.
He kissed your knuckles once more. They were cold. “I will be with you. Say you’ll be with me..” He whispered, choking out as Baelor pulled him back into him, rising in his hold only to fall into his chest.
Baelor’s hands wrapped around him, pal bracing his head into his shoulder he sobbed. His body wrecked and trembling into his elder brother. Words were futile in that moment, his chest rumbling with where his knees threatened to give way, but Baelor held him, sure and still.
He had urged septons and maesters in after them as he tugged his brother away from you, finding some sort of daylight.
They moved in a rush, tending to you, cleaning and bathing you for the final time as they prepared your body for the crypt.
——
By dawn the following day they had set you on the pyre.
It was not ordinary, just as you were not.
The oak you lay on was carved, intricate details of your house and his own. Dragons and old valyrian written onto its edges. Flowers of all colour adorned you, outlining your body from your feet to the crown of your head. Your dress was light, delicate as you preferred it to be, all that needed to be highlighted— your grace, your light. Your hands were neatly placed over the crest of your abdomen, your hair nearly done, braided and jewelled.
The congregation stood behind Maekar, your children just beside him, one by one standing solemnly, not one of them knowing how to feel. All dressed in black, the only stitching of colour in the crimson of their undercoats.
Rhae.
That’s what they had named her. She was not allowed to attended, onto a few days old she was given to one of the wet nurses, to be comforted as they longed to be. Your children had sat together in the corridors in the hours upon your death, with their cousins by their sides, in agreement. A name had not been given, and they had chosen their own. It was soft, gentle, like you. There was no malice, nor hatred in their hearts, not even as she was the one who had tore out of you, taken you from them, they had it in them not to blame. You taught them better than that, and they would heed it.
It was in the hands of the Gods.
And as the Gods took you away, your body turning to ashes, they knew it too. Aegon stood beside his father, hand reaching to clutch, only three years of age, barely meeting over his knees.
Maekar had not said anything, Daeron at his other side, and Aerion with Aemon and Daella in front of him, hard-eyed and lost. But his hand reached for his anyway, letting his small fingers wrap into his own. His eyes looked on as you drifted away, not once baring to look around, his face stone, but his youngest son’s hand reminded him of you.
——
The hydrangeas you’d planted in the garden were still in bloom. A comfort that once was, taunting in the form of you in every direction. The sky was grey, dotted with clouds, casting a dark shadow over the courtyard. The only colour was the one's you had surrounded it with, lillies and summerflowers, wreaths of roses wrapped carefully around the trellis. He collapsed into it, legs giving way in front of the plantbeds. His knees dug into the dirt, breeches coating freshly watered soil. But he did not care, he could not.
His chest burned, eyes still brimmed red and aching, threatening to close. And how he wanted them to in that very moment, cursing the very sky as his hands shook, holding them out in front of him as his vision began to blur. Heartache proved too much, the loss of you was enough, but to be reminded of you at every corner, every glance, every waking moment that you were not beside him, was torture itself.
"Father.." He had thought to be entirely alone, the way he ordered to be, though he hadn't wanted it. The biggest reminder that left a pit in his stomach, your children.
His head inched upward, but his back faced away from them wall, the trimmings of the flowers in front of him. Footsteps approached, more than that the voice called out, padding softly, tiredly as he turned to the side.
They all stood there once more.
Aegon, Aerion, Daella, Aemon and Daeron. Daeron stood just behind them, towering over the rest of them with a bundle in his arms. Your youngest and your oldest child, and he had her braced tightly into his arms. They were all in the same dress as hours earlier, the procession now ended.
He did not speak when he let them to come to his side, breathing deeply he thought he might break. Aegon met him first, reaching for his shoulder carefully, not fearfully though testing, his tiny arm meeting the material of his father’s doublet. He closed his eyes, hanging his head low, a larger arms snaking around him protectively, pulling him in so that he wouldn’t let go. Aemon came before him next, kneeling to the floor, then Aerion, eyes flicking to his father before hanging low in a broken scowl. Daella moved at last, her skirts brushing onto her father’s lap where he had her into his other side, her fingers reaching for her sister.
"She needs you.. and so do we." Daeron spoke, standing over them before coming to kneel just behind, handing the bundle into their father's arms. He had only been a boy near grown, only just ten and nine by the time had had lost you, and in that moment he looked upon his father with all a man’s suffering and knowledge, blue eyes dark and hazy. The kind from being made to grow up far too fast, and not by choice.
They had lost you far too young, and so had he. Maekar only nodded, taking the last of you, and of him into his arms for the first time since you’d been gone. Silver tufts ruffled beneath the gentle cloth, her eyes finally blinking up at him, at all of them, and Maekar’s breath stilled in his throat. Small heads rested onto their father’s shoulder, curling into him as Daeron’s arm braced around the little ones.
The only thing they had now, was each other, and your memory.
For she may have had his hair and complexion, but she had your eyes.
I keep thinking about a younger reader who married Baelor. Like I imagine you’re around Aerion and Valarr’s age. But like you’re all shy and cute and innocent and obviously Aerion got a liking to you.
Maybe it was originally to try to find a maiden for Valarr or like Daeron or sum but you just ended up falling in love with Baelor *cough cough* I thought of The Marriage Mart by the incredible @idksmtms while writing that part! But like I see Aerion being obsessed with you and how innocent and sweet you are. He just wants to corrupt it.
But he hates his uncle for having married you especially because his uncle got to take your maidenhood. How his uncles the one who gets to bend you over and take you whenever he likes. How his uncles the one who hears your whimpers and moans, who knows how tight you squeeze him.
Let’s be real here I was gonna say I imagine aerion catching himself feeling bad and guilty for thinking in such ways but it’s aerion… he would not feel bad at all. Maybe when he first met you he’d act as nice and behaved as he does in front of Maekar but after a while is when the “accidental” touches as he passes by you happen, followed by a sloppy “my apologies”. And then you start to catch his eyes at dinner with your low cut dress, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that he was staring at the swell of your breasts.
You never mention it, maybe it’s because your scared of what aerion would do or maybe a part within you is thrilled at the fact that another pair of eyes stair at you in such ways you never thought someone would. Maybe that’s why a part of you starts to wear more red and black with even lower cuts to where they are barely called appropriate.
What you never expected was with what started one night of Aerion walking the halls late at night coming across Baelors chambers hearing your giggles. Truly Aerion never intended to stay and listen, but as it went from listening to your giggles, to hearing your gasps, your moans, your screaming, and begging. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of being the one to fuck you instead of his uncle.
Like I said Aerion truly never intended on coming across you two, but if he wasn’t going to be able to fuck you he had to make up for it other ways. Which is how Aerion got into the routine of listening and stroking himself when he’d hear Baelor and you make love.
But that can only last so long until Aerion lost patience.
It was a late night, one which Baelor had yet again failed to come to bed, with him being kept busy with his duties as The Hand of the King and as The Heir. You were feeling hot and needy, in bed, all alone. Your hand just wasn’t doing the job the way Baelor had taught you. So you decided to get out of bed heading for Baelors solar, only in your thin lace nightgown that left little to the imagination, accompanied by your silk robe.
The sharp sting of cold from the floor sending a chill up your back. Creeping to the door you never expected to open it to Aerion practically falling into you. Startled you could only stare at him in shock. And for Aerion it was as if the Gods had answered his prayers.
You know it was wrong. You know you should have pushed Aerion off of you, told him to stop. You shouldn’t have greedily kissed him back. You should have ripped his wandering hands off that kneaded your breast’s and ass. Pushed him off as he aggressively attacking your neck and collar pulling the thin place nightgown off as he walked you backward towards Baelors bed, reminding you that this was your husband’s chamber, not your own.
You should have questioned why Aerion was outside the door, especially this late at night. But no, instead you let him fuck you deep into the sheets of your own sweet husband. As he called you a whore and a slut for how easy it was to get you into bed. You were too cum drunk from Aerion taking you in every position he could that night after having moved you two to his chamber, causing you to only agree with everything Aerion said only fueling his ego.
Maybe it was your desperation, your need that night, but you only knew that this was the first of many. And Aerion, well for Aerion this was better than any dream and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna listen to you get fucked by his uncle ever again, not when he finally knew he could have the real thing.
Authors note: sorry guys this was kinda all over the place but AKOTSK has me in a chokehold. And I keep getting little scenarios in my head and I jsut had to write this one down but it ended up being messy but like I said I just had to at least share my thoughts with you guys.
I keep thinking about a younger reader who married Baelor. Like I imagine you’re around Aerion and Valarr’s age. But like you’re all shy and cute and innocent and obviously Aerion got a liking to you.
Maybe it was originally to try to find a maiden for Valarr or like Daeron or sum but you just ended up falling in love with Baelor *cough cough* I thought of The Marriage Mart by the incredible @idksmtms while writing that part! But like I see Aerion being obsessed with you and how innocent and sweet you are. He just wants to corrupt it.
But he hates his uncle for having married you especially because his uncle got to take your maidenhood. How his uncles the one who gets to bend you over and take you whenever he likes. How his uncles the one who hears your whimpers and moans, who knows how tight you squeeze him.
Let’s be real here I was gonna say I imagine aerion catching himself feeling bad and guilty for thinking in such ways but it’s aerion… he would not feel bad at all. Maybe when he first met you he’d act as nice and behaved as he does in front of Maekar but after a while is when the “accidental” touches as he passes by you happen, followed by a sloppy “my apologies”. And then you start to catch his eyes at dinner with your low cut dress, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that he was staring at the swell of your breasts.
You never mention it, maybe it’s because your scared of what aerion would do or maybe a part within you is thrilled at the fact that another pair of eyes stair at you in such ways you never thought someone would. Maybe that’s why a part of you starts to wear more red and black with even lower cuts to where they are barely called appropriate.
What you never expected was with what started one night of Aerion walking the halls late at night coming across Baelors chambers hearing your giggles. Truly Aerion never intended to stay and listen, but as it went from listening to your giggles, to hearing your gasps, your moans, your screaming, and begging. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking of being the one to fuck you instead of his uncle.
Like I said Aerion truly never intended on coming across you two, but if he wasn’t going to be able to fuck you he had to make up for it other ways. Which is how Aerion got into the routine of listening and stroking himself when he’d hear Baelor and you make love.
But that can only last so long until Aerion lost patience.
It was a late night, one which Baelor had yet again failed to come to bed, with him being kept busy with his duties as The Hand of the King and as The Heir. You were feeling hot and needy, in bed, all alone. Your hand just wasn’t doing the job the way Baelor had taught you. So you decided to get out of bed heading for Baelors solar, only in your thin lace nightgown that left little to the imagination, accompanied by your silk robe.
The sharp sting of cold from the floor sending a chill up your back. Creeping to the door you never expected to open it to Aerion practically falling into you. Startled you could only stare at him in shock. And for Aerion it was as if the Gods had answered his prayers.
You know it was wrong. You know you should have pushed Aerion off of you, told him to stop. You shouldn’t have greedily kissed him back. You should have ripped his wandering hands off that kneaded your breast’s and ass. Pushed him off as he aggressively attacking your neck and collar pulling the thin place nightgown off as he walked you backward towards Baelors bed, reminding you that this was your husband’s chamber, not your own.
You should have questioned why Aerion was outside the door, especially this late at night. But no, instead you let him fuck you deep into the sheets of your own sweet husband. As he called you a whore and a slut for how easy it was to get you into bed. You were too cum drunk from Aerion taking you in every position he could that night after having moved you two to his chamber, causing you to only agree with everything Aerion said only fueling his ego.
Maybe it was your desperation, your need that night, but you only knew that this was the first of many. And Aerion, well for Aerion this was better than any dream and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna listen to you get fucked by his uncle ever again, not when he finally knew he could have the real thing.
Authors note: sorry guys this was kinda all over the place but AKOTSK has me in a chokehold. And I keep getting little scenarios in my head and I jsut had to write this one down but it ended up being messy but like I said I just had to at least share my thoughts with you guys.
I have two ideas I can’t get out of my head one a valarr vs aerion x female highborn reader who’s been sheltered her whole life and hasn’t been presented yet and one day at a tourney she finally goes and aerion and valarr see her for the first time. Like I just imagine a whole bunch of knights asking for readers favor and aerion just sees a whole crowd until he finally sees the reader and it’s not even like love at first it’s more so he becomes obsessed and possessive he doesn’t want anyone else to have the reader. Like bros obsessed with her innocence and wants to corrupt it. While valarrs just the prince he is and he falls completely in love.
The other idea I have is a platonic Targaryen reader who’s around the same age as egg and also wants to be a squire or just wants to escape princess duties. She also leaves with egg and daeron. Buttttttt she’s baelors youngest daughter and similar to daeron having egg shave his head he has the reader cut her hair. So kinda like a mulan in a man’s world…. And then it kinda follows egg and Duncan and when it’s the big reveal of egg being a Targaryen it’s also revealed that the reader is a Targaryen as well but she’s baelors daughter…. Oh yah and that’s she’s a girl. Possibly this idea could be more OC.
