#especially if you maintain tight tension like I do | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 3 months ago

Text

Where Dragons Dare (1/3)

- Summary: After you are left greatly injured by a dragon riding accident, the small council puts pressure on your father, King Viserys I, to have another male heir.

- Paring: (male!targ) reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (rating will go all the way up for the last two parts)

- Word count: 9 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. ❤️ I hope you enjoy the first part. I've tried to fit into this one most of the information you've given me. The rest will be in the next two parts.

- Next part: 2

The council chamber buzzes with tension, thick as smoke, as the lords gathered around the long table cast uneasy glances at King Viserys. The king, grey hairs creeping into his Targaryen silver, wears the weight of the realm across his brow. His gaze is distant, fixed on the empty chair at the end of the table where you, his only son, should be sitting, were it not for the incident that left you bed-ridden, your ribs shattered and your leg mangled. The air is tight, a storm brewing beneath the grand stone arches and tapestries that adorn the walls.

Viserys lets out a weary sigh as Grand Maester Mellos, hunched and robed in the dull grays of his order, speaks. “Your Grace, the Prince’s injuries are… severe. His recovery remains uncertain, particularly with the damage sustained to his leg. There is concern that even if he does survive this ordeal, he may never ride Dallax again.” Mellos’ tone is cautious, as if picking each word with tweezers.

At that, Otto Hightower, ever poised and calculated, leans forward with his usual practiced air of concern. “It is regrettable, Your Grace, but these events could have been avoided had the young prince exercised more restraint. Dragonriding is no sport to be taken lightly, yet Prince Y/N chose to put himself and others at risk with those… dangerous maneuvers during Maiden’s Day celebrations.”

The jab is subtle, but the intent is sharp. Otto’s words are always carefully weighted, his voice smooth as oil yet edged like a blade. There’s a flicker of something behind Viserys’ eyes at the mention of your name, but it’s Corlys Velaryon who rises to your defense before your father can respond.

“Dangerous, you say, Lord Hightower? A dragonrider’s bond with his mount is not something to be dictated by the whims of others,” Corlys counters, his voice deep and resonant. “The Prince, young as he is, shares a bond with Dallax that most dragonriders would envy. To stifle that connection for fear of injury would be to deny what it means to be Targaryen.”

Tyland Lannister, ever opportunistic and sharp-eyed, cuts in with a smooth smile, “While that may be true, Lord Corlys, we cannot ignore the situation at hand. The heir is gravely injured, and we do not yet know the extent of his recovery. The Crown’s stability must be maintained, especially with Queen Aemma carrying another child. We all pray for a healthy son this time, as it would ensure—”

Viserys’ eyes narrow, cutting off Tyland mid-sentence. “You would dare place my son’s potential death before the birth of another heir?” There’s a warning in the king’s tone, though it lacks the sharpness it might have once had. He looks tired, older somehow, as if the weight of his crown presses down harder with each passing year. “Y/N will recover. He is strong, like his mother.”

Otto’s voice slices through the tension again, softer but no less cutting. “No one doubts the Prince’s strength, Your Grace. However, we must be practical. The realm must always have a clear line of succession. Given the uncertainty surrounding Prince Y/N’s condition, ensuring that the Crown is secure with another male heir is not an option to be taken lightly.”

Corlys shoots Otto a disdainful glance, his irritation evident. “It seems some here are quick to forget that Prince Y/N is still very much alive. Would you so easily cast him aside, Hightower?”

Otto doesn’t flinch. “I speak only of the reality we must face. The Prince’s injuries are a reminder of the dangers inherent to our lineage. Daemon Targaryen was much the same in his youth, reckless and bold. Look where that has led him. The realm cannot afford another… unsteady Targaryen to destabilize it.”

Viserys’ face hardens at the mention of Daemon, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. It’s no secret that Otto sees you as another Daemon-in-the-making—bold, fiery, and likely to cause as much chaos as your uncle once did. But Corlys, undeterred, presses forward.

“The Prince is no Daemon, and it is folly to compare the two. Y/N is his father’s son, and he carries his mother’s heart in him as well. You speak of him as though he were already lost, yet he fights even now to return to us.”

Mellos interjects, his voice soft yet firm. “We must consider all possibilities. Should the worst happen, the realm would be thrown into disarray if another male heir is not secured. Queen Aemma’s pregnancy provides an opportunity to ensure stability. No one wishes harm upon Prince Y/N, but the Crown must prepare for all outcomes.”

The chamber falls silent as Viserys leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His eyes flicker from one lord to the next, the weight of their words heavy upon him. It is clear that this is not just about your health, but about the fear that haunts every Targaryen king—the fragility of power, and the burden of legacy.

At last, Viserys speaks, his voice measured but lined with steel. “Y/N is my son, my heir. He will recover. We will not speak of replacing him while he yet breathes and fights. The Queen’s child—should it be a boy—will not supplant my son’s birthright.”

The lords exchange uneasy glances, but none dare press the matter further. Otto’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes calculating, already plotting his next move. Corlys gives a satisfied nod, as if some silent victory has been won in this battle of words.

“Let us end this meeting,” Viserys declares, standing abruptly. “My son needs me at his side, not in this chamber, bickering over shadows.” With that, the King strides from the room, leaving the lords in tense silence.

The echoes of that discussion linger, the council divided, the seeds of doubt planted. But in the end, it is your fate, your strength, that will determine the realm’s future. Whether you rise again or fall will shape the course of House Targaryen’s history, and those who doubt you now will soon see just how much fire runs in your veins.

Alicent Hightower’s fingers work restlessly, picking at the skin around her nails until they redden, a nervous habit she can never seem to fully break. Her eyes, tinged with worry, flicker toward Rhaenyra, who paces before the hearth, her face a storm of emotions. The princess is rarely still, her movements a reflection of her restless energy. But today, there’s an undercurrent of unease in her steps.

Rhaenyra finally pauses, catching Alicent’s gaze, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re worried about him too, aren’t you?” Rhaenyra’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though it’s more for her brother than for Alicent. “Everyone is,” she adds, her tone a mix of annoyance and affection.

Alicent nods, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress as she carefully forms her next words. “I heard the fall was… grave. My brother, Gwayne, he’s been beside himself with worry. He asked after Prince Y/N’s condition, but I haven’t had the heart to tell him much, as I didn’t know the truth of it myself.” Her eyes search Rhaenyra’s for any sign of reassurance.

Rhaenyra gives a small, mirthless laugh, though there’s fondness in her voice. “It was a bad fall, yes. Several broken ribs, a twisted leg… it was awful to see him like that, especially with all the blood. But you know my brother—his head’s still intact, and that’s all he seems to care about. He was already jesting the moment I rushed in to see him after it happened. Can you imagine?” She shakes her head, lips curving slightly. “The first thing he told me was that the dragon landing was all Dallax’s fault, as if the creature hadn’t been trying to save him mid-air.”

Alicent lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The tension in her shoulders eases just a fraction, and despite herself, a soft smile graces her lips at Rhaenyra’s words. “That does sound like him,” she says quietly, her voice warm with a touch of relief. “He’s always been kind to me, even when others were not. I thought I might visit him, to see how he fares. But I didn’t want to intrude… especially with everything happening.”

Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes catch the shift in Alicent’s tone, the nervous edge behind her request. Her smirk returns, a knowing look that dances in her violet eyes. “Is that all, Alicent? You simply wish to return a kindness?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but it isn’t cruel—rather, it’s affectionate, as one might tease a younger sister.

Alicent’s cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink, and her fingers return to picking at the skin of her thumb. “I only thought it would be polite…” she trails off, clearly flustered under Rhaenyra’s knowing gaze.

“Polite,” Rhaenyra repeats, almost to herself, savoring the word like it’s some private joke. Then, with a mischievous glint, she steps closer and leans in as if sharing a secret. “Why don’t we visit him now, then?” she suggests, her voice both challenging and inviting. “I was planning to see him anyway, and I imagine he’s bored out of his mind. You’d be doing him a favor by distracting him from all the fussing Grand Maester Mellos has been doing.”

Alicent blinks, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. “Now?” she echoes, her heart skipping a beat. She had been expecting to arrange a visit discreetly, perhaps later in the day, but to go now, with no time to compose herself or prepare… She hesitates, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly. But then, she straightens her spine, smoothing out the folds of her dress. “Yes,” she replies with quiet resolve, the flush still faint on her cheeks. “Let’s go now.”

Rhaenyra’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “Good. He’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure of it.” She turns and leads the way, her stride confident and purposeful, and for a moment, Alicent is struck by how effortlessly her friend carries herself, a blend of grace and fire that draws everyone’s eyes.

Alicent hurries to match Rhaenyra’s pace, her thoughts racing as they walk down the long corridors of the Red Keep. She’s already imagining what she’ll say when she sees you, how she’ll carefully choose her words to avoid showing too much concern, or worse, revealing the affection she’s kept hidden for so long. It’s no secret that she and you share a certain awkwardness in each other’s presence, a tension that dances between propriety and something unspoken. But perhaps this visit will be different, she tells herself. Perhaps today she’ll find the courage to speak more freely, to let you see the care that lingers behind her usually composed exterior.

The clang of armor and the soft murmurs of passing courtiers fade into the background as the two young women make their way toward your chambers. The air seems heavier the closer they get, anticipation thickening with each step. Rhaenyra glances at Alicent from the corner of her eye, noting the way her friend’s hands twist together nervously. “You know,” Rhaenyra says casually, breaking the silence, “he’s probably expecting me to bring news of the council meeting. But I think he’ll be more interested in who I’ve brought along.”

Alicent’s breath hitches, but she quickly composes herself, offering a light, practiced smile. “I only hope I don’t disturb him.”

Rhaenyra chuckles softly. “Disturb him? You’re more likely to brighten his day, Alicent. He’s been locked away in that chamber long enough. I’d say he could use the company of someone with a gentle touch.”

As they near your chamber doors, the conversation fades, leaving only the echo of their footsteps in the dimly lit hallway. Alicent’s heart pounds in her chest, nerves battling with the quiet thrill of finally seeing you after days of anxious waiting. She takes a deep breath, her hand resting briefly over her stomach as if to steady herself, before glancing at Rhaenyra, who gives her an encouraging nod.

The heavy oak door creaks open, and the first thing Rhaenyra and Alicent see is Queen Aemma, heavily pregnant, perched on the edge of your bed, fussing over you with the care only a mother can give. Her hand smooths the unruly strands of silver hair from your forehead, her gaze filled with a mixture of sternness and deep worry.

“You should be resting more,” Aemma chides softly, adjusting the pillows behind you for the third time. “It’s a miracle you survived that fall. You push yourself too hard, my sweet boy.”

You chuckle, though the sound is edged with the discomfort you try to hide. “Mother, I’m hardly on death’s door,” you say, your voice light despite the tightness in your chest from the bruised ribs. “You’re embarrassing me, fussing like this in front of my guests. I’ve survived worse—remember the time Dallax nearly knocked me off during that storm over Dragonstone?”

Aemma gives you a look of mock disapproval, though her eyes glisten with affection. “That’s no reason for you to go risking your life every time you’re in the saddle. But I suppose I’ll leave you to your visitors. If you need anything, send for me at once.” She leans in, ignoring your protest, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Behave yourself, and don’t be too stubborn,” she adds with a small smile, before gracefully rising from the bed.

As she turns, Aemma’s gaze softens when she sees Rhaenyra and Alicent by the door. “He’s in good hands now,” she says warmly, giving Rhaenyra a brief but knowing smile, before excusing herself from the room.

Once Aemma is gone, Rhaenyra moves closer, her usual air of confidence returning as she grins down at you. “So, how is my brave brother faring today? Still planning to be back in the saddle by week’s end, or has the council convinced you to take up a life of courtly entertainment with Mushroom?”

You chuckle again, though it comes out more like a wince. “Well, if I can’t fly, I suppose I can stand in the throne room and juggle while Mushroom tells his bawdy tales. It might be just what the court needs to liven things up.” Your eyes gleam with amusement, though there’s a hint of frustration beneath your humor, the kind only Rhaenyra would notice. You’ve never been one to take well to being bedridden.

Rhaenyra snorts in amusement, shaking her head. “I’d pay good coin to see that. Though I doubt our dear father would find it as amusing as the rest of us.”

Your gaze drifts then, catching sight of Alicent standing just a little behind Rhaenyra, her hands clasped together nervously. She gives you a small, polite curtsy, her cheeks tinged with a soft flush. “Prince Y/N,” she greets, her voice gentle, almost tentative. “I heard about your fall, and… I was worried. I hope I’m not intruding by coming here. I—”

“Alicent,” you interrupt, your tone softening as your expression shifts into one of genuine warmth. The playful banter fades, replaced by something quieter, more sincere. “You could never be a bother. I’m glad you’re here, truly.” Your words seem to ease some of the tension from her shoulders, and the corner of your mouth lifts into a reassuring smile.

Rhaenyra looks between the two of you, her smirk deepening, though she wisely stays silent for the moment, letting the exchange unfold.

Alicent takes a hesitant step closer, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she looks down at her hands. “I… I wanted to bring you something,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper as she reaches into the pocket of her gown and retrieves a small, delicately woven ribbon in shades of deep crimson and gold. “It’s just a token, to wish you a swift recovery. I know it’s nothing much, but I thought…” She trails off, the blush deepening on her cheeks as she holds it out to you.

You reach out to take it, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment—a touch so light it’s almost imperceptible, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. The contact lingers in both of your thoughts longer than it physically lasts, and you catch the way her breath hitches slightly, the same way yours does. “Thank you, Alicent,” you say, your voice softer than before. “It means more than you know. I’ll keep it close—perhaps it’ll speed along this recovery of mine.” Your thumb brushes against the fabric of the ribbon, savoring the thoughtfulness behind the gift.

Alicent’s lips curl into a shy smile, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and something else—something tender that neither of you have the words for yet. “I’m glad… if it helps even a little,” she murmurs.

Rhaenyra, ever perceptive, clears her throat pointedly, though there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Well, now that you have such a fine token to aid in your recovery, brother, you’ll be back on your feet in no time. And if you do decide to take up juggling, I’ll make sure it’s the talk of the court.”

You roll your eyes at Rhaenyra’s teasing, but there’s warmth in your gaze as you turn back to Alicent. “Next time, maybe you could bring Gwayne along. I’m sure he’s been worrying just as much as you have.”

Alicent nods, still holding that shy smile. “I’ll see if he can visit soon. He’s always asking after you.”

Rhaenyra steps back, giving Alicent a pointed look before quirking an eyebrow at you. “So, shall we sit and keep you company, or do you have other princely duties to attend to from your bed?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, wincing slightly as your ribs protest. “I think I’m due for a bit of entertainment. It’s been dreadfully dull in here with nothing but Mellos’ remedies and reports from the small council. Stay—both of you.”

With that invitation, Rhaenyra finally settles into a chair near your bed, while Alicent quietly takes the seat on your other side. For a moment, a comfortable silence settles in, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the quiet sounds of the Red Keep outside your window.

But beneath that surface calm, there’s a new feeling—not unpleasant, but charged with possibilities unspoken. You and Alicent exchange brief, sidelong glances, your minds both swirling with thoughts you’re not yet ready to give voice to. And though Rhaenyra pretends to be absorbed in adjusting her skirts, you know your twin far too well to miss the satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

The morning sun filters through the stone arches of the courtyard, casting crooked shadows as you make your way through the Red Keep. The steady thunk of your cane against the cobblestones marks each step, your gait still uneven from the injury. Though you’re no longer bedridden, the limp remains, a constant reminder of the fall that nearly cost you everything. Despite this, there’s a quiet determination in your stride—strength buried beneath the calm exterior. The deaths of your mother and brother cloak your soul and heart with grief, but you continue to go on as months drag on. Because your mother would wish for you to stay strong, you know this in your bones.

You’re just about to reach the library when you hear the low, familiar drawl of your uncle, Daemon Targaryen. “Another council meeting, and once again, your name was left unspoken,” he says, stepping out from the shadows of a nearby pillar. His silver hair gleams in the light, and there’s a sharp edge to his eyes that matches the curve of his smile—part amusement, part disdain.

You pause, turning to meet his gaze, though you remain composed, unbothered by the subtle provocation. “I’m used to it by now, uncle,” you reply, your voice even, almost indifferent. It’s not a complaint, merely a fact, a truth you’ve come to accept. The small council rarely considers your presence necessary these days, not when Otto Hightower holds sway over your father and lords like Tyland Lannister whisper about the need for more ‘stability’ in the line of succession.

Daemon’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing. “Used to it?” he echoes, his voice dropping with barely contained irritation. “They push you aside as if you’re nothing more than an afterthought, a decoration. And you’ve grown comfortable with it?” He steps closer, the intensity in his gaze unmistakable. “You’re the king’s son, his heir, yet you let them treat you like some soft-spoken scribe, buried in books and songs while that leech Otto tightens his hold around your father’s neck.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the cane, though your expression remains calm. You meet his eyes steadily, unflinching in the face of his scorn. “I prefer to choose my battles, uncle,” you say quietly. “Like Dallax, I know when to show my teeth. There’s no sense in snapping them at shadows.”

Daemon scoffs, a mix of exasperation and grudging respect in his tone. “Spoken like a poet, not a dragon. You should be making them fear you, not waiting for the perfect moment that may never come. They should see fire in you, boy, not this... apathy.” His frustration is clear—he’s never had patience for subtleties or caution, preferring the boldness of action over waiting in the wings.

But you don’t flinch. You’ve long learned that the fire in your blood doesn’t need to be on display at every moment. “And where did being feared get you, uncle?” you ask with a hint of amusement in your voice. “You’ve been exiled twice, alienated half the court, and have more enemies than friends. If that’s the path you think I should follow, then perhaps I should throw more reckless tournaments and provoke the lords with tales of misrule.”

Daemon’s eyes flash, though there’s a hint of grudging admiration beneath the irritation. “Perhaps I’ve made mistakes, but at least I act. I don’t hide behind patience while others pull the strings. You speak of showing your teeth when the time is right, but when will that time come? When Otto’s scheming has woven its webs so thick that there’s no air left to breathe?”

You give a small, knowing smile. “You mistake stillness for inaction. Even a dragon rests before it strikes.” Then, with a touch of humor, you add, “And besides, Dallax may have thrown me, but I landed well enough.”

That draws a snort from Daemon. “Landed, yes. With a leg that’ll remind you of it every day.” Despite his harsh words, there’s a glimmer of reluctant approval in his eyes. “But you’ve got a point—Dallax hasn’t eaten you yet, so perhaps you’ve earned a measure of respect. Just don’t think that quiet strategy will protect you forever. Sooner or later, you’ll need to show them who you are, nephew. And when you do, make sure they remember it.”

You nod slightly, letting the words hang between you for a moment before you turn away, your pace deliberate as you resume your walk. “I’ll keep that in mind, uncle,” you call over your shoulder, a hint of dry humor lacing your tone. “Perhaps one day, we’ll both show them our teeth together—when it truly matters.”

Daemon watches you go, his eyes lingering on your form as you disappear into the corridors. Despite the tension, there’s an unspoken understanding between you. You both know that fire is not always meant to be unleashed at every provocation—it can burn hotter when contained, waiting for the moment to strike with devastating precision.

But for now, you choose patience, aware that when the time comes, it will be all the more powerful for having been held in check. As you leave your uncle behind, a small, satisfied smile touches your lips. You know your strength, and you’ll reveal it when it’s most needed—not before.

The fire crackles quietly in the small chamber as Alicent sits across from her father, Otto Hightower. The room is dimly lit by the glow of the hearth, and the air feels heavy with unspoken tension. Otto’s eyes are fixed on his daughter, sharp and calculating, as he recounts the events of the recent small council meeting.

“The council remains divided,” he begins, his tone measured. “The matter of succession is still a delicate topic, but it’s clear that the King will not remain unmarried for long. The realm demands stability, and he knows it.”

Alicent’s brow furrows, her head snapping up at the implication in her father’s words. “Father, you can’t possibly be suggesting—”

Otto’s gaze remains steady, unyielding. “I’m not suggesting, Alicent. I’m stating a reality. The King is vulnerable, grieving, and the pressure of the realm weighs heavily on him. It’s only a matter of time before he considers remarriage, and when he does, you must be ready.”

Alicent’s expression hardens, a rare defiance flickering in her eyes. “I won’t do it,” she says firmly, though there’s a tremor beneath her voice. “I won’t be used like this.”

Otto’s patience visibly thins, a tightness forming around his mouth. “Is this about the Prince?” he asks, his voice edged with irritation. “You’ve grown fond of him, haven’t you? You think that because he’s been kind to you, that he’s somehow different, somehow worthy of your loyalty?”

Alicent shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers twisting in her lap as she struggles to find the right words. “He is different,” she insists, though her voice is quieter now. “Y/N is the heir, Father. He’s kind, thoughtful, and gentle in ways that others aren’t. He doesn’t play these games like the rest of them do.”

Otto’s expression tightens, his frustration barely masked. “The boy is reckless,” he snaps, his tone cutting through her protest. “Too much like Daemon, whether you see it or not. He flies that dragon of his in dangerous stunts to impress the smallfolk, and he’s already alienated half the council with his indifference to their politics. You think kindness will make him a strong king? He’s more likely to lead the realm into chaos than rule it with a steady hand.”

Alicent’s chest tightens, anger flaring in her eyes. “He’s not Daemon!” she retorts, her voice stronger this time. “He’s nothing like him. Y/N has a heart that Daemon lacks, and he cares deeply for those close to him. You only see what you want to see because it fits your plans.”

Otto’s eyes narrow, his patience worn thin. “And you see him through the lens of a girl smitten by his gentle words and kind gestures. You think he’ll protect you from the harsh realities of court, but you’re wrong, Alicent. This isn’t about what you want—it’s about what the realm needs. The King’s decision must be guided carefully, and you will play your part.”

Alicent’s heart races, her throat tightening with a mixture of fear and resentment. She knows there’s little room for argument when her father takes this tone. “I won’t betray him,” she whispers, her resolve wavering under the weight of her father’s expectations.

Otto leans forward, his gaze intense. “You’re not betraying him, you’re securing your future—and the future of our house. You will do what’s necessary when the time comes. The King’s affections can be swayed, and when they are, you must be there. You’re a clever girl, Alicent. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. Remember, loyalty to your house comes first.”

She lowers her gaze, the firelight casting shadows across her face. The thought of maneuvering against someone she’s grown to care for—a young man who has only ever shown her kindness—makes her stomach twist with guilt. But Otto’s expectations press down like a vice, and she knows all too well the consequences of disobedience.

“Prepare yourself,” Otto says, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “When I give the word, you must be ready to act.”

Alicent swallows, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of her father’s will. She nods, unable to muster more than that, her mind churning with conflicted thoughts as she tries to reconcile the path being laid out before her. Her heart aches with the burden of what she knows may come—sacrificing her desires for the sake of duty.

As the conversation falls into a tense silence, the crackling of the fire is the only sound that remains.

The Red Keep is quiet in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting shadows through the stone corridors. You walk with only a slight hitch in your step now, the limp almost entirely gone after months of healing. It’s a small victory, but one that fills you with a new sense of freedom, a reminder that you’ve come through the worst of it. Yet, as you round the corner into one of the smaller courtyards, the sight that meets you sends a jolt of concern straight through your chest.

Alicent is seated on a stone bench beneath a tall tree, her shoulders trembling with barely contained sobs. Her hands cover her face, and even from a distance, you can hear the quiet, heart-wrenching sounds of her crying. It’s a rare thing to see her like this; Alicent is usually so composed, so careful in maintaining the image of poise that’s expected of her. But here, alone—or so she thought—she’s unraveling.

Without a second thought, you approach her, the concern plain in your eyes. “Alicent,” you call softly, your voice gentle, almost hesitant as you close the distance between you. She startles slightly at the sound of your voice, quickly wiping at her tears in a futile attempt to regain her composure. But it’s clear that the floodgates have already opened, and there’s no hiding the raw emotion in her eyes.

“Y/N,” she manages, her voice catching as she forces a tremulous smile. “I didn’t think anyone would be here…”

You kneel down in front of her, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in your leg. “What’s happened?” you ask, your voice full of warmth and concern. “You’re crying, Alicent. Talk to me. What’s troubling you?”

For a moment, she can’t meet your eyes, her hands clenching in her lap as she struggles to hold back more tears. But when she finally looks at you, the anguish in her gaze cuts straight to your heart. “It’s my father,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession. “He’s… he’s been instructing me, pushing me to get close to the King. He… he wants me to…” Her words trail off as a fresh wave of tears spills down her cheeks. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be a pawn in his games.”

Your expression softens even further as you take in the depth of her distress. Without hesitation, you reach out and gently cup her cheek, wiping away her tears with the pad of your thumb. “You’re not a pawn,” you murmur, your voice low and steady, infused with a tenderness that you reserve only for her. “You’re Alicent—kind, thoughtful, more than any of these schemes or plots.”

She closes her eyes at your touch, leaning into the comfort you offer, as if drawing strength from your presence. “But what choice do I have?” she whispers, her voice cracking. “He’s my father. If I don’t do as he asks, I’ll be seen as disobedient… or worse. I feel trapped, Y/N, and I hate it. I hate how helpless I feel.”

The fierce protectiveness that surges through you is almost overwhelming. You lean in closer, your other hand finding hers and holding it firmly, grounding her. “You’re not helpless,” you say with quiet determination. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You have my word, Alicent. No matter what schemes your father or anyone else tries to weave, I’ll be there. You’re not alone in this.”

Her eyes snap open at your words, searching your face for any hint of doubt, but all she finds is unwavering sincerity. There’s a softness in your gaze that she’s come to rely on, a steadiness that offers her a sense of safety she’s found nowhere else. “But how can you protect me from all of this?” she asks, her voice laced with desperation. “You can’t control what the King decides, or what my father pushes me to do.”

You smile, a gentle curve of your lips that holds both reassurance and quiet confidence. “Perhaps I can’t change everything,” you admit, your thumb still brushing away her tears. “But I can stand by you. I can make sure you don’t have to face any of this alone. And if they try to force your hand, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

Her breath catches at the intensity of your words, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the weight of courtly duties and schemes fading into the background. She clings to your hand, drawing strength from the way your fingers entwine with hers. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “You don’t know how much it means to hear that.”

You squeeze her hand gently, offering a small but genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy, Alicent, not burdened with all these games. Whatever happens, you have a choice—and I’ll be here, no matter what.”

There’s a long pause as she looks at you, her heart in her eyes. It’s a look that speaks of more than just gratitude; it’s a mixture of emotions that neither of you can quite name yet, a deepening connection that lingers just beneath the surface. “I believe you,” she says softly, her voice steadying at last.

For a moment longer, you stay there, kneeling in front of her, your presence a quiet but steadfast comfort. The world outside the courtyard feels distant, irrelevant. Here, in this quiet corner of the Red Keep, the schemes and pressures of power seem to hold no sway.

As you help her rise to her feet, your hand still holding hers, you can see a spark of resolve returning to her eyes. “You are not alone,” you tell her, a promise wrapped in those simple words.

And for the first time in what feels like ages, Alicent allows herself to hope that she won’t be swallowed by the games of court—that, with you by her side, she might find a way to reclaim her own path amidst the chaos.

The council chamber is as it always is—filled with tension and the murmur of hushed conversations as lords and advisors deliberate the future of the realm. The lords gathered around the table speak in low voices, with Otto Hightower presiding over the meeting with his usual composed authority. Viserys, looking more weary than ever, listens half-heartedly as discussions about trade routes and tax levies dominate the conversation. Rhaenyra stands off to the side, holding the wine jug as she fulfills her role as cupbearer, her expression one of faint boredom—until the door suddenly creaks open.

All heads turn as you stride into the chamber, unannounced, your cane in hand though you walk with almost no noticeable limp. The lords freeze in surprise, the very air growing still as you make your way directly to your seat at the council table. Your presence is commanding, purposeful, as if you’ve planned this moment down to the finest detail. Rhaenyra’s eyes gleam with amusement as she watches from the sidelines, a smirk curling her lips—she’s the only one in the room not taken aback by your unexpected arrival.

The council members shift uncomfortably in their seats, unsure how to respond. Otto Hightower is the first to speak, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation. “Your Grace, this is most inappropriate. You were not summoned—”

You cut him off sharply, your gaze piercing as it sweeps across the table. “And it is most inappropriate that I have not been summoned to these talks,” you say coolly, your tone brooking no argument. “I am the heir to the throne, yet it seems my presence is no longer deemed necessary while decisions are made that affect my future and that of this realm.”

Viserys opens his mouth to intercede, but you raise a hand, your eyes never leaving Otto’s. “Save your apologies, Father,” you continue, your voice growing firmer. “This is not a matter of oversight or courtesy. It’s a matter of respect—respect that has been slowly eroding while certain parties here conspire to keep me in the dark.”

Beesbury and Tyland exchange nervous glances, both lords visibly shifting in their seats. The weight of your accusation hangs in the air like a blade, unspoken but understood by all. Otto, however, remains collected, though there’s a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes. “No one seeks to replace you, Prince Y/N,” Viserys says, attempting to smooth over the tension. “You are my son, and my heir. There is no question about that.”

You scoff, your gaze now locked onto Otto with unyielding intensity. “Is that so?” you reply, your voice laced with challenge. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe when whispers circulate through the court, and when my own seat at this table has been deliberately left empty.” Your gaze flickers briefly to Beesbury and Tyland, who both quickly avert their eyes, before returning to Otto. “I know about the talks. I know about the concerns for the continuation of the Targaryen bloodline. If that is what worries this council so deeply, then perhaps it is time I address it myself.”

The room goes utterly silent, every lord and advisor hanging onto your next words. Viserys looks puzzled, while Rhaenyra’s smirk widens, her eyes alight with curiosity and pride. “What are you saying?” Viserys asks, trying to understand where this is leading.

You straighten in your chair, your voice clear and decisive as you deliver your next statement. “I have decided that I will marry.”

The words drop like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples of shock through the room. Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, while several of the lords exchange stunned looks. Even Rhaenyra, though aware of your intentions, seems momentarily caught off guard by how bluntly you’ve declared it. But the greatest reaction comes from Otto Hightower, who immediately tenses, his carefully constructed mask of composure slipping just slightly.

“Marry?” Otto repeats, disbelief tinging his voice. “Your Grace, this is a most sudden decision—”

“Sudden, perhaps,” you say, cutting him off again, “but necessary. If the continuation of the Targaryen line is such a concern, then I will see to it myself. And I already know who I intend to wed.”

The room waits with bated breath, every eye fixed on you as you pause for dramatic effect. Then, with absolute certainty, you deliver the bombshell: “I will marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”

A shocked silence follows, broken only by the sound of Otto’s breath catching in his throat. The lords gape, disbelief etched into their faces, and Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of confusion and relief crossing his features. But it is Otto whose reaction is most striking—his face blanches, a rare display of genuine shock. “This is…” he begins, clearly scrambling for control, “This is not—”

You turn to him, your expression hardening, your voice cold and edged. “Are you offended, Lord Hand?” you ask pointedly. “That your daughter would one day be Queen? Is this not the very opportunity you’ve sought?”

Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out as he searches for a response. You can see him weighing his options, assessing whether to push back or accept the twist of fate you’ve thrown at him. Before he can gather his wits, Corlys Velaryon’s deep voice rumbles through the chamber, breaking the silence.

“If Lord Hightower finds this match disagreeable, perhaps the Prince would consider my daughter, Laena, instead. The blood of Old Valyria would be preserved, and such a union would strengthen House Targaryen’s ties with the Velaryons.”

You hold back a smile at Corlys’s calculated offer, knowing full well that he’s taking advantage of Otto’s moment of hesitation. Otto’s eyes narrow at Corlys’s interjection, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he realizes he’s being cornered. Backing down would mean missing out on the very outcome he’s been subtly maneuvering toward, even if it wasn’t quite in the manner he’d intended.

After a long moment, Otto exhales slowly, carefully regaining his composure. “Of course, Your Grace,” he finally says, his tone clipped but respectful. “I… only wish for what is best for both you and the realm. If this is your decision, then I will see to it that the arrangements are made.”

You nod, satisfied, as you see the acceptance in his eyes. “Good,” you reply, your voice firm and unyielding. “Because I have no intention of letting anyone else dictate the future of this house. The realm needs strength, unity, and continuity, and I will see that it is achieved—on my terms.”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, realizing that they’ve just witnessed a pivotal shift in the dynamics of power within the Red Keep. Rhaenyra’s smirk remains, her eyes gleaming with admiration as she watches you assert your authority, while Viserys seems both relieved and unsettled by your newfound determination.

As the meeting continues, there’s no doubt left in anyone’s mind—you are no longer the sidelined prince. You are a force to be reckoned with, and the council now understands that you will not be ignored or underestimated.

The sun filters softly through the arched windows of the Red Keep, casting warm golden light over the ladies of the court as they gather in one of the sewing chambers. The room is filled with the gentle murmur of idle conversation, the sound of thread sliding through fabric, and the occasional soft laugh. Alicent sits among them, her focus on the delicate embroidery she’s working on. Her hands move with practiced grace, though her thoughts are distant, lingering on the conversation she had with her father and the weight of the expectations he’s placed on her.

She’s lost in her thoughts when a familiar figure bursts into the room with the energy of a brewing storm. Rhaenyra sweeps into the chamber, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Alicent. The princess’s expression is one of unbridled excitement, a grin wide and mischievous spreading across her face. “Alicent!” she calls out, her voice ringing with barely contained glee.

The ladies of the court look up from their work, startled by the princess’s sudden entrance. Alicent rises from her seat, her brow furrowing in confusion as she sets aside her embroidery. “Rhaenyra,” she says warmly, though with a hint of uncertainty. “What’s gotten into you? You look like a dragon who’s caught a sheep.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, her grin widening as she takes Alicent’s hands in her own. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” she says, her eyes alight with barely restrained amusement.

Alicent blinks, bewilderment etched across her delicate features. “Congratulate me?” she repeats, glancing around at the other ladies, who are now watching the exchange with rapt attention. “I don’t understand—what are you talking about?”

Rhaenyra leans in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for the other ladies to hear and exchange curious glances. “You don’t know? Oh, Alicent, you’re going to be married.”

The world seems to tilt for Alicent, her breath catching in her throat as her heart pounds wildly in her chest. “Married?” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. “What… what do you mean? To whom?”

Rhaenyra’s grin softens into something more sincere as she watches the realization dawn on Alicent’s face. “To my brother, of course. Y/N announced it himself in the council meeting not half an hour ago. He declared that he’s decided to marry you.”

For a moment, the room seems to spin, the words hitting Alicent like a physical blow. Her chest tightens, and she feels a flush rise up her neck as her mind races to catch up with what she’s just heard. “He… he said that?” she asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else—something that makes her heart skip a beat.

Rhaenyra nods, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she squeezes Alicent’s hands. “He did. Right there in front of everyone. You should have seen the look on Father’s face—he was stunned, and Otto nearly choked on his own breath. And you know what’s even better? He said it with such certainty, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He’s chosen you, Alicent. You’re going to be a queen one day.”

Alicent’s legs feel weak beneath her as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Her mind flashes back to the conversation with her father, to the pressure and expectations, to the fear that she would be forced into a match she had no say in. But this—this is something entirely different. Y/N chose her. Not because of Otto’s schemes or because it was expected, but because he decided it. The thought is overwhelming, both terrifying and thrilling all at once.

She struggles to find her voice, her emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of disbelief, gratitude, and apprehension. “I… I never imagined…” she stammers, unable to form a coherent sentence as she tries to process what this means for her.

Rhaenyra’s expression softens as she sees the turmoil in Alicent’s eyes. “You’re shaking,” she says gently, releasing one of Alicent’s hands to brush a stray tear from her friend’s cheek. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you should have seen the way he spoke about it. He was so resolute, so determined. And you—you deserve this happiness, Alicent. You deserve someone who sees you as more than just a tool in their schemes.”

Alicent’s breath shudders as she tries to regain control of her racing thoughts. “But what if… what if this is just another game? What if he’s being pushed into this?” she whispers, her voice laced with fear and doubt.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, her expression turning fierce. “No. This isn’t like that. My brother’s no fool, and he’s not one to be forced into anything he doesn’t want. This was his choice, and I think it’s about time someone reminded the court that he’s more than capable of making his own decisions.” Her grin returns, wry and full of pride. “And besides, I think you know him better than anyone else. You’ve seen how he looks at you.”

Alicent’s eyes widen, and a fresh flush colors her cheeks. She’s known for some time that there’s been an unspoken connection between her and Y/N, but she never dared to hope it would lead to something so monumental. The thought of being his wife, of standing beside him as queen—it’s as daunting as it is exhilarating.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she finally manages, her voice thick with emotion.

Rhaenyra’s smile softens into something more tender as she pulls Alicent into a warm embrace. “Then don’t say anything yet. Let it sink in. But know this—you’re not alone, Alicent. You have me, and you have him. And now, you have a future that’s yours to shape.”

As they part, the ladies of the court begin whispering excitedly among themselves, the news spreading like wildfire through the chamber. But Alicent barely notices, her mind still spinning as she tries to grasp the enormity of what’s just been revealed. For better or worse, everything has changed in the span of a single afternoon.

And somewhere deep in her heart, beneath the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of hope begins to bloom.

The sound of your boots echoes as you step into the Dragonpit, each footfall deliberate and heavy against the ancient stone floor. The cavernous space looms around you, darkened by shadows cast by the great arches above, yet the air hums with the presence of power—dragons and their keepers. You wear a deep, crimson coat embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of coiling dragons, the rich fabric tailored perfectly to your frame. Beneath it, your tunic is a dark charcoal, cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt, and black riding gloves encase your hands. Your hair, a cascade of silver, is tied back in a loose knot, allowing a few strands to catch the breeze. The light armor you wear, adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen, adds an edge of battle-readiness to your regal attire. Today is not merely for show—it’s a declaration of your return to the skies.

The Dragonkeepers, clad in leather armor and bearing the scars of long service to the dragons, bow slightly as you approach. Their deference is not out of fear, but out of respect for what is to come. With a silent nod from their leader, they move aside to reveal the imposing silhouette of your dragon.

Dallax emerges from the shadows, his massive form a study in sleek, predatory grace. His scales are a deep, inky black that gleams like polished obsidian under the faint light. Unlike most dragons, his eyes are not the usual shade of fire-yellow; they are a striking, luminescent green, gleaming with intelligence and an almost unsettling awareness. His pupils narrow to slits as he focuses on you, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His body is built for agility and speed, lean but powerful, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. But it’s his teeth that make him most unique—when he’s calm, they are hidden away, retracting into his jaw, giving him a deceptively benign appearance. But you know better; when agitated or in the heat of battle, those teeth emerge like rows of daggers, sharp and menacing. It’s no wonder Rhaenyra affectionately calls him “Toothless” when she’s in a playful mood.

You take in the sight of him, a thrill running through your veins. It’s been months since you last mounted him, but the bond between you remains unshaken, as if it were a living thing forged in fire and blood. Dallax’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the unspoken understanding passes between dragon and rider. He has waited, patient but eager, for this moment as much as you have.

The Dragonkeepers pull back as you stride forward, your limp almost unnoticeable now, a testament to the months of recovery you’ve endured. With a firm hand, you reach up and grasp the saddle harness, your fingers gripping the familiar leather. In one smooth motion, you pull yourself up and swing your leg over Dallax’s back. You settle into the saddle, feeling the comforting weight of the straps as you secure yourself. Dallax shifts beneath you, his wings unfurling slightly, the dark membrane stretching wide, catching the breeze as if testing the air.

You take a deep breath, the scent of leather, smoke, and ancient stone filling your senses. “Fly,” you whisper in High Valyrian, a command and a plea all at once.

With a growl that vibrates through his entire frame, Dallax lowers himself briefly before launching into the air with a powerful surge of muscle. The ground falls away beneath you as his wings beat with precision, each stroke lifting you higher until the walls of the Dragonpit are a blur. The rush of wind tears at your hair, your coat billowing behind you like a banner as Dallax ascends into the open sky.

As you break free into the sunlight, the city of King’s Landing sprawls out below, the rooftops and winding streets glinting in the late afternoon light. Dallax roars—a sound both thrilling and terrifying—as he soars above the Red Keep, his shadow sweeping across the stone battlements like a predator stalking its prey.

From her chambers, Alicent stands by the window, her eyes fixed on the sky as she watches you fly. Her hands are clasped in front of her, a mixture of awe and fondness in her expression as she traces your flight path. You cut through the clouds with an effortless grace, Dallax responding to every shift of your body as if you are one being. For the first time in what feels like ages, there’s no tension in Alicent’s shoulders, only the quiet joy of seeing you in your element—free and commanding, a true Targaryen heir.

Behind her, Otto Hightower steps forward, his expression a mix of calculation and displeasure. He watches silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he observes the ease with which you handle your dragon, the majesty of it undeniable. “He’s just like his uncle,” Otto mutters, more to himself than to Alicent. “All fire and pride—reckless.”

Alicent doesn’t turn to face her father, but her smile lingers, soft and secret. “Perhaps,” she replies, her voice distant, her gaze still following your every move. “But there is more to him than you see, Father.”

Otto’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he says nothing more, turning away from the window. To him, dragons are dangerous, unpredictable forces that must be controlled. But to you, they are freedom itself—a reminder that no matter how thick the walls of the Red Keep or how intricate the webs of intrigue, you are a dragonrider first and foremost, and no one can cage that fire.

As you guide Dallax into a steep dive, pulling up at the last moment to skim over the rooftops of the city, you feel a deep, exhilarating rush. The wind in your face, the roar of your dragon, and the vast sky stretched out before you—it’s a sensation unmatched by anything else, a reminder that the world is yours to claim, one way or another.

You circle back toward the Red Keep, allowing Dallax to level out and glide effortlessly. From below, you see Alicent at the window, her face turned upward, her smile radiant and full of something unspoken—pride, affection, and hope. For a brief moment, you dip your wings in her direction, a silent acknowledgment that she sees you for who you are, beyond the politics and the expectations.

#house of the dragon #hotd alicent #hotd #alicent x y/n #alicent x you #alicent x reader #alicent hightower #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x male reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #daemon targaryen #otto hightower

484 notes · View notes

7s3ven · 5 days ago

Text

SINGLE DAD! X BABYSITTER! READER HAS ME FROTHING OMGG. Even better when the rest of TF 141 is involved

part 1 | part 2 (coming soon - rest of tf 141 introduced)

master list

MDNI 18+

Warnings: big age gap, babysitter! reader, reader is in medical school (but still legal guys)

You told yourself it was just a temporary summer job, something to fill your pockets over the Summer break as you moved into another year of university. Medical bills were not easy to pay off and your old job that paid the bare minimum did not help you in the least. All it taught you was that you had a nasty uppercut (from the time you actually hit someone and got fired).

So, you found yourself standing in front of John Price’s house. You stared up at the tall building, brows raised in surprise. He had understated how big his house was… it even had a garden and a pool. You may as well consider it a mansion.

You quickly rang the doorbell, smoothening out your tight blouse. Your much more appropriate one was in the wash so you prayed whoever answered the door did not notice.

It was a tall middle-aged who greeted you, beard cleanly trimmed and… a hat on his head. “Y/N L/N?” He asked you. You swiftly nodded, softly smiling when he stepped aside.

“So, medical school, huh? Training to become a doctor?” He asks as he brews you a cup of tea while you read over his terms and conditions.

“A surgeon, sir. Not much better, though.” You offer him another smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension.

“Right. Next time I need surgery, I’ll call you up.” He takes a sip from your tea, which you notice but you say nothing. “Just checkin’ the temperature. Wouldn’t want ya to burn yourself.” He hands you the mug, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment too long.

“I assume this is only a quick job for you? Just away to gain a bit of money to pay those student fees off?”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you nod. “Yes, sir. I know I should have clarified it but I’m a little desperate at this point. Besides, no retail places want to hire me… after I hit someone.”

Your words intrigued him. He let out a low chuckle as he sat across from you. “Now I’m interested.”

“Well… there’s not much to it… a guy kept staring at my chest. He said some vulgar stuff and next thing I knew, I was punching him.”

Price shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “The lad was askin’ for it. So, what do you think about the job? You’ll honestly be a glorified babysitter. Just do some cleaning and cookin’ here and there and make my baby happy and you’ll get a nice pay check every week.”

It all happened in a blur. You agreed to the job and weeks later, you found yourself at Price’s house more than your apartment. You hadn’t stepped foot into your apartment since two days ago, Price generously allowing you to use one of the guest rooms.

“Lila has a sleepover tomorrow.” Price mentions as you’re reading the instructions on how to make cookies for Lila’s bake sale.

Based on the cooking skills you had seen from Price, you doubted he could bake very well. In fact, all he could cook was steak, which was general knowledge for dads.

“I can drop her off if needed.” You offer while opening the packet of flour only for it to explode in your face. You smacked your lips together, grimacing. “Not a word.” You mutter to Price who’s chuckling under his breath.

“Wasn’t gon’ a say anything, love.” He helps wipe the flour dust off your face, still grinning in amusement.

In all honesty, your relationship with Price felt a little too domesticated, especially right now as you wore a frilly apron he had bought just for you.

“Your skirt’s too short, by the way.” Price grumbles, attempting to tug it down. “You sure no creeps stared at you on your way ‘ere? Wouldn’t want ya in danger.”

You push his hands away from your hips. “Even if people were staring, I’ll just punch them.”

You had tried to maintain a professional relationship with your boss but it was hard when he carelessly manhandled you and treated you like his wife rather than his daughter’s babysitter.

And all professional behaviour came crashing down when he unexpectedly stood behind you as you whisked the cookie batter.

“You look like a coke addict.” Price jokes, referring to the flour that still stained your face. “Like you got it everywhere but up your nose.”

“I can assure you, sir, I have never tried coke unless my friend daring me to snort sherbet counts.”

Price grins at your biting remark, his heavy hands falling to your waist. “Yeah? Heard it doesn’t feel too good with sherbet.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His hands trail dangerously low but you don’t have the courage to ask him to stop… nor do you really want him too. He seems to sense your willingness as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, body pressed up tightly against yours.

You feel more like his spoiled wife than a medical student just trying to pay her bills.

“You’re pretty, ya know that? Surprised you don’ have a boyfriend… or girlfriend. Or partner. Dunno what your label is.”

With shaking hands, you place the bowl filled with cookie batter to the side, afraid you’ll only spill it.

“Never met a woman as soft as you… most think I chased Lila’s mother away. But nah. Her mother ran off, leavin’ me with a baby. Not that I’m complaining, I love Lila… and without her, I wouldn’ have met you.”

You’re reduced to listening to Price’s words, stuck between his larger frame and the marbled kitchen counter.

“Sir.” You whisper but it reaches his keen ears. Everything after that is a distorted blur and you find yourself bent over the counter, clad in nothing but the apron, with Price right behind you.

Price was a mystery to you. How could a man be turned on by something as simple as an apron? Though, he was a single dad so it made sense.

Price is muttering praises in your ears as your knees tremble, threatening to buckle. You never imagined you’d be in your employer’s kitchen, having your back blown out by the man himself.

His hands were hungrily climbing your body, gripping every bit of exposed skin he could find. If it wasn’t for him holding you upright, you would have toppled to the ground in a heartbeat.

You feel Price lift a hand to grip your hair, tugging at your locks. He’s in a desperate stupor but you’re not any better, pushing back your hips to meet his harsh thrusts.

“Gon’ a fill ya up. Give you a baby of yer own. Fuck… be so pretty just like you. My perfect little wife.” He grunts in your ear. You have no energy to correct him; that you’re not actually his wife but you’d have no complaints if he bought you a ring.

If anything, his words spur you on more.

Your chest is heaving by the time you near your release. You’re whining like a damn dog, high pitched noises slipping past your saliva-slicked lips. And you only grow in volume as Price speeds up, pressing his body against your back.

He’s older than you, that’s a fact you knew from the start, but he’s definitely more experienced as well. His well thought out words have the desired effect on you as the coil in your stomach snaps.

Your fluids drip down your exposed legs, hitting the tiles kitchen ground in thick droplets. You hear Price swear under his breath, quickly pulling out and staining your back white.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. Then he leads you towards his bathroom, ushering you inside and handing you a spare set of clothes.

“Imma place your old ones in the washing, yeah?” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you to wash off.

You sit on the shower floor for a good five minutes, replaying the moment in your head. When you finally cleanse yourself of sweat, you slip Price’s shirt over your head, inhaling the intoxicating smell of his cologne. It was the one you liked too.

His clothes engulfed you as you stumbled back into the kitchen, hobbling a little.

“I guess I’ll… get going then.” You murmur, fidgeting with your hands.

Price reaches out a hand to brush a strand of hair away from your face. Then he nods. “See you tomorrow night, lovie.”

Right, you still had to finish those cookies and pick up your clothes.

#john soap mctavish x reader #kyle cod #cod x you #ghost cod x reader #cod john price #gaz cod #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john soap mactavish #john price cod #john price x you #simon riley x you #kyle gaz garrick #task force 141 x reader #task force 141

402 notes · View notes

kaszuma · 6 months ago

Text

Certainly Yours | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 1 of "Certainly Yours"

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro × fem!reader

summary: you and soshiro had been friends for a while now. But sometimes he really tests those boundaries of his

warnings: none. Just light touches but nothing suggestive.

wc: 1,420

note: first time writing for Hoshina. Sorry if there are inconsistencies or mistakes.

Soshiro Hoshina had always been unreadable. Even in the most dire of circumstances, you were always one step behind at predicting the carefully planned steps he took whenever you had the chance of encountering him.

It was evident in the fact that his smile never seemed to reach the crinkles under his eyes. And that cat-like appearance of his, though slackened. Had always made you feel as if he had been observing things thoroughly from a distance. Watching with keen interest as if he knew more than he let others perceive him to know.

And today was no exception.

The constant proximity between each other had been…frustrating to say the least. Whether that would be brushing his shoulders against your own during official meetings. Or placing a steady hand on the small of your back as he moved across the very open spaces of the hallway. You couldn't help but sneak glances at the way his expression had not changed one bit. In fact, it looked rather bemused. As if ignorant to the little touches he'd stolen from you during work. Let alone the glances you two would share even when Captain Ashiro had been right in front of you. Discussing more important matters that surely the Vice Captain had not been listening to.

But to your surprise, he always did. And was usually the first to provide solutions whenever the captain would ask. Leaving you to be the one flustered as you had not been distracted by his knowing gaze.

Because of this, your mind was instantly on the lookout for his next scheme.

I mean who would blame you?

You couldn't help but think this was all another gimmick of his. Entertainment. Just like how he had taken interest in that new recruit they had gotten recently. His motivations are as sly as they are intriguing it seems. And the more you try to decipher his laid-back facade, the less information you get. Keeping his cards close to his chest, as usual.

The Vice Captain had always been like that. His earnesty was often hidden from prying eyes. Though very few were privy to it, there were only very few who were familiar to him. Even Okonogi; likely the one who stuck around with the two Captains, would just let out a sigh at his jubilant expressions.

It had only been a good few years since you had been deployed to work under the Defense Force. Tasked on maintaining the Combat Suits in the case that they needed upgrades, or maybe a few repairs. And since then, the Vice Captain of the Third Division's force had always hovered behind like a thorn on your side.

Close enough so that it's able to poke and scratch you, but far enough away that it doesn't overstay its welcome. Yet somehow you lingered for those touches to stay just a little longer.

His usual friendly quips and visits had been frequent. But they were always curt, his teasing would always leave you with heated cheeks before he would soon disappear as quickly as he came. Like a storm who came to pass by momentarily. He was sure to make a mess out of you.

But the tension had always been palpable between you and Soshiro. Especially now when he had just so happened to enter the premises of your Lab. Wearing that familiar Tight-fitting Combat Suit of his. Respiratory mask and all.

“Vice Captain.” you had smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you grace me with your presence.”

“Just a maintenance check.” He replied just as quickly. Making you raise a suspicious brow.

“Oh really?” You had moved away from the desk. Neatly brushing away the stack of blueprints that had been piling up. Likely a courtesy from Izumo Tech who were your previous employers. “What's wrong with the suit?”

Hoshina had not wasted a second to step much closer to you. And though normally you would feel a little giddy from his proximity, you wasted no effort to move closer yourself. Hand against the coarse texture of his Combat Suit that hugged the hard ridges of his body. Willingly searching around for any such deformities in the armor. As even the slightest malfunction can mean life or death for frontliners like him. But alas, no such cracks were found. Leaving you to stare at his unwavering eyes.

“I don't see anything wrong with it. Can you tell me anything specific that I can fix up?”

Soshiro had hummed for a moment. Taking his time as he pretended to be deep in thought.

“I guess there's none that I can think of.” Soshiro had let out a soft chuckle. And although the mask had covered half of his face, you could tell that grin of his was definitely there.

“What? Then why did you even come here?”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again.

“Aren't I allowed to visit a friend?”

And you couldn't help but playfully roll your eyes. The clear faux reasoning of his was amusing at most. But it's definitely making you second guess yourself.

“Friend you say?” You had chuckled, leaning back on your chair whilst facing him. His form had towered over you who had been caged against the chair and his arms.

“First time I've heard of it.” You shrugged. More of a jest in your tone.

“Hey now, and here I thought we had something special.” He chuckled, displaying faux hurt.

And you couldn't help but be frustrated at the way he so meticulously words things.

Something special, huh?

If it were any girl, they'd probably start getting delusional from his words alone. But Soshiro was someone who had no trouble deceiving. Facades and all. And you knew better than to take his words at face value.

But if it were not a joke, then..

…

“Are we Friends?” You had asked again. Just to make sure that you had not been misunderstanding things.

And there was another moment of silence between both parties.

You didn't know exactly what came over you at the moment. It just blurted out, almost as if you had been so frustrated at the way he tiptoed around you. Any confrontation, any meaningful conversation would always be cut short as soon as it started.

And you wonder if you had made the mistake of mentioning the giant elephant in the room.

His expression is as unreadable as ever. And for a moment, you thought you had made a fool out of yourself. Maybe whatever hint he was playing at had all been in your head. As if you had convinced yourself somehow that his interest in you was something more. Something that could indeed grow special. But second-guessing is part of Soshiro's package. And you can't really trade one without the other.

And for a moment a sinking feeling had placed itself in the pit of your stomach. Like you had made a painfully unwise decision that would leave you embarrassed for the next seven years of your life.

But Hoshina had simply stared. It felt like only mere seconds before he leaned in. Hands gripping the arms of the chair you sat on. Effectively trapping you with his body. With no chance of escaping away from his answer.

And just as you are sandwiched between him and the back of the chair. His face had neared your ear. And you could hear the faint breaths from the mask he wore.

“I'm yours certainly. Whether you are mine is up to you.”

His voice had gone an octave lower. And it made you wonder if you were truly hearing him right.

Yeah, no. Friend was definitely not the right word for this. But the admission of it was harder to coax out of him than when you had internalized the thought. The only way to have him say it straight is if you yourself came in like a bull seeing red.

And you sigh at your own lack of subtlety. “Is that your way of asking me out?”

“Maybe.” The slight hesitation in his answer made you raise your brow at him. And you end up sighing, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“Your delivery could use some work.”

“I know.” He spoke with an awkward smile. “Do I take that as a yes?”

You smiled. This time, intent on playing his game of cat and mouse. “Maybe.”

And god will you be the death of him.

#kaiju no. 8 #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #kn8 #kn8 x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #definitely self indulgent #might make a part 2 #friends to lovers #cheeky bastard #anime

612 notes · View notes

tzuyubb · 10 months ago

Text

Hot Spring Group Pleasure

Pairing: TWICE Tzuyu x CLC Elkie x Male reader

Word Count: 1877 words

Tags: Gangbang, interracial, handjob, blowjob, deep penetration, rough sex, all holes filled, creampie, ahegao, mind break

A/N: Now I understand why writers don’t like to write gangbang smuts 😂 This was pretty difficult to write but hopefully it came out alright.

Tzuyu and Elkie had always been an interesting duo. Elkie loved to push the innocent and reserved Tzuyu’s boundaries, urging her to try new things, especially when it came to her sexuality. So when she heard about this special secluded hot spring in Japan, she knew she had to bring Tzuyu to check it out.

The hot spring was deep in the mountains, with the hike to it being long and arduous. Tzuyu complained ‘Elkie, how much further do we have to go?’. ‘We are almost there. It will all be worth it, trust me.’ Elkie replied playfully.

After an hour-long hike, they finally arrived at the hot spring. At the entrance, Tzuyu noticed a sign, which read “Mixed-gender hot spring. 8-person maximum occupancy. Whole day booking only.” Worried, Tzuyu asked, “It says that it is mixed-gender, do you know if anyone else booked for today?” Elkie winked and replied, “Don’t worry, I’m sure we are alone and, if anyone joins us, I’m sure they won’t be weird or creepy.”

As the pair went through the entrance, they couldn't help but let out a gasp of amazement. The water was crystal clear and steaming hot, and the surroundings were peaceful and serene. They wasted no time in changing into their swimsuits. Tzuyu wore a cute pink one-piece that accentuated her curves, while Elkie wore a matching blue one-piece that complimented her toned figure.

After laying down their towels, Elkie and Tzuyu stepped into the warm water. It enveloped their bodies, the heat soothing their muscles after the torturous hike. They rested against the edge of the hot spring, closing their eyes and letting out a contented sigh of satisfaction. All their built-up tension started to melt away in the rejuvenating waters. It was pure bliss.

However, the peace and relaxation were short-lived, as they heard a rowdy group of men approaching. They were laughing and talking loudly, clearly without a care in the world.

Opening their eyes, they saw six tall, muscular men making their way toward the edge of the hot spring. Wearing tight swim trunks, their dark skin and chiseled bodies were on full display. They were all well-built and undeniably handsome, but what caught the attention of Elkie and Tzuyu were their massive bulges. Tzuyu was taken aback and her eyes widened, she had always heard that black men were well-endowed, and their bulges seemed to confirm that.

Before they could even think about moving away, the six men were already in the water. The group approached the pair with mischievous grins. Tzuyu tried to maintain her composure, but her body betrayed her. She felt a rush of desire, her heart pounding with excitement. The men surrounded them, their eyes roaming over the girl’s bodies.

One of the men, with a deep, smooth voice and a playful glint in his eyes, spoke up ‘Well, well, what do we have here? Two beautiful girls all by themselves in the hot spring.’ With that comment, Tzuyu felt her cheeks flush. Elkie replied flirtatiously ‘You guys aren’t too bad yourselves.’ From that moment, Tzuyu knew that Elkie had it all planned out from the start.

The six men began to engage them in conversation, asking the girls about themselves and making them feel at ease. The girls discovered that they were a group of wealthy American businessmen, visiting Japan for the first time. They were friendly and charming, the girls being unable to resist their infectious laughter and flirty banter.

As the conversation became more heated and sexual, without warning, one of the men leaned in and pressed his lips to Tzuyu’s. Tzuyu was caught off guard, but she didn't resist. She gently pressed her body against his, as he wrapped his arms around her waist. His hands began to roam all over her body, touching and caressing her curves. She couldn’t believe what was happening, but she was too turned on to even consider protesting.

Before she knew it, two of the other men had joined in, their hands and lips exploring every inch of her body. She surrendered herself to their touch, becoming more and more aroused with each passing moment. The heat from the water mixed with the heat of their bodies was intoxicating and she found herself getting lost in pleasure. As she looked over to Elkie, she saw the remaining three men had done the same to her. She felt aroused seeing her best friend's body being kissed, touched, and ravished.

Tzuyu felt their hands wandering lower and lower until they reached her core. Using their large and thick fingers, they playfully teased her clit and pussy over her swimsuit. She let out a seductive moan, feeling a hot wetness growing inside her as she imagined their fingers fucking her pussy. Suddenly, one of the men reached behind her and untied her swimsuit. Tzuyu gasped as it was quickly discarded, leaving her curvaceous body completely exposed and vulnerable to their touch and gaze. The men's eyes immediately went wide as they took in her beauty. She felt joy run through her body, as she noticed the lust in their eyes.

In contrast, Elkie had taken on more of a dominant role. She passionately kissed one of the men, exploring his mouth with her tongue. At the same moment, her hands moved over the bulges of the other two men, gently stroking their hardening cocks over their trunks. She knew just how to tease them, making them hungry for more. Then, after seeing Tzuyu’s exposed body, two of the men ripped apart Elkie’s swimsuit, so that she could share her best friend’s bare state. Seeing Elkie’s exposed toned body made their bulges even bigger.

‘Well boys, it seems unfair that they should be the only ones without clothes.’ one of the men exclaimed. They all laughed in unison, understanding what they were to do.

The six large dark men slowly left the embrace of Tzuyu and Elkie. They withdrew from the water and proceeded to stand next to each other in a line. One by one, they stripped off their swim trunks, revealing six big black cocks.

Tzuyu was awestruck, she had never seen cock’s that large and girthy before. They were definitely the most well-endowed men she had ever seen. She couldn’t help but gasp at their size, feeling intimidated but also incredibly turned on. Upon seeing her reaction, Elkie smirked and asked ‘Are these the first black cock’s you’ve seen?’. Tzuyu replied ‘I mean I've heard stories and seen them in videos before, but never in person. I didn’t realize a cock could be that huge.’

One of the men roared ‘Come and take a closer look then!’

Elkie happily accepted the offer, seductively shaking her hips while exiting the water and walking over. In front of three of the men, she then dropped down onto her knees and gestured Tzuyu to join her. Obediently, Tzuyu shyly got out and walked over, until she was in front of the other three men.

Without warning, Elkie grabbed Tzuyu’s wrist and pulled her down onto her knees. Tzuyu was now face to face with their stiff members. She felt a pulsating between her legs and her nipples became erect. The thought of being with multiple well-endowed men at once excited her.

‘Go on touch it, it won’t hurt you’ one of the men said jokingly.

Using one hand, Tzuyu sheepishly grabbed the shaft of one of the men. Her hand barely fit around it, she was stunned. Holding it up against her forearm, she said ‘Oh! My! God! It’s the size of my forearm’.

Elkie laughed ‘Aww don’t worry, let me show you how to handle these big black cock’s’. She opened her mouth and placed her full lips around the tip of one of the cock’s. At the same time, in each hand, she then held the shaft of two others. She was now ready.

She began bobbing her head back and forth, taking the long shaft deep into her mouth. The black cock stretched her mouth wide open. Her hands then started to jack off the two other cock’s she was holding.

Tzuyu couldn’t hold back anymore, looking at her best friend taking 3 cock’s stirred her curiosity and arousal. She surrendered to her primal desires and held the shaft with both hands, slowly stroking it. As she stroked it, she could feel it growing even harder, the tip leaking precum due to her tight handjob. With her eyes fixated on the massive phallus in front of her, she stuck her tongue out and licked the sweet precum off the tip.

The remaining two men joined in. They grabbed Tzuyu’s hands and placed them on their cock’s. Learning from Elkie, she began stroking them off while giving the other a blowjob.

The sounds of sucking and squelching filled the room. The six men could also be heard moaning and grunting, as their large cock’s were pleasured by two gorgeous women.

But the men didn't stop there; they wanted more. So the four men getting a handjob released the grasp of Elkie and Tzuyu. Two of the men laid down below the two girls with their cock’s standing at attention, while the other two kneeled down behind them. Lifting both girls, they repositioned them so their holes lined up with each of their cock’s. With the tip of their cock’s, the men teased and explored the entrances of Tzuyu and Elkie’s holes, the leaking juices lubricating them.

Then, in one synchronized motion, Tzuyu and Elkie’s pussy and ass were slowly impaled. The girls let out a satisfied scream and their heads spun with pleasure. They could feel the massive dicks stretching them in ways they never imagined possible. Their holes were completely filled in a way neither had ever experienced before. Tzuyu, especially, couldn't believe how good it felt to have three men stuffing their cock’s in her at once.

‘Come on boys! Let’s break these sluts!’ one of the men shouted. Both girls were then relentlessly and roughly fucked in their mouths, pussy’s and asses. Their bodies writhed, overwhelmed by the sensation of all their holes being thrust into at once. They could feel themselves losing control, their euphoric moans muffled as their bodies were used for the men’s pleasure. Hearing their muffled moans only increased the gratification and desire of the hungry men.

After hours of persistent fucking, each of the men had reached their climax. They departed the hotspring and left Tzuyu and Elkie exhausted and strewn on the ground trembling with ecstasy. Each of the girls had a gaping wide pussy and ass, which leaked with cum. Their eyes were rolled back, mouths opened and filled with the men’s seed. They were in heaven, their minds and bodies broken.

As Tzuyu lay there slowly recovering, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment. She smiled, thinking ‘I can’t believe I was just gangbanged by three black men with massive dicks’. She was eternally grateful for the experience Elkie had given her, as it was one of the hottest and most memorable moments of her life. Tzuyu was no longer the innocent girl she once was, but a whore who craved and worshiped big black cock.

975 notes · View notes

ghoulsbounty · 6 months ago

Note

hi i heavily request something where the reader and the ghoul(cooper) are travelling together and it’s night time, they’re outside trying to get some sleep. the reader is sleeping beside cooper but they get cold and they subconsciously move towards him and grab him, laying on his chest. HOW WOULD HE REACT? 🫶

Until Tomorrow

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Bounty!Reader

Warnings: sliiiiight mentions of smut (18+), alluding to masturbation, a bit of angst, mentions of canon-typical violence/torture, control, small mention of barb if you squint, mention of sex work (not reader), Cooper is mean.

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: This is just a little ficlet that I've left open ended in case anyone would like a part two. I didn't want to go full-guns blazing into a smut fic since you didn't specify, but I am more than willing to do so, Anon 🫡 I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

👉Read part two HERE👈

"What are you up to?" the Ghoul's voice pierced the eerie night, sharp and accusing. The darkness shrouded the makeshift camp, the bitter wind cutting through with relentless force. His eyes narrowed as he watched you approach, tension thick between you.

You dropped to your knees, wrists sore from the tight bindings he had reluctantly removed. The sand greeted you with a thud as you settled beside him, maintaining a cautious distance. You needed warmth, but you couldn't get complacent with your captor.

"It's freezing," you stated matter-of-factly, shifting against the sand to carve out a somewhat comfortable spot, however impossible. "You let the fire die."

The Ghoul glanced towards the extinguished campfire, a thin wisp of smoke rising lazily into the frigid night sky. The remnants of charred wood and ash lay scattered around it, the faint scent clinging to his clothes as he reclined against the dunes.

"I can start it up again," he offered, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "If you fancy being deathclaw chow."

Your gaze widened as you glanced into the expanding darkness, the absence of the fire amplifying the encroaching shadows. Terrifying howls and snarls reverberated from the depths, prompting a chilling question: were the creatures lurking out there truly more fearsome than the man holding you captive? The notion of a swift demise by claws and teeth seemed almost preferable to the prolonged torment of captivity. While the Ghoul might not be the one to end your life, delivering you to the cartel as he had pledged would render him just as culpable. In that sense, he might as well be the one to pull the trigger himself.

After your first escape attempt, the Ghoul's demeanour turned even harsher, though the dehydration was a greater torture than any physical aggression. He justified his restraint, explaining that he refrained from inflicting worse harm only because you were required in perfect condition, and he took pride in fulfilling his bounties meticulously. However, his rationale did little to mitigate his rough treatment. To him, a few small bruises and the sting of restraints were acceptable, especially considering your spirited defiance.

But in the span of a few weeks, that defiance began to wane, and resignation crept in. You felt like a sacrificial lamb, resigned to its fate, being led to the inevitable slaughter.

"I'll take that as a no," he remarked, snapping you out of your reverie as he shifted beside you. Even he seemed affected by the cold, evident from how he huddled in his duster, arms crossed tightly over his chest in an attempt to retain warmth. You couldn't help but envy his layers, wishing for more of your own as you wrapped you arms around your torso.

You maintained silence, willing yourself to sleep as you turned away from him. Any further interaction felt uncomfortably intimate.

Cooper listened to the sound of your ragged breaths battling against the cold, your body trembling beside him. The wind was particularly brutal, the kind he would normally seek refuge from in an abandoned building. However, your sluggish pace throughout the day had resulted in him setting up camp in the exposed wasteland, devoid of shelter or respite from the elements. Your punishment, he had said, for dragging your feet.

He could endure it; he had endured it countless times before and would do so again. But for you, he wasn't so sure. Despite your initial bite, you had turned into a meek little thing in the palm of his hand. A small, niggling part of him wondered if he had been too harsh, but survival instincts dictated otherwise. When an animal showed its teeth, you put it down—figuratively speaking, of course, he couldn't risk losing his bounty caps.

This new approach seemed to have worked with you, perhaps a bit too well.

As you shifted beside him, turning to face him with closed eyes, Cooper felt like prey ensnared in the hunter's grasp, awaiting the next move. An uneasy panic gripped him at the sudden feeling of helplessness, but he willed his breath to steady. You released a deep sigh as you pressed your body against his side, and he stiffened at the unexpected closeness. Your arm draped across his abdomen, and a leg hitched and hooked around his thigh.

Cooper was nearly ready to question your apparent lack of brains when he noticed your breathing, deep and steady. His words died in his throat as he felt your arm tighten around him, drawing him closer to you like an anchor. It wasn't a conscious decision to seek him out; rather, a subconscious response to the biting cold, he reasoned. Yet, it did little to ease his discomfort as the warmth from your thighs spread over him, seeping into his core and igniting a sensation he hadn't yet entertained with you.

He found himself mesmerized, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, his gaze drifting to your parted lips as you released another sigh. Your nose pressed against his shoulder, and he could swear he felt the warmth of your breath through the layers of fabric, igniting the burnt skin beneath.

This wasn't real, not to you, and certainly not to him. By morning, he would carefully remove himself from your embrace, restoring the intended distance your unconscious mind had breached. You would remain oblivious, and only Cooper would bear the weight of knowing how his muscles longed to reach out to you, to touch you without the shadows of anger and conflict looming over them. He cursed the memory from a distant life that surfaced in his mind—a loving touch beneath soft sheets, a foolish adoration for a lover turned stranger.

His fingers twitched, restrained by the firm crossing of his arms over his chest. If he could just maintain this position, he could endure the night. If he could ignore the sensation of your leg tightening around his thigh, your knee brushing against his growing arousal, he could make it through. He chastised himself inwardly for his weakness. He should push you away, keep you bound and isolated from him, be indifferent to whatever dangers might befall you because it would have been your own fault. But Cooper needed those caps. If he could just survive the remainder of this journey with you and keep his sanity intact, he promised himself a visit to the next inn, where he could seek solace in the comforting touch of those who were more than willing to accept a ghoul's money.

Still, he didn't expect anything to compare to the softness of your breasts pressed against his side. Something snapped within him at the sensation, a jolt of electricity coursing through his body. The wild thought crossed his mind that perhaps you were warming to him, not just seeking warmth for yourself. He had broken you, after all, hadn't he? Or at least, he was on his way to doing so. He couldn't help but wonder: if he woke you, would you pull away or press yourself closer?

A foolish thought, but one that haunted him nonetheless.

He lay in silence, listening to the rhythm of your breath as he stared up at the stars. Waking you wasn't an option; he wouldn't risk the inevitable panic and distress of you finding yourself half-straddling the monster who had stolen your freedom. He would let you sleep, indulging in the fantasy that you felt something other than contempt for him as he waited for the sun to rise. Until then, he justified to himself as his hand slipped from its restraint under his arm and found the buckle of his belt, it would be a shame for a solitary man not to indulge.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #fallout prime #fallout fanfiction #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout x reader #fic request

315 notes · View notes

iwantkirkhammett · 3 months ago

Note

reader works at a comic book shop, kirk visits every now and then and they’ve been sharing glances… one day he comes by after closing and they fuck out the back 🤭🤭🤭

details beyond that are up to you but make it HOT HOT HOT

this is my first post guys bear with me plz

tw: smut, sex, oral (f receiving)!

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟐

I sighed, groaning in annoyance as the night went on with my work shift. The night seemed to be dragging on and on, the clock ticking by so slow as customers occasionally came to buy a variety of comics and movies, sometimes music. Every time I heard the store door open, I perked up hoping it was this certain someone I had my eyes on for a while now, this certain someone going by Kirk Hammett. He came in once or twice a week, buying loads of monster collectibles, horror comics, lots of geeky nerdy stuff in general, but he had to be the most attractive man I ever met.

He was so handsome, long, dark curls going just past his shoulders, dark brown doe eyes that I couldn’t help but adore every time we had a conversation, he was so polite but also flirty and suggestive, and I had fallen head over heels for this man and he doesn’t even know me. We occasionally talked about our days when he would come during slower hours, talking about the progress of his band or how the work shift was going, but I couldn’t help but notice the tension and suggestive glances between us that became more apparent and intense every time Kirk came.

The night eventually finished up, a small feeling of sadness weighing on my shoulders while I locked the doors to finish up my closing duties, feeling disappointed I didn’t get to see the curly haired guitarist, especially considering this was my last shift for the week. I sighed, going around and fixing misplaced items, counting the register amongst other things before a soft tap at the glass was heard, and I looked up, my heart leaping as I saw the man I had been waiting for all night.

I knew I wasn’t supposed to do it, this was completely against protocol, letting a customer in after close, but how could I say no? I had to see him, even if just for a quick check out. I opened the door, and an amused smile appeared on Kirk’s face, I honestly melted at the sight.

“Damn sweetheart, thought you were never gonna let me in.” He teased, walking in and towering over me a bit, staring down at me with intense dark eyes. I smiled, getting a bit flustered, quickly rambling together a sentence. “Yeah…thought I could make an exception considering you’re one of our most loyal customers. I left a few comics towards the front that I think you’d like.” I said softly.

He looked down at me again after glancing at the counter, grabbing my chin and making me make eye contact with him. “Yeah? That’s so sweet of you…so thoughtful…” He mumbled, adoring into my gaze. “You know…what would you do if I told you I don’t just come here for the comics?” He said, his tone almost suggestive.

I gulped thickly, quickly getting flustered and struggling to form a response. “Th-The comics? Of course that’s what you come for haha, you’re here all the time-“, but he cut me off before I even finished, forcing me to maintain eye contact. “Nah, the comics are just a side perk. I just love coming so I can look at the pretty girl you are sweetheart, coming to talk to you.” He said, inching closer to my face. I gulped, desire already going between my legs, but I quickly forced that feeling away despite the butterflies going insane inside my stomach right now. “I feel the same way…” I blurted out flustered. “I get excited every time you come in, I even hope the customers are you…” I nervously admitted, and Kirk cocked up an eyebrow, a low chuckle escaping his throat.

“You know, you even get me all worked up…wearing that tight shirt with your fucking cleavage out…your shirt skirt that barely covers your ass, it’s like you’re just trying to tease me baby.” He said, pushing my hair out of my face. My heart rate quickened, gasping a bit as I heard the words leave his mouth. I started to melt at his touch, feeling his obvious hard on poke against my thigh, my legs shaky and panties already soaked with need. I thought for a moment, before suddenly speaking up and breaking the silence. “You know…I have a few comics in the back of the store I’ve been wanting to show you, exclusives.” I said with a smirk, immediately following with Kirk giving me a lustful and suggestive glance.

Then, before I knew it, he had me thrown on the table, pushing the comics off as he quickly pulled down my skirt, revealing the lacy thongs I wore and earning a hiss of satisfaction from Kirk. “God baby….you’re trying to kill me here…” He groaned out, reaching up to gently massage my clothed breast and earning a soft moan from me while Kirk admired the sight below him. He then tore my shirt off onto the floor, my bra following shortly after. He took a step back, adoring my body and the sight in front of him, his boner painfully obvious in his pants. God he was so big, and I haven’t even seen it yet.

He started by slowly nipping and kissing at my neck, softly playing with my nipples and sucking at them, leaving bruises and bites everywhere, before looking up at me and smirking against my neck. “I can feel how wet you already are sweetheart…I’ve barely even touched you, that needy for me huh?” He grumbled out, earning a soft and desperate whine from me as he slowly grazed against my clothed cunt. “K-Kirk…oh my god…please…” I whimpered out, so worked up I could barely even form sentences, it was almost embarrassing the control and power this man had over my body. He got down between my legs, pulling my panties off with his teeth and chuckling at the sight of my now completely exposed, dripping cunt.

“God…you’re gonna make me go fucking crazy sweetheart…” He tore his shirt off, now leaving him in just his black jeans and stared up at me. “C’mon…you know what to do sweet girl…” I bit my lip, whining a bit in frustration and groaning at his words. “Please Kirk….please just hurry…please just eat me out I wanna feel you please!” I desperately gasped out, earning a satisfied chuckle before he immediately dived between my legs, mercilessly licking and sucking at my aching cunt, slurping up all the juices and lapping and sucking at my clit.

I moaned loudly, arching my back and hips up into his mouth, gripping his thick curls tightly and earning a harsh hand forcing me back down, and the other hand suddenly plunging two fingers inside of me and curling, immediately moving at a quick and fast pace, the wet squelching sounds of my pussy filling the room. I moaned out even louder, squirming against his grip. “Kirk! H-Holy shit…!” I moaned, already in pure ecstasy from the few seconds of this mans tongue. I pulled and closed my legs thighs his head, and he chuckled, talking against my clit and sending a pleasurable amount of vibrations through me, pulling off. He grinned up at me with a face covered in my juices, licking his lips. “God…you taste so fucking good…driving me crazy you know that? So damn needy too.” He said, standing up and unbuckling his belt. “Turn around.” He demanded.

I quickly obeyed, flipping over with an overwhelming amount of need, arching my back and looking at him. “Please Kirk, please I need you so bad…” I whined, almost embarrassed for how desperate I was for this man’s cock. I quickly gasped in surprise as he snatched my wrists and tied them above my head with his belt, putting his shirt under my head as a makeshift pillow on the table.

“You gotta be specific baby, I don’t know what you need if you won’t tell me.” He teased, pulling his cock out of his boxers, and I turned around, mouth dropping in awe. He was so huge, a solid 9 inches, veiny and a perfect light tip at the end, already dripping with pre-cum. He gently rubbed it against my soaking wet cunt, hissing in pleasure before he repeated himself. “You gonna tell me what you want or do I gotta make you beg for it more?” He chuckled, positioning himself. I moaned out at the feeling of him against my clit, tears of pleasure welling up in my eyes. “Please Kirk! Please fuck me! Please!” I cried out, and was suddenly met with the plunging feeling of his cock, and immediately melted into the table, letting out a loud, satisfied moan. He slowly began at a steady pace, chuckling softly. “You’ve kept this to yourself all- oh fuck…all this time baby? You’re so fucking tight, so good…” He said, picking up his pace, still holding my wrists with his belt. I moaned loudly, gasping and rocking my hips against his pace, moaning even louder as he hit that one spot. “K-Kirk! Please! Faster oh-oh!! Ah!” I moaned out, and he let out a possessive growl and picked up the pace. He kept abusing that one sensitive spot inside me, and he groaned in pleasure as I clenched and tightened around him more and more.

“You-You’re so fucking pretty when you’re getting fucked you know that? T-Taking it all like such a good girl, taking all of this dick aren’t you? Such-such a pretty girl-Oh fuck!” He hissed in pleasure, squeezing my hips tightly as he pounded into me relentlessly.

I moaned in ecstasy, tears welling in my eyes and screaming and pleading in pleasure, rambling on moans and curses as he fucked me, a familiar knot forming in my stomach. “I’m close Kirk! I’m so close! Please! I’m gonna cum please go faster!” I begged, and was immediately met with a hand covering my mouth to suppress my moans.

“G-Gotta keep quiet baby…I know how good it feels but gotta keep it down before someone hears us yeah?” He groaned, picking up his already merciless pace. “You’re so close huh? Fuck I can feel it- fuck I’m close too baby…want me to cum inside? Fill you up?” He growled out, and I desperately nodded and kept moaning into his hand, my mascara running down my cheeks from the pleasure. “Kirk I’m cumming!” I moaned into his hand, finally my release as the familiar feeling of pleasure overwhelmed my body. Kirk groaned out. “Shit me too baby…I’m gonna fill you up so much-“ and he cut himself off, thick ropes of cum filling my insides as we both let out loud groans and moans, before he pulled out, admiring the thick cum pouring out of me and onto the table.

We both panted, enjoying the after glow before he gently untied my wrist, buckling up his jeans again, smirking down at me and helping me sit up. I let out a soft moan of satisfaction, my pussy still dripping and pulsating.

“Guess I should visit you more often, huh? Or maybe even invite you to one of my shows?” He chuckled, snatching my panties and shoving them in his pocket. “And these? These are a parting gift for me, sweetheart.” He said, kissing me and then finishing off our night.

#kirk hammett smut #metallica smut #kirk hammett #kirk hammett x reader #metallica x reader

158 notes · View notes

a-spes · 11 months ago

Text

| THE SHOT YOU MISSED - One shot (3k).

| Summary - you're spending a day at the fair with your girlfriend, the sweetest mob boss that possibly exists and she makes sure that you've a good day.

| Tags & warnings - mob boss!Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader, just a fluff writing, slight angst (?), beginning of a panic attack, guns, domestic domination (kinda), Natasha is the sweetest in that.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO REQUEST

You’re taking a deep breath, trying to chase away the tension from your shoulders. There is only one cartridge left in the gun you have been given, so you already know that you won’t have a second chance: if that shot doesn’t hit its target, the mission will be a failure, and it’s not an option. The stakes are too high for you to miss that one.

You’re doing your best to ignore your surroundings, a difficult thing to do when you’re used to paying attention to everything, especially when being in a crowded place. You could hear the conversations of those around you, the screams and laughs alongside the footsteps of the children running on the asphalt. They were meters away but it was still piercing your eardrums. Even your own breathing started to be unbearable, it was fast and loud because of the anticipation and stress.

The weapon is stable, you’re maintaining it with a firm grip despite the slight trembling of your hands. You have been in this position for several minutes, and your muscles are starting to ache.

You have to do it, now.

There is nothing left to divert your attention, and you are eventually able to forget about everything else. For a moment, you can’t hear anything, you only see the target that is right in the center of your sights. A pressure from your finger, a clatter that rings in your ears, and just like that the bullet is gone, straight toward your target.

“Fuck!” you screamed, and it takes all the control you possess to not throw the plastic weapon when you see that you missed it.

You ignore the way the showman glanced at you when you screamed, a mixture of annoyance and satisfaction. You have been here for almost half an hour and you didn’t move an inch, refusing to go back to your girlfriend with empty hands. But sometimes determination isn’t enough, all you’ve managed to do is to pop a balloon or two, but you need more if you want to get that coveted prize.

When your hand reaches into your jacket’s pockets, you’re unpleasantly surprised to find nothing. The desperation with which you are now searching isn’t enough to reveal one last coin and you realize that you’ve spent everything you were given by Natasha, which means the fun is over for tonight.

It is already over and you weren’t even good enough to win a little something.

You had no other choice than going back to your girlfriend with nothing to give her, which you find embarrassing because she will obviously ask what took you so long and you didn’t want to admit your failures, not in front of the woman you love. The second she saw you, she stopped talking with the rest of the group to focus all her attention on you, noticing the way you were avoiding her gaze. As you are trying your best to get over your frustration, she is running her finger over your furrowed brows.

“What's happening, sweetie? You’re tense,” she told you, she knew something was wrong the moment she glanced at you, there is nothing that could escape her gaze.

“I lost, again,” you mumbled, not really wanting to talk more about it, especially because you knew she would react that way: you wanted nothing more than to rip that smirk off her face.

“Oh, baby … come here” she cooed, trying to hide her smile - but she just can’t help it.

She opens her arm and you wait no more than a second before throwing yourself into her embrace. The moment she wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug, all your frustration is gone.

She is good when it comes to ease your worries: she spent the next hour dragging you everywhere, and you’re sure you’ve tried every ride at least twice. She even bought you cotton candy despite her strict rules about sweets, just to make sure you smile again.

At some point, you were separated from her, you let go of her hand for one second, just enough time to drink some water, but also for your girlfriend to disappear. She probably told you where she was going, but you hadn’t heard because of the screams and those missed words are the reason you’re now panicking.

You are turning around again, and again, and again, but it’s useless, you are lost without her at your side. Every time you think you spotted her red hair in the crowd, it turns out that it isn’t her and the minutes start to feel like hours.

You're being manhandled by the crowd, trying to sort out your thoughts until a hand comes to rest on your shoulder and pulls you out of your torment. You turn sharply, but fear is replaced by relief when you realise it's only her.

She doesn’t like to see you like this, with tears in the corner of your eyes, and she hates it even more knowing that she caused this. She wasn't expecting you to react that way, as she only left for a few minutes and this view almost makes her feel bad. Almost, because she knows that what she has brought you will make up for her mistake.

“I got a surprise for you…,” she said, but it was not much of a surprise as you could already see the stuffed toy she was trying to hide behind her back.

It is a black dragon that is almost your size, you saw it at the stand where you were playing earlier. You’ve spent dozens of minutes and dollars in that game without winning anything so you can’t believe that it took her less than five minutes to come back with the biggest prize.

“How did you do that?! It was impossible to win anything!” you exclaimed as the woman hands you the stuffed toy.

You immediately hug it, squeezing the dragon as tight as you can. It is the fluffiest and you’re already loving it. If you are a bit surprised that Natasha got you something that big, you’re trying to not think too much about it. She always tells you no for everything that could ruin the aesthetic of her house so you want to enjoy the plushie as much as you could before she changes her mind and takes it back.

“Thank you, I love it so much,” you told her, not letting it go, which made her laugh - the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

Even her knows that she’ll eventually regret it, but for the moment the smile on your face makes it all worth it. It became even more important than her house’s décoration.

“But?” she asked, frowning when she heard your tone, knowing that something else was keeping your mind busy.

“There is not but,” you replied, and this time it is your turn to frown at her question.

“I know when you’re lying, love,” she said, her hand brushing your hair away from your face so she could admire every feature of your face.

“... god, I hate when you do that, you’re so annoying,” you mumbled, perfectly knowing that she was right. You bury your face in her shoulder, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Even when you try your hardest to keep your thoughts for yourself, you are unable to do so. There is nothing you can hide from the woman because she is too good at reading people, her eyes seeing everything.

“Then tell me what’s in your mind, and maybe I'll stop being annoying,” she said, trying to hold back a laugh. She won’t say it because she doesn’t want you to be mad at her for real, but she finds it cute when you’re angry.

“I-didn’t-want-a-stuffed-toy-I-was-trying-to-win-one-for-you,” you replied, talking as fast as you could in hope she won’t retain anything of your rambling - which was doomed to failure.

You are a bit embarrassed by the situation because she succeeded so easily where you didn’t. For once, you wanted to be the one to give her a present, something you rarely have the chance to do because she is always the one who spoils you, but somehow she managed to turn the situation around once again, and you hate it.

She chuckles, relieved that it was nothing too serious. She gently grabs your chin to lift your head up and watch your expression. The moment she saw that hint of sadness in your eyes, she understood how affected you are by the situation, and she finds it surprising how something so insignificant in her eyes could be so important to yours.

“Then I could keep it and we’ll pretend that you won it for me, what do you think?” she asked, trying to cheer you up, not wanting to see that look on your face anymore.

“But that's not the same,” you whined, starting to complain about the unfair situation.

“Oh gosh, you're such a child,” she said, rolling her eyes at your answer - but even if she acts like your attitude is annoying her, deep down you know that she loves it. “Come,” she added, pulling you by the hand to guide you through the crowd after she handed the huge dragon to one of her men.

“Where are we going?” you tried to ask, but of course you don’t get an answer from the redhead.

When you eventually get to the stand where Natasha won the dragon and you lost your money, the showman looks at you with a wry grin. He recognizes you as the one who spent dozens of dollars in his game without winning anything and he is probably hoping that you are back with more money.

But as soon as his eyes landed on the redhead at your side, his face completely changed. He knew he messed up the second he noticed how her hand is resting at the bottom of your back as she guides you toward his stand. She puts down a bill, which the man takes with caution, probably thinking that there is a trap somewhere.

“We won’t need that,” she told him the moment the man made a move to give her one of the plastic weapons.

If he is about to protest, one glance from the woman is enough for him to understand that he would better keep his mouth shut. Instead, he watches her carefully as she takes her own gun out, a real one.

You are a bit confused when she puts the gun in your hands : it is the first time it happens. She has never let you touch anything that could be dangerous, and it obviously included her weapons. It has nothing in common with the fake guns you are used to, it is heavier and more impressive.

“Go on,” she said, trying to encourage you when she noticed you still haven’t made a move.

“What? With your gun?” you asked, unsure of what you are supposed to do now, “b- but I don’t know how.. I mean, I’ve never-,” you added when she nodded as an answer to your question, but she doesn’t give you time to argue.

“I know,” she cut you, already knowing what you were about to say, “but I’ll help you, don’t worry about it,” she added, putting her hands on your shoulder to turn you around so you’re facing the targets instead of her.

She stands behind you, and if you can’t see her, you could feel her hands roaming over your body. You’re barely listening to the advice she is whispering in your ears, your mind being entirely focused on her hands. She moves your shoulders and legs in the right position, then she wraps your hands with hers to be sure that you won’t miss this time. It requires even more concentration than earlier to not let yourself get distracted by your proximity with the redhead, so close that you could feel her breath on the back of your neck.

Even if it doesn’t feel right to do that, you shot. Three times, and you didn’t miss one, all the balloons popped under your eyes, granting you the victory. She immediately snatches the weapon from your hand, not wanting to leave it to you for more time than it’s necessary, but you don’t care, too happy about your victory.

“Theirs are rigged, you never stood a chance,” she simply said as if it was obvious, but it wasn’t. If she understood what was the problem in one shot, why didn’t you after you’ve tried countless times?

You start to feel a bit stupid as the realization sinks in ; you blamed yourself for something that wasn’t even your fault, something you should've noticed on the first shot. You now understand why the showman was looking at you that way, he must have been happy to see someone that was dumb enough to spend all their money in his stand, from the beginning he knew you wouldn't win because no one that plays along the rules does.

“I am so proud of you, malyshka,” she added, the sound of her voice pulling you out of the spiral of your thoughts - a deadly one.

The lower part of your back is now pressed against the stand, she turned you around so she could admire every feature of your face.

“Stop lying,” you mumbled, the expression on your face not matching the smile on hers - she is smiling but you want to cry, fearing that you might have disappointed her because of your mistakes.

“I am serious,” she immediately said, not leaving you a chance to argue. Her hand gently grabs your chin, lifting your head until your eyes meet hers. “It even makes me want to see you try with live targets now, you must be so hot…,” she continued, her thumb brushing your cheek as she gets lost in the pleasant scene her mind is playing.

But you are not enjoying it as much as she does. A shiver of disgust shakes your body at this simple image, the one of your hands covered in the blood of your victim.

You are not a murderer, nor a monster.

Even after meeting the redhead and being dragged into her chaotic life, you’ve never done a thing that was illegal. If you know about her activities, she always makes sure that you are nothing more than a witness. She likes her women to be innocent, she used to toss them as soon as she felt their souls started to be corrupted, but she was slowly changing her mind.

For the first time, she wants to see her sweet thing with blood on her back. There is nothing that could please her more than to see the glimpse of darkness in your eyes growing until you are too deep in it to step back.

For the first time she wanted to fully introduce her girl to her reality.

She wanted to corrupt you as much as she wanted to protect your innocence. There is no word to describe how much she appreciates this oblivious expression of yours and, right now, she is not missing a thing about the one on your face. She revels in the mixture of fear and disgust she could read on your face.

“I was joking,” she sighed, “so don’t worry your pretty little head with that, okay baby?” she said and you believed her, nodding.

You couldn’t see the smirk on her face - the only hint that she was lying - because she leans forward to kiss the top of your head, her hand brushing your temple one last time before she pulls away. You immediately whine, trying to grip on her arm so she wouldn’t leave but this only makes her laugh.

“Go get your prize now, so we can get home,” she said, ignoring the pleading look you’re giving her to gesture towards the showman.

You turn around and, indeed, you see that the man was impatiently waiting for you to make your choice, he probably couldn’t wait to get rid of you and your problematic girlfriend. You immediately point to one of the biggest stuffed toys, similar to yours, but before the showman could make a move, Natasha shook her head, showing that she disagrees with your choice. She takes your arm and gently moves it so you’re now pointing at the shelf where the smallest plushies are displayed.

“It’s one of those or nothing,” she said, her stern tone leaving no room for discussion.

She obviously doesn’t care about the pout on your face. She considers that she has already been pretty nice by gifting you that giant stuffed toy, so she definitely won’t bring a second one home.

“Fine …,” you replied, frustrated that you couldn’t freely choose, but it was the perfect opportunity to make her regret her decision.

You missed nothing of her expression when the showman took the strawberry bunny that was on the shelf. She rolled her eyes, obviously you choose the most childish of all, but she decides that the smile on your face as you’re handed it to her is worth everything. She gladly takes it, and even if she tries to pretend she doesn’t like it, you don’t fall for her lies. The kisses she lays on the top of your head, then on your lips, are enough to convince you to keep your sneaky words to yourself, enjoying the moment the two of you were sharing.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO REQUEST

#a spes writing #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #reader insert #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow x reader #mob boss natasha romanoff #fluff writing

588 notes · View notes

sceletaflores · 4 months ago

Note

phone sex with first son patrick after you leave for yale...i'm creaming just imagining all the nasty things he'd say LMAO

RAAHHH AND YOU KNOW HE WOULD :((((((

calling you when you're studying for your advanced civil rights advocacy exam because he's "really missing you, professor."

you're smiling despite the scoff you let out into the phone, "i'm busy patrick, we can't all ride the president's coattails."

patrick snorts, you can hear the sound of footsteps on his end followed by a door closing. "yeah i'm a huge disappointment and you're off being superwoman blah blah blah i know, what are you wearing?"

you roll your eyes, looking down at your yale blue sweatshirt and matching bottoms you got from the spirit shop, "sweats."

patrick whistles, low and long. you hear even more shuffling, the sound of a zipper being dragged down. "that's hot so baby, keep going."

he sounds weird, like he's somewhere super echoy. your brows furrow, sitting up straighter in your desk chair as you strain your ears. "where are you?"

"lincoln bedroom," he says easily, his voice gone breathy around the edges.

your brows shoot up in surprise. "patrick, are you seriously—"

"yes, ma'am," he cuts in, voice dropping to a low whisper, "take the sweats off."

you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up, a mix of disbelief and amusement. "you’re supposed to be working, not—"

"trust me, i’m working on something very important," he murmurs, and you can practically see the smirk on his face. “i was in this boring ass meeting with my dad, started thinking about the last time you were here. fuck, you remember? i do, god i remember. never gonna forget how that pussy cried over my fucking dick…”

he trails off into a moan, shaky and broken through your phones speaker.

your cheeks heat up, ears burning with it. you do remember.

you bite your lip, it's tempting, so tempting— but you like giving patrick a hard time, making him work for it a little. "pat i'm not failing this test cause i stopped studying to listen to you jerk off in the lincoln bedroom."

"you're not gonna fail, you should take a break anyway. come on, humor me for a second. please professor?"

you can feel the familiar warmth starting to simmer just beneath your skin, swirling in the pit of your stomach, and you try so hard to ignore it. patrick always gets what he wants, you refuse to give in so easily.

but it's so hard. he makes it so hard.

especially when moves the phone close to where he's fucking his fist over the length of his dick. voice low and breathy as he rambles on, "can you hear that shit? got so fuckin' wet thinking about you, so hard i had to leave the goddamn meeting..."

you close your eyes with the shuddery inhale, you can practically see the way his thick cock leaks messily all over his hand. the way his heavy balls bounce with every tug.

the image of him, sprawled out on some historical piece of 1800th century furniture with his dick pulled out of his nine-hundred dollar suit pants just because he thought of you, is enough to have you slide your hand down the waistband of your sweats. you let out a tiny gasp when your fingers brush against your clit, biting your tongue when your start rubbing small circles over yourself to the wet sound of patrick's dick.

"you're awfully quiet," patrick teases, voice closer to the phone again. "wanna share with the class?"

"fuck you, patrick,"

there's a pause, and you picture him biting his lip, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. "god, just thinking about you, the way you looked the last time...how tight you were around me...it's fucking torture."

you swallow hard, trying to maintain control, but fuck you miss him too. you miss seeing him in tight suits, you miss his hand on the small of your back when your parent's aren't looking, you miss him dragging you out of galas and fundraisers so he can fuck you in the bathroom, you miss the thick stretch of his dick bullying into your pussy over and over and over.

you can feel the tension building, the tight coil in your belly winding tighter with every filthy word.

"pat..." you begin, but your voice falters when he lets out a low, drawn-out groan that has your knees weakening, even from a distance. your hand falters, slipping lower to push two fingers into your aching hole, eager to chase the release that's sneaking up on you.

"i know you’re touching yourself," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. "fuck i wish i could see you, baby. see how good you look with your fingers buried in that tight fuckin' pussy."

a high whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, and patrick’s laugh is dark and knowing. "yeah, that’s what I thought," he purrs. "don’t stop now. want you to come for me, professor. right here, right now, while i’m fucking my hand thinking about you."

you close your eyes, giving in to the warmth flooding through your veins. each thrust of your fingers becomes more frantic, more desperate as his words push you closer to the edge.

"that’s it," patrick breathes out, his voice growing ragged. "you’re so close, i can hear it. shit, i wish i was there to feel you come around me. you’re so fucking tight when you come—"

you’re trembling now, the tension in your body wound so tightly you feel like you could snap any second. his moans are erratic, matching the pace of your fingers as you chase the high he's pulling you towards.

“say my name,” he demands, a groan slipping past his lips as he nears his own climax. “say it when you come, i want to hear it.”

"patrick," you whisper, your voice shaky, barely able to get the words out as your breathing quickens, "i'm so close—"

"yeah? me too, baby," he pants, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. "come for me, i want to hear you."

that’s all it takes. with one last stroke, the tension unravels, and you’re tumbling over the edge, your body shuddering with the force of your release. his name spills from your lips, a breathless chant as waves of pleasure crash over you.

patrick follows right after, his moan deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through the phone and settling low in your belly. there’s a beat of silence, just the two of you breathing heavily, coming down from the high.

finally, you manage to catch your breath, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. "you’re going to get us both in trouble one of these days," you murmur, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm.

patrick laughs softly, the sound content and sated. "it'll be worth it," he replies, his voice filled with satisfaction. "totally worth it."

#— anons ♡#first son au #HE'S GROSS #AND ANNOYING #AND I NEED HIM #I need him in me right now #just so bad #it's not a joke anymore #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig smut #challengers smut

101 notes · View notes

eveningepiphany · 1 year ago

Text

pirates gold | H.S series, part two

[part one]

[series masterlist]

summary: challengers are arising as life on the ship continues. not only that, but all kinds of tension is building between you and harry. good and bad... and something that feels forbidden to even entertain in your minds eye.

warnings: swearing, tension, fluff, sexual mentions, talks of violence, harry being so so fine, mentions of kidnapping, one bed trope.

a/n: i cannot believe how long this took me to write, I’m praying I can do part three in half the time. thank you for your patience my loves<3

———

There are plenty of moments you are left wondering how in control of your life you actually are.

If you truly have any power at all— because sometimes it feels like everything is spinning relentlessly out of your grasp.

Well, especially under your current circumstances. Since your last 4 days have been spent as someone else’s prisoner.

Which, you couldn’t have predicted would lead you into the bathroom of your own captor and being left to bathe with his own personal collection of things.

Being in there was a shock enough as it is because… of course you’d noticed how well-groomed he appeared. But to see that he actually had things like soap and hair wash…

Another stereotype you presumed, was that pirates were horrendous when it came to maintaining a sense of personal hygiene. But it was another thing you were evidently incorrect about when it came to Harry. And seemingly the rest of his crew as well.

As you washed off in the shower, scrubbing away the collected dirt, dust and sweat off of your body, you felt almost like a new person.

It felt inexplicably good to use soap again, which is a luxury you took for granted much too often back home. But finally getting rid of all the residue on your skin was an amazing feeling. Including washing away the salt from your ocean dip a few days ago. Which was stuck in the crevices and creases of your skin, like it was slowly dehydrating you from the outside in.

So you took probably longer than you should in his shower… but it didn’t seem as time ticked on that he was in his room or at the bathroom door.

Not even when you eventually stepped out from the water, drying yourself off with a rag-like towel. Looking at yourself in the mirror, taking in your frame, and how the skin under your eyes is a tad less sunken in after a long shower.

Maybe it was from stress, or lack of sleep. But either way, you rubbed your fingers underneath them. Attempting to smooth out the remaining darkness there, as if that would work.

Settling on the fact what was left of them was only temporary, you decide to just get into the clothes Harry had given you. Pretending it doesn’t weird you out as you slide his black shirt over your body.

It was far from tight on you, and the fabric probably could’ve swallowed you up as it clung to you. And as you pulled the soft pants up, they were equally as big.

You gazed in the mirror again, looking at how his clothes fit you. Struggling to envision him in such simplistic clothing.

Suddenly, his body filling out the once baggy pants and shirt is taking up the confines of your mind. They certainly would fit him properly. And likely hug the muscle built on his chest... you have to swat the mental image away, before it conjures into something more.

So immediately, you jump to distract yourself. Eyes roaming around the bathroom until they lock onto the cabinet beneath the bathroom bench.

Your hands don't hesitate, coming to the cupboards to open them, pulling the handles so they unlatch.

It’s sadly sparse inside. Almost entirely empty despite a few miscellaneous items. A hair comb, a dagger sheath and a… sewing kit? You frown at the sewing kit, unable to imagine him doing anything as delicate and time consuming as hand sewing.

However, he does wear intricate outfits. He seemingly prizes them, actually. So, it seems fitting that if wear and tear got to them, he'd be keen to fix them. That's the conclusion you're going to go with anyway.

But regardless, in the small wooden confines, there is nothing you can steal for your own benefit. You think of shutting it, but in the silence something urges you to open the small plastic box anyways.

You drop onto your knees, sliding the container to the edge of the shelving, and hooking your fingers into the latches and pulling the lid upwards.

There are several little threading needles— even clothing pins— placed among regular cotton thread in an array of colours. But there’s also multiple wads of fishing line, which immediately makes you wonder why it's in there. Trying to pinpoint what kind of clothing needs fishing line as a stitching.

You’re about to pull it out, but conveniently, there’s a rattle outside of the door. One that indicates someone is coming into his quarters. You hold back a frustrated sigh, suddenly wishing you had of taken a shorter shower.

Your body kicks into quick movement, hurrying to click his sewing box shut and put it back where it was in the first place. Pushing hard on the latches that now suddenly don’t want to cooperate with your haste.

It’s silent outside of the footsteps that trail to the bathroom door, making you wince as the latch on the cupboard echoes a tiny clack as it’s shut.

The feet stop at the door, and your breath is held from where you’re kneeling. Not sure if you’re hoping for Harry or not.

“Y/N?” His voice calls with a rap on the door, “y’decent?”

“I—“ you slowly rise from the floor, cringing at the creak of the boards beneath your feet as you stand.

“Yea… yep.”

The lock jingles and the door swings open, revealing Harry— who looks no different to how he did almost an hour ago. Black blouse, black pants. Nothing had changed.

You feel suddenly vulnerable standing in his clothes in front of him, and you have to force yourself not to wring your hands at the bottom of his long shirt.

“Mm, nice to see you actually showered, ‘stead of tryin’ to break out.” He comments, nonchalantly stepping in through the door. Eyes scanning you in his clothes.

As he steps closer, the only difference you notice is the red bruising around his knuckles, on the hand hung down by his waist.

“Oh, I tried.” You mused, attempting to push confidence in your tone— adverting your gaze away from his bruised hand.

He hums, still staring at your frame, “To no avail, I see.”

“I suppose not.” You remarked, to which he shrugs. His body language is casual, but you’re still unconvinced that everything is normal.

Now you're staring at him, trying to decipher what the fuck is happening right now. Given the fact nothing about this seems planned.

“But I am confused...” You prompt, and to it, he cocks an eyebrow.

He steps forward, “Go on.”

“What exactly have you done in the last hour?” It comes from your mouth as an accusation. One that draws out a rash laugh from him pink mouth.

“Why is it you assume I’ve done something?” He's awfully close to you now, and it highlights the features on his face. Ones you're desperately trying to pay no attention to. But it's much harder to ignore the fall of his hair over green eyes when its up close.

“Because that just seems the most likely.” You stated. Walking to brush past him—shoulder passing his chest with a light touch— the bathroom feeling far too cramped for the two of you. And the air around you had suddenly gone hot with tension on your end.

You make your way out into his quarters, making use of your need for distance, and deciding to inspect the room while you could.

Harry turns on his heel, watching as you now suddenly walk around his bedroom like it was your birth right. Hands trailing over frames on the wall, and picking up random objects he’d strewn on the floor.

He sighs at this, part of him wanting to stop you from snooping around his place, but he’s also undeniably curious at your mannerisms while looking around. The way your eyebrows pull down into a frown as you pick up an array of things. Including odd ones, like a bag of dried out barnacles, and whetstones block he uses to sharpen his blades with.

“I bought ya up here t’shower. Because unlike many, I have a hygiene standard, darlin’.” He says, and you turn from where you were touching the cover of his unmade bed. Fingertips noting the softness of it. He sleeps here… your brain announces as though it’s unfathomable to imagine him at rest in his own bed. Which was tucked into the corner of the all-wood room, three circular windows running beside its edge.

Looking at his hand again, finally getting the courage to bring it up.

“And your knuckles are swelling up. All bruised. They weren’t like that earlier.”

He smirks, completely bypassing your question, “looking at my hands, ay? Didn’t pick you to be that kind of girl.”

You sneer at his stupid tease, irritated at his arrogance.

“Just seemed all rather impromptu, and now you’re back here with bruised up fists that you didn’t have earlier.” You challenge, after walking slowly away from his bed.

“You don’t stop until you get an answer y’like. Is that right, princess?” He scoffs.

But he knows you’re brilliant at reading someone, tragically so. And it’s obvious you’re not as stupid as he wishes. Because he watches as your eyes narrow, clear that you know he’s dodging your questions for a reason.

“And you don’t give answers unless it suits you best, I take, captain?”

To that, he chuckles, and decides to prove you right, walking over to grab your wrist with the unscathed hand.

“M’clothes are a bit big on you…” he comments, partially using it as an excuse to drag his eyes down your body again. Completely changing the subject.

“Tomorrow, we’re pulling into port, we’ll buy some stuff that actually fits you.” Despite being the one to decide this, there's a pang of disappointment in his chest at you getting out of his oversized clothes. He ignores it. The hand that's becoming all too familiar to your wrist is leading you out of his quarters, and your eyes dart to take in the room a final time. Hoping to commit it to memory.

“That’s a bit doting. Are you going to take me with you, or is that a far fetched wish?” You drawl, already figuring you’ll be locked away while they roam about. Buying you clothes while you sit prisoner.

You should probably just be grateful for the fact he is willing to spend gold on you, given the circumstances. But who would you be kidding if you tried to portray that right now. ‘Thanks for buying me clothes while I sat locked up in your jail cell!’ He would audibly cackle if you said that.

He chuckles at your bitter sounding tone, “I’d bet you’d be rather upset if we went into town without you.”

You scowl at him, having to bite your tongue as to not say anything rash, choosing not to respond at all.

He’s taken you outside of his room, and locked his door with the small ring of keys he keeps on him. Beginning a slow walk along the corridors of the ship, seemingly in no hurry at all. He pulls your arm to rest firmly between his elbow and ribcage as you stroll the halls, as though you’re on some kind of leisurely walk.

To your silent annoyance, he rolls his eyes with amusement, knowing you'll hold quite the grudge if he doesn't take you out when the ships docks at Sintir. “I’ll think about it, dove.”

The two of you walk in quiet for a minute. Clacking of shoes against decking echoes through the hallways below deck. You get lost in thought, until his voice quickly coaxes you out it.

“We’re stopping for two nights.” He suddenly clarifies for you, “After we buy you some suitable clothes, maybe you can come into town after dark.”

You’re skeptical of his offer, given that it’s not a guarantee. But you’re desperate to just get off this ship for a bit. Not even in an attempt to escape, you know that wouldn’t work even if you tried. Purely to be on land again, and around people who aren’t felons at sea.

So you soften your frown a bit, going quiet for a few moments. You decide to try the hopeless approach, no matter how weak your faith is in it. But maybe you'll get some pity from the man beside you, “I miss the towns, and being on solid earth, that’s all. It's all I've ever known.”

You were already embarrassed at how the helpless tone sounded on your voice. Maybe because is wasn't genuine, but either way, internally you gagged a little.

He laughs abruptly at your words, almost shocked that you attempted to persuade him with that.

“No need to pull the damsel in distress card.” He’d shook his head, smiling wide with humor at your expense, “My decision is impartial to a poor attempt at manipulation.”

“It’s not manipulation!” You turn to snap at him, dropping the meek mannerisms just as quickly as you put them on.

“Oh but it is, darling.” He bumps your shoulder with his own, turning a corner that reveals another set of stairs, “y’bad as any other pirate. Outside of the shitty lying.”

You shake your head, huffing out air from your nose as he leads you up them. The annoying thing is that he's right. However you still fight to prove your point.

“Can you blame me? I just want to go into a town and do something normal. Have a little stability amongst this shit show!” Your grumble made him chuckle, as it seemed to always do. Like as if he could not take a word you say seriously, even if he tried.

“I suppose I can’t fault you for it.” He hums, pushing a hatch open after unlinking your arms. He went through it first so he could help you up. Hands steadying you once your feet come in contact with the floor. Because suddenly, you’re on the bow of the ship. The afternoon sun out and warm on your skin as the waves are calmly lapping over themselves.

You momentarily forget that you’re pissed off with him. All you can focus on is the fresh air and golden sun.

His eyes take in your deep inhalation, and the way you look so relieved to be outside. Understandable given the fact you spent 2 days locked in a tiny room.

A feeling he can’t name stirs in his chest. And the voice in the back of his head is suddenly encouraging taking you into Sintir while the ships docked there.

“It’s… nice out.” You exhale, your gaze veering to him momentarily as you speak. His green eyes are locked onto yours, and you quickly make to slide your attention back out on the blue water.

Which is easy to look at, since it doesn’t technically end. Just melts into the equally blue horizon where the sky meets the sea.

“It almost always is, up this far north.” He nods, pushing the sudden emotion away. “It won’t stay that way once we leave the port. There’s a storm well in due this week.”

You mentally file away that you’re up north, but a part of you gets anxious with the idea of being out while there’s a storm.

On land, you always enjoyed them. They brought a sense of serenity to you. The thunder and rain sometimes came so loud in Kelna it drowned out everything going on in your life. Temporarily, of course, however it was nice while it lasted. But on water was a different story. You’d heard they’re rocky rides, treacherous even. That ships often enter a storm, and don't come out the other side.

“Don’t look s’worried.” He comments at your suddenly terrified energy, he places a palm on your back to usher you forwards.

“Just that I really don’t want to die out here.” You sigh, not denying the fear since it’s clearly that obvious.

You walk willingly wherever he’s decided to take you, sharing a short wave to the man up by the ships wheel. He had messy head of hair, one that you imagined when it was windy, would blow all over the place.

“Have faith in us, Y/N. We’ve weathered many storms jus’ fine.”

“Oi, H,” the scruffy pirate you just waved at calls down to his captain, as he tracks down the stairs with you. Going from the steering deck to the main deck.

Harry tilts his head over his shoulder, pausing on the stairs where you both stand, indicating he’s listening with a nod. You briefly trail your eyes over his side profile. The curve of his nose, and the cut of his jaw.

But his crewmate barely gets a couple words out before he’s interrupted shortly after, “How did ya go wi—“

“Fine, Liam.” Abruptly, Harry cuts in. Not rudely, but curtly.

The man on the wheel, who now has a name to you— Liam— alternates his gaze between the two of you suddenly. Like he’s dawning upon why he just got interrupted.

“Ah, I see.” He nods, quickly busying himself with what he was doing beforehand.

Harry continues walking you down a set off stairs, back down to main deck.

“I’m going to assume that was about earlier, and has something to do with why you dragged me out of my cell.” You say, attempting indifference.

“You’d assume right.” He nods, but you wait for him to say something more— which he doesn’t.

You sigh in frustration, “I'll also take that's why I'm still up here, and not locked back up."

You're trying to gauge yet again how much of his actions are kindness, and how much of them are out of an attempt to gain something.

"Not why you're out here, 'm tryna give ya a bit of sun." He brings you to a stop at the far left of the main deck, smirking as he talks, "I've got to patch up a old sail, incase we need it. No better place to do it but out here."

He pays no mind to you as he kneels down to a storage unit a few feet away from you in the floor, unlatching it, and hauling out a huge canvas sail it. The sheet crinkles as he carries it out, and dumps it on the wooden deck.

You frown, wondering if he's the only one on the ship who can do any sort of needlework... because it seems like the only reasonable option as to why he's doing it himself. So you ask, "Why exactly are you doing it?"

He laughs, striding back over to pull a much larger sewing kit from the bottom of the storage space, and also sheet of spare canvas.

"You are filled with clichés of us, darling. What is makin' y'ask that?" He chucks the kit and extra fabric down, following to sit shortly after.

You're still standing as you try to conjure up an answer that doesn't sound unbelievably stupid. But he is cross-legged, pulling the damaged side of the sail over his muscular thighs.

"Because..." You pause, still unsure how to phrase it as you stare at him. You're looking at his side profile again, and it's lit by the overhead sun.

He glances your way, essentially looking up at you from where he's positioned on the floor. He finishes your sentence for you, "'Cause I'm a captain? And why would I do something productive for myself and my crew when I could make someone below me do it?"

"Well... basically."

"You're going t’find out very quickly the dynamic between me ‘n my crew." he pulls open the sewing box, filled with larger needles, and thick thread.

"I may be their Captain, but we’re all like brothers. I see them as that, not as my workers. They are my team, and we help out whenever and wherever we can." He states, sounding completely sincere, "And, I'm the only one that can actually hand sew things, so here we are."

"Here we are..." you parrot quietly, almost finding it endearing the way he talks about his crew mates.

Delicately, he’s threading up a needle and starting to take it through the sail and its new panel, lined up over the relatively large tear. His hands are steady, hair fallen over his eyes as he concentrated on starting the stitch. You stare at the dark bruising over his knuckles, and you swear that wasn’t as deep a shade earlier.

Without thought, you slowly sink to the ground, back resting against the side of the boat, not waiting long before you start to ask him more questions.

“Whatever happened to put that large of a hole in your sail?” You’d quizzed.

He knew it wouldn’t take long before you started to pry him with more of your wonders, “A cannonball.”

Your face can’t hide the shock, because of how casually he answered you. Your lips were parted in surprise at his response when he glanced over to you. A smirk over his mouth, popping a dimple on his cheek.

“Jus’ a run in with another ship.” He mused, “They tore a hole in our sail, and we tore a hole into the side of their boat.”

You almost sputter a laugh, of course he has to brag about not having lost that altercation.

“I hope you have a winning streak under your belt.” You shake your head, smiling a little.

“Why? Because I’m carryin’ such precious cargo.” Alluding to you with a charming cadence to his voice.

You’re stretched out in the sun as he watches you, and you almost look happy. If he didn’t know any better. But maybe you are a little. Circumstantially, you’re probably far from it. But in this moment, you look calm in a way he hasn’t seen before.

“Obviously. And all this would be for nothing if I go down with your ship and you don’t get your gold.”

“Tragic really, after putting up with y’through all this. Including jumpin' off m'own ship.” He teases.

“It’s been like, 5 days. I cant have been that annoying outside of the jumping thing.” You can’t tell if you’re offended at his jabs like you should be. You wish you fully were, but the banter is almost pleasing to have with him. It gives you something to laugh at. And also gives you an excuse to be insolent with him.

“Mm, if only y’knew…” he sighs in faux exhaustion, a tiny laugh escaping through his façade.

The way the ship cruised through the waves was inexplicably calming to experience up here. With the sun and the warm around surrounding you.

His hands were weaving the needle through the material, it’s mesmerising to watch. He’s definitely skilled at it, since it has hardly taken him long to get one side sewed on.

“You look quite content over there.” He comments, not looking up from where he was.

The observation stuns you a little, because of how true it was.

“I… it’s hard not to be after being in a tiny wooden room for 2 days straight.” You answer, but it doesn’t feel like the only reason why.

“Y'know,” he begins, “I excepted someone like you to have the worst set of sea sickness, and to be constantly terrified, but you've seemingly proved me wrong.”

“Have you underestimated me?”

“Possibly.” He remarks. And you don’t answer him again.

You're struck with the realisation that you actually don’t hate being above deck. Or really on the ship— outside of the reasons to why you’re on it. You think you might have underestimated yourself.

Like a reel of film, your mind flashes through images of a life like this. Outside of the damn cell at the bottom of the boat.

One where you spend your days free on the water. Both free in regards to your imprisonment here— but also from your life and looming responsibilities at home.

You envision yourself suddenly in the most pirate-like attire, standing up on those huge masts like they do in fictions sold at the bookstore— the odd one that would romanticise the life of piracy instead of completely defacing it.

It hits you like a slap in the face. One that stings and burns on the side of your cheek, lingering for days after it initially impacted.

You have to forcibly squeeze your eyes closed, because there is no room to have feelings like that in your already muddled brain.

Harry speaks up from where you forgot he was sitting, “What exactly is Kelna like?”

“Prison.” You blurt, hand almost coming to slap over your own mouth in surprise.

Your head is in disarray, and that somehow slipped its way out. Because all the sudden, you realise you almost felt more trapped in your own home than you honestly do here.

You tried to escape this ship out of fear that you would be killed— or sent somewhere worse— but when that element is removed from the equation, you’re certain anything is better than Kelna.

“Im kidding—“ you hurriedly spew out, but his head is turned to frown at you, “it’s nice… it’s great. Very lovely people and we have… yea. It’s great.”

Of course, you love your family. Some of them. Your younger brother and older brother, your younger sister. But outside of your siblings, there were few people to love.

“Sound like y’trying to convince yourself more than me.”

You guess you kind of were in a sense. And a part of you wanted to just say how much you never wanted to go back, if that were an option. You only ever told your older brother Poe about how desperate you were to get away from the court. One person. One soul out of this whole world of them knows.

Only Poe knows how terrified you were that Misha— Kelna's infamous prophet— would come to the podium to speak the most misconstrued riddle, that supposedly announced you were to take the crown. Your own stomach churns at the concept.

But revealing that to Harry felt like giving away a vulnerable piece of yourself. He doesn't deserve to be the second person you entrust with something so pressing for you. Which you remind yourself that you swore not to lay an ounce of trust in this man’s hands. That your impartialness to a separate life here is due to your life at home. And that freedom on this ship is unlikely.

“I’m not…” you breathe out in defeat. Trying desperately to steer clear of the subject, because its easy to drag you into a pit of ever-welling anxiety.

However, he can sense your complete shift in energy. This is your first time really talking about home. And it seems like you have more than bitterness to it. He expected a whimsical answer. One that showed your longing for return, or that you even valued part of being in a court. But he got nothing of the sorts.

It slips from his soft mouth before he can stop it, “Are you not safe at home?”

He’s completely disregarded his sewing venture, and has turned to look right at you. His features have softened, and he looks genuinely a little concerned. But you brush it off for deceit. Of course he would want to know something like that. Want to pick away at your seams until all the sudden you're unraveling in the palm of his hands, tearing your whole village down with it.

“Yes!” You jump to clear that up. Secondly feeling like he's almost babying you.

“Probably safer there than I am here.” You bark, but it’s hardly true if you really think about it. Attempts on a royals life are always a threat, and it’s happened to your family members before. Which transcends into a whole other story, equally as painful for you as anything else at home.

His brows pull into a frown. He realises he’s struck something sensitive here. The topic seems to make you recoil completely. Your body language has changed, just like that. Straight from relaxed to on edge.

“I feel like there's a pretty equal risk." He provides, picking back up the threaded needle. Seeing what more he can coax out of you.

"I—" you cut yourself off.

"I am fine." Your tone is conclusive.

"Is that why you always sneak out of your royal residence in the middle of the night?" He pushes, a sarcastic lilt to his deep voice.

"That isn't any of your business!" You groan, "I'm not asking why it is you're a felon at sea, or your tragic past life that's lead you here, am I?"

"But you probably wonder..." he smirks, impartial to your jab.

"I don't, you ass!" You state defiantly.

"I'm just trying to gauge how much you actually like your homeland."

You scoff in disbelief, "Oh, piss off. You just want something to hold over me."

It's clear to him something much deeper is going on than what he initially thought. But its also evident that you are far from interested in talking about it now. So, he files away what information and suspicion he had, and finally allows the subject to change.

"Whatever princess... y'getting mouthy, and I've gathered that usually doesn't end well for either of us." he rolls his eyes in amusement, "You'll have to to tell me what kind of clothes you like, so I know what I'm in for."

"It only doesn't end well because you're so goddamn pushy." You huff.

"This is why you ended up locked in a cell for two days." his tone is airy, considering the topic, "Also, best of y'to recall I'm the one who decides whether or not ya coming off the ship tomorrow."

You hold back your bitter quip at his reminder, but not the deep sigh from your lungs. You feel stressed. Overwhelmed even. Which is the only good thing about your tiny room below deck, its stable. You know what you get down there. Yourself, and no personal questions that leave you reeling.

He finishes his double stitch in silence. Thinking of you, and wondering what exactly your perception of your home life is. In a long answer— not the short and guarded ones he's currently receiving.

You sit, still in the sun, but feeling significantly more riled up than earlier. That's when Harry stands from his work, and your eyes dart to the patch that's now one with the sail. Intricately sewed in place, with a clearly detail-oriented eye.

"An' she's done." He nods proudly, talking to himself as he picks the complete task up from where it was spread on the deck. Carrying it back into where it came from— along with the closed sewing kit. Laying it folded in the floor compartment and latching it closed.

His hands brush themselves off along his black pants. They admittedly fit him perfectly. Nipped in at his sculpted waist, and outlining his likely firm thighs.

His green eyes slanted down to you, as if he could feel your own gaze burning into his tanned skin. He smirks, a dimple popping out on his cheek as he looked at you.

He was trouble.

He looked at you like you were a game to be played. A challenge to be conquered. And somehow you met him right at that very level. You wanted to prove something to him— and the thing is, you don't even know what.

Its not something you can reverse, or take back. It's already long started, the second you pushed back from his demands when you first met.

His legs that you were just studying stride over to where you sit. He towers over you, examining you with a silent and smug smile.

"A corset, perhaps?" He proclaimed without context, and your face twists in confusion.

"Although, I've heard they are very hard to get on and off a woman." It clicks in your brain he's currently talking about you. Imagining you in the likes of a corset.

It's like he was pondering it aloud just for his own sick enjoyment, because he keeps going as your expression quickly bleeds into a scowl.

"And, there is no doubt in my mind you'd drive your own elbow into my stomach before you let me help lace you into a corset. Or out of it." His voice has dropped an octave, and his chocolatey hair has fallen over his forehead again. For such a heinous topic, he has the face of an angel. Maybe a fallen one... but an angel nonetheless.

"You would be correct." You confirm, "And I spend enough time in corsets at home. God forbid I wear one when theres no need for it."

He suddenly juts a hand out for you to take, which you stare at for an awfully long time, analysing the dark marks over his knuckles. Eventually settling to let him help you stand. It pulls you up effortlessly despite its visibly injury, and you feel the rough parts of his large hand as it cups yours.

"Espcially if im going to be laying around in a cell, whats the point in that?"

He still has grip on your hand, "Oh, dove, y'not going back down there for a little bit."

Your gaze narrows immediately. And you ask the first question and only question that makes sense in your mind.

"Who else is down there?"

"Someone who deserves to be left in the room with the cuff holders on the wall. Attached to them."

Your stomach sinks a little, recalling him saying thats sectioned off for people who have done truly bad things. Seems like it would explain his battered up knuckles perfectly.

But with the closest thing you’ve gotten to an answer all day, you’re quick to mentally move onto what the effects you the most.

"Where am i gonna..."

He says with a completely unfazed expression, "With me."

“With you?”

“That’s what I said, no?” He raises his brows, “unless you’d rather be down there with him. Who we’d then certainly have to kill once he knows you’re here.”

“Christ.” A wave of shock rocks through you at his vulgar wording, “can you put me nowhere else?”

“No.” He states, starting to walk with your hand gripped in his, “it’s just for the night. Don’t worry s’much.”

“Don’t worry? You just told me you would have to kill a man if I chose to stay away from you.”

You’re glaring at him as he holds open a door for you— one that leads to another kitchen room— despite you’re bitter look, he’s unbothered entirely.

“Let’s get you something to eat. Allow ya to process the fact you’re stuck with me for a night.”

———

Your night was significantly different to all the others you’d had on the ship this past week.

The evening had come on relatively quick. You’d sat above deck after he fed you some fruit, and watched the sun set as his crew gathered to share a pint.

You observed their dynamics, and the way a few men got themselves silly on one too many beers. Stumbling all over the deck.

Harry stayed closer to sober though—a bit tipsy, but nothing drastic— and as evening bleed into night, many of the boys had turned in for bed around midnight.

His blonde crew mate had shouted out for you to come down and have a pint, but you laughed it off. His drunken plea seeming far out of line considering the circumstances.

Not long after most of them had left, Harry came up to where you sat. You were perched atop a step on the stairs, and you know he’d been watching you. Making sure— as you stayed a fair distance away— that you didn’t disappear.

His hand had gestured out to you again as he had apparently come to collect you. You stood without it’s help, and he snorted a bitter laugh.

“You're infuriating, you know? Unbelievably so. And I feel it all the way in my stomach.” The lilt in his voice is intoxicating. He sounds like he disdains you, yet is addicted to the feeling all at the same time.

He’s standing the step below yours, and once you had fully straightened out, you were slightly above him. It almost gave you an added boost of confidence, “Right in here?”

Your hand reached out to breach the minimal distance, brushing your pointer and middle finger against where the skin of his stomach is.

His hand grabbed around your wrist, staring at you— he pressed your palm flat against his chest— you could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the sheer black blouse he was still in.

His bruised knuckles are pressed over yours. The dark spots a mosaic of blacks and blues— you wonder how bad it would hurt if you pressed down on them. Just out of spite, of course.

“Right there.” He affirmed.

“Too bad you have to room with me tonight.” You sigh in mock sympathy.

He looks like he’s about to say something else, when he bites his tongue and does his usual thing— tugging you along wherever he plans to go.

His leftover mates say goodnight as he walks past— all of them regarding you as well, surprisingly.

You’re lead to his quarters as you’d suspected, and you’re now faced with the situation of how this is going to all pan out.

Once inside the dark room, he lights a wall candle with a match— that he pulled from god knows where— casting the space in a golden glow.

He is quick to then shed the black material that’s covering his chest over himself without hesitation. Your gaze skates along the muscled skin of his back. Littered in black ink and scars that immediately piqued your curiosity. Ones that you undeniably want to trace over, and enquire how exactly they got there. Which feels like an odd thought to be entertaining considering how much you push to hate him.

His hands unlatch his belt, still adorning all its weapons. And he walks to the foot of his bed, laying it atop the cover.

“Would I be correct to assume I’m taking the floor?” You put forward, and his head turns over his shoulder.

“That one’s up t’you. Unless you’re that desperate to get away from me.” He drawls, the alcohol making him a tad drowsy now that the buzz has worn off.

A part of you begs to be stubborn. To say no. But the other half of you in rioting to lay down on a mattress for the first time in almost a week. Because you couldn’t physically sleep another night on the hard wooden floor.

You breathe outward, walking over in silence as you climb beneath his sheets without warrant.

He tries to ignores it, but a small smile breaks out over his lips before he can stop it. So he turns swiftly around, unzipping his black pants and shedding them off his long legs.

“What exactly are you doing?” You shrilly ask, palms ready to shield your eyes if he decides to strip the only remaining fabric below his laurel-adorning hips.

“You’re not sleeping naked next to me.” Certainty riddles your tone, and there is no way you’ll budge on it.

But to your statement he laughs, “M’not naked.”

“Not far off it either.” You murmur, observing as he walks over to the candle he not long lit and blows it out.

The room falls into darkness, all you can hear are the plodding of his feet on the wood floor.

Once he’s next to the bed, you hear his voice, “You’re on my side, by the way. S’budge up.”

You scoot over without words, and feel the mattress sink as his weight comes onto it.

“Better than the floor, no?” He asks quietly, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Undecided.” You whisper. “Comfier I suppose.”

His breath is quiet and consistent as you both fall quiet. You’re certain he falls asleep before you, because you’re awake for a while. Staring at the ceiling wondering how you got here yet again.

But eventually, the tiredness you’ve been feeling for the last couple days catches up on you, and it lulls you into a deep sleep. Unbroken from any uncomfortable surfaces or loud noises. Just peace.

Peace until you stir for the first time in the morning.

When soft light is shining through the circular windows, and you realise how truly warm you are. All the edges of your consciousness are blurred and hazy with your sleep induced state. You nestle into what you thought was the mattress, but register somewhere in your head that your body is pressed against someone.

And after that, it’s confirmed when they move. A slight roll, and a warm heavy arm that drapes over your waist, tugging you closer.

Your eyes dart open, and are met with the sideways view of a swallow on a collarbone. It stops you dead in your tracks. Because slowly you realise your plastered to someone's side. Harry's side. Legs thrown over his hips, head nestled into his neck.

You're frozen for a moment. Because he smells so nice. But alarm bells are sounding in your head. Too close to the enemy, they riot.

The rigidness of your body stirs him again, rolling him further into you. Legs intertwined, and the bridge of your nose bumping against the curve of his throat. Now he's truly swallowing up all your senses. His scent is genuinely intoxicating. Salty, just as you'd imagine a pirate would smell— of the ocean and all that lies beneath it. But it has a woodsy tone to it, deep and masculine. One you wonder how he just naturally carries.

His tattoos are gorgeous up close, chest chiseled and dusted with soft dark hairs. You use the finger that’s between your body and his to brush gently over the butterfly on his stomach. Tracing the details, despite how wrong it feels. In your moments of timid admiration, you don’t realise his eyes have opened. Green and glazed over with sleep, it takes him a solid minute to register what he's watching you do.

An intake of breathe, and his gravelly voice pressed out the only thing he can even think of saying, “g’morning.”

Physically, you flinch. Startled at his sudden consciousness. Finger withdrawing from its tender movements, your heart pounding.

“I— hello.” You whisper, unsure how long he’s been awake.

He stretches, which in turn scoots his body down the bed, leaving you face to face with him. A pink tongue juts out over his lips— wetting them.

“I should’ve established a no-cuddle policy.” You state, eyes wandering the plains of his face.

To this, his morning voice rumbles a laugh, “are you trying to blame me for this? ‘Cause you’re on m’side, touching up my chest, dove.”

You turn your head over your shoulder, glancing to the gap from where you originally feel asleep and where you are now. Red flushed over your face, It does look incriminating on your end.

A guilty sigh falls from your lips before you purse them together. Not having an explanation for how you ended up like this.

“S’okay.” His voice was so deep, and it sunk into your ears. Almost drawing a shiver out of you. It was attractive.

You can’t tell if that observation is coming only from the fact you have just spent a night curled into his chest. But it’s all you can think about.

“Didn’t mean to.” You say, the closest you were coming to an apology.

“Mmm, I bet.” He murmurs, his hand leaving from where it was on your waist and going to comb through his hair.

Perfectly tousled from sleep, he brushed through it with his fingers. You take the opportunity now that his hand has left your waist, to sit up, averting your eyes from the way his touch glides through his soft hair.

You look out the window, and immediately you’re shocked. You see land. Not even that far away.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“There’s land…”

“Ah,” he also props himself up with his elbows, “so there is.”

“Best we get ready.” He shrugs his bare shoulders, and you quickly jolt your head this way.

We?

He’s far from shy as he threw the covers off himself, with the daylight streaming through the windows, his whole body was on display.

You wondered if he realised the kind of body he had on him. Because undeniably, seeing him in just boxers makes your throat bob.

“Do you say we because you intend on taking me off the ship?” You ask, a silent plea behind your words.

“Tonight.” He states, glances back to see the palpable excitement spread over your face.

You rush out of bed, a sudden burst of energy at his confirmation. He is shocked as suddenly your arms collide with his bare waist.

“Thank you. Thank you.” You really are grateful, and you’re so desperate to get off this boat for a bit.

His lips part in surprise, “that’s… y’welcome?”

You hold him longer than you should, a part of you a little ashamed at your lack of self discipline. Because you should be able to contain yourself. You eventually pull yourself from him, smiling in a way he hasn’t seen before.

“We’re probably gonna dock in… 20 minutes? We’ll be gone for most of the day. I’ll come back and get you at evening.”

It sounded like a long time to wait. But you are sure you could do it. So you nod, enthusiastically.

You go and sit yourself on the edge of his bed, wondering where you’re going to end up— what the town will be like, where you’ll go— all while watching Harry go through his closet for an outfit.

It reminded you almost of how a royal would dress, particularly about what came out and what would go with what.

He stands with his back to you, still just in boxers. He has a nice ass.

You mentally scold yourself, yet unable to look away from him as he pulls a maroon pair of pants over his hips. They’re left unzipped as he gets a off-white linen shirt to tuck into them. However the shirt was left almost entirely unbuttoned. And his cross necklace sits between his pecs that are on full display.

He belts his weaponry around his waist, taking it off the wall from where they were hung. Odd of him to leave them so in the open, when you could’ve stabbed him in the night while he slept.

“Are you leaving me in here?” You ask, watching as he collects a few last minute things from around his room.

“S’long as you don’t trash the place.”

You think about teasing him, but decide not to risk it. You piss him off, then you’ll likely get put somewhere without anything to snoop around. And also miss out on getting off the ship tonight.

So you just nod. And at that, he’s satisfied.

“Well, m’off then. Don’t do anything stupid, Princess.” He raises his brows, face serious until it breaks into a small smile.

“I won’t.” You lie, because how are you meant to guarantee that.

He walks out, and obviously locks you in. You wait an hour, until you’ve been docked for a while before you start to dig around his room.

Not forgetting to take some time looking out the window to figure out where the hell you are in the world. Nothing was geographically giving it away, but once you saw a small fishing cart on the pier, you read Sintir fishery.

Sintir is so far away from your homeland, you let out an audible gasp when you read it. There’s no fucking way, you’d thought.

But as you walk away from the window, you register that it has technically been a week since you’d been taken.

You ponder it as you start to go through his things. You feel like some kind of home invader. Rummaging through a trunk under his bed, raiding draws, and flicking through his racks of clothes. Digging into pockets as though you were waiting to happen upon something of value.

It turned out to be the smartest places you looked, because in a thick raincoat, you fucking found it.

A key. One he has to have forgotten about, since there’s no way in the world he’s left you in here without being certain there’s no way to get out.

You ran to the door of his room, and held your breath as the sharp metal got pushed into the lock by your eager hands.

You turned it, jostling it a bit. And it clicked.

Quietly, you reach for the handle, gently pulling it down and breathing out as the door unlatches.

There’s no time to wait as you slink outside. Clicking it shut, and slowly trying to recall your way back down to the chambers.

Every noise has you on edge, and you’re terrified to get caught. Waiting to turn a corner and one of his crew mates to be there, catching you in the act. But it’s not enough to stop you. You may have made a few wrong turns, but you end up in a hallway that jogs your memory.

You make your way down the stairs to the cells, unable to keep your footsteps entirely quiet. It’s without warning you realise the space down there is in fact still occupied by someone… just like you’d initially feared.

You’re met with a guttural groan, and suddenly your anxiety nearly triples. It’s masculine— and when you reach the bottom of the stairs, still out of view from the cell door— you can confirm it when the voice echoes out from the dim room.

“Let me out, you… you fuckin’ bastards.” Whoever it is sounds exhausted, like they’ve been teetering on the edges of life or death for hours.

When you don’t reply he lets out a wet and chesty cough as he continues, “I don’t care about tha’ whore no more! The princess means nothing to me.”

Your heart is racing at the mention of yourself, and the man sounds like he’s dying. It’s certain in your mind now this man’s face was probably what caused the bruising on Harrys fist.

A heavy bang comes from his cell, sounding like metal cuffs being slammed against a wall.

His speech turns to slur as you slowly back yourself back up the stairs. Curiosity always kills the cat, you think. And you wished you’d stayed in Harry’s room.

“Or jus’ kill me already!” He begs, tone shaking with exhausted rage, “already beat me to a pulp after I called that royal a good f’nothing slut. S’cmon!”

That was your cue to leave, and as you break off into a near run down the halls, you’re shaking the whole time.

Yet somehow, despite what anyone would’ve expected, you made it back to Captains quarters without a single run in. Not a soul knows you found a key.

You slide down the relocked door once you’re inside, and pant with not only the physical exertion, but the anxiety you just put yourself under.

It takes a fair while before you can move again, but your hands skate along the floorboards beneath you, tracing the wood grains to calm down.

Rising, you go back to his closet to put the small key back exactly where you found it. Not taking chances in trying to harbour it for yourself.

The room is deafeningly quiet, it forces your mind to hear the likely dying man’s words on repeat. And wonder if Harry really punched the man because he called you a slut…

The only person that knows is him.

He only knows that the second that sack of shit opened his mouth and said the only thing you’d be good for is ‘a quick fuck and some gold’ he absolutely lost it.

He only knows the feeling of pure, red-hot anger that took over him until he slammed the side of his fist into the slimy man’s face. More than once. He’s not sure how many times, until it was bloody, and until his knuckles already had a bruise festering below the skin— darkening by the minute.

And god, can he not stop thinking about how it made him feel. It was all consuming. It solidified that you were not going back down into the cells. He would rather have you in his own bed than within a 5 metre radius of that scum.

So as he walks through the town, splitting off from his crew to go by you clothes, he realises that you’re making more of an impression on him than he thought.

And while he piles up half a wardrobe for you, not even worrying about how much it’ll all add up to, he clocks just how… infatuated he’s possibly become with you.

Just how he’s suddenly ended up in this position. Where he hates you, yet wants to protect you— and even sometimes dote on you.

God— It’s dangerous.

That feeling that lingers when he thinks about you. Both a good and a bad one.

You were dangerous for him… and he’s still trying to decide how much, and in what way. But the biggest thing, is he’s worried for when he finds out.

Whether it’s going to be when you stab him in the back— either metaphorically or physically— or when you trace your delicate touch over his bare chest, so gently his mental resolve cracks along with the walls guarding his heart.

His conclusion as he checks out with a plethora of clothes for you, you’re either going to kill him, or he’s going to end up killing for you.

Oh, and that he’s certain he wants to kiss you. But that’s a whole other thing he has to mentally unpack.

———

taglist:

@saturnheartz @slap-me-harry @ilovehsstuff @ameerakane20 @matildasatellite @harrysslut7 @sunflowersey @styleswiftie @anotheryoutubefanpage @straightontilmornin

thank you everyone for your undying support, you are all the best!! i love you

comment or reach out to be added to taglist—🤍

i really hope you guys enjoyed this part since i have rewrote it and reread it that many times i seriously have no idea if it’s any good HAHA

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #pirate harry styles #royal y/n #pirates gold #piraterry #eveningepiphany

270 notes · View notes

queenshelby · 9 months ago

Text

Our Little Secret (Part 31)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Birth, Complications

Moments later, Cillian joined the others in the dining room and, after you were finished feeding Mara, you followed suit.

Everyone sat down at the table, exchanging polite greetings and small talk. Your mother was still upset, but she refrained from saying anything more hurtful. Instead, she focused on making pleasant conversation with Siobhan and Cillian's other sister Sian.

As time progressed, Cillian's mother rose from her seat, carrying a steaming dish to serve everyone. "Dig in, everyone!" she encouraged, gesturing at the array of delicious food. "We can all eat now," she announced cheerfully.

"Siobhan, why don't you start passing out these plates?" she suggested, handing a stack of dishes to her daughter. Siobhan obliged, distributing the food among the guests. The aroma wafted enticingly through the air, tantalizing their senses and drawing their attention to the feast laid out before them.

"This smells amazing, mum," Cillian praised, serving himself generous portions of the delectable dishes. "You've outdone yourself once again," he complimented sincerely, watching his mother beam proudly.

"Thank you, Cillian," she murmured appreciatively while Frank rolled his eyes for reasons unclear to you.

Cillian and Frank then shared another round of heated glares, their tension escalating with each passing moment. Neither one of them uttered a word to one another, but their body language spoke volumes. Their rigid postures and clenched jaws hinted at the animosity brewing beneath the surface.

"Would anyone like some wine?" Cillian's mother asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence, causing Cillian to nod.

"Are you alright?" she then added worriedly, her gaze darting between Cillian and Frank.

"Of course," Cillian assured her, forcing a tight-lipped grin. "Just tired," he lied smoothly, reaching for his glass of wine.

"Well, babies do that to you, Cillian," his mother laughed kindly, patting the hand he rested on the table. "You need to pace yourself because it will get worse," she then chuckled, her gaze flitting between him and you.

"We will," you promised, meeting her sympathetic gaze. "We seem to be working well as a team so far," you added, attempting to lighten the mood.

Cillian nodded, flashing a brief smile before returning to his meal. The group fell silent, each member consumed by their own thoughts as they savored the scrumptious food. The air buzzed with an undercurrent of tension, but the palatable dishes successfully managed to divert their attention from the simmering hostility.

Despite the occasional strained laughter and forced smiles, it proved somewhat challenging to maintain a cohesive conversation and, at around 9 o'clock, after a few more glasses of wine, Cillian's mother called it a day.

"I think I should get some rest before tomorrow," she said, yawning widely before she left the dining room and, as soon as she did, your mother and Frank looked at each other, rose from their seats and disappeared into separate rooms without saying a single word, leaving you, Cillian, Siobhan and Sian sitting there awkwardly.

"Don't worry," Siobhan tried to console you, her hand squeezing your arm comfortingly. "Tomorrow will be better," she then smiled encouragingly, causing Cillian to shake his head in disbelieve.

"This is ridiculous," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "I didn't expect that we would have to deal with such nonsense when we came here," he lamented before walking towards the living room in order to confront them both.

"They are behaving like children," he said, his jaw muscles bulging visibly. "Frank especially," he then added bitterly while Siobhan and Sian exchanged knowing glances.

"Just give them some time to process this Cillian," Siobhan reasoned patiently though Cillian merely shrugged in reply.

"They had nine months to process this," he argued stubbornly, crossing his arms defiantly.

"I understand, Cillian," Siobhan consoled sympathetically, her tone gentle and understanding. "You're frustrated right now--"

"I'm beyond frustrated," he cut her off impatiently, his brows furrowing in agitation before barging off to find them.

"You'll only provoke them," Siobhan called after him, her words falling on deaf ears.

Sian sighed heavily, shaking her head in exasperation. "Why does everything involve drama in our family?" she moaned despondently, casting a sorrowful glance at you.

"Fuck, I feel like I am at fault," you sighed, biting your lip nervously. "If I hadn't gotten involved with Cillian in the first place, none of this would have happened," you lamented, staring blankly at the empty wine glass on the table.

"Y/N," Siobhan said to you, patting your hand. "We all do dumb things sometimes, especially when we are in love," she assured you fiercely, her unwavering gaze conveying a certainty that suprised you.

"I am not in love with him," you lied, your voice trembling slightly. "It was a short-lived and stupid little fling," you dismissed it, biting your lip nervously. "We weren't really serious about it," you insisted, although the truth was much different.

"Sure, if this is what you want to tell yourself," Siobhan replied, offering you a comforting smile. "But, in any event, what I am saying is that you aren't responsible for other people's reactions or behavior," she emphasized, her gaze lingering on you thoughtfully. "Cillian and you seem to be happy enough with whatever arrangements you have in place so your mother and Frank will just need to let it go and deal with it," she concluded resolutely, her voice firm and unwavering.

You sighed heavily, mulling over her words carefully. She made sense, but you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for inadvertently causing turmoil within Cillian's family.

"You are right," you admitted reluctantly, your voice barely audible. "Cillian and I are content with our arrangement and if my mum doesn't want anything to do with her grandchild then that's her loss," you determined, swallowing thickly.

"Exactly," Siobhan agreed wholeheartedly, her gaze locking onto yours just as Cillian appeared again, sighing heavily.

"I give up," he muttered, throwing his hands into the air dramatically.

"I told you there was no point talking with Frank when he gets like this," Sian reminded him, watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, he's got to learn that the relationship between Y/N and myself is not his business," Cillian growled, shaking his head in frustration. "He can't control everyone's life," he added before barging upstairs.

Cillian was visibly upset, his anger and irritation plainly evident in his tense posture and stormy gaze. You watched him disappear upstairs, his footsteps echoing loudly against the hardwood floors.

"I will be back," you told the sisters before following Cillian and, as you approached the bedroom in which Mara had been sleeping, you could hear Cillian speaking softly to your Babygirl.

"Shh, it's okay my perfect little girl," he cooed, his voice low and soothing. "Let's just get that nappy changed, shall we?" he told her, seeing that, clearly, it was this time of the night for her.

"Do you want me to do this?" you asked quietly as you opened the door of the bedroom, observing Cillian cradling Mara lovingly.

"No, I've got it," he replied, looking up at you briefly before tenderly laying Mara down on the changing table. "I actually enjoy this part," he explained, his voice soft and soothing. You watched him closely, admiring how adeptly he navigated the task.

"Really? You enjoy changing dirty nappies?" you queried skeptically, arching an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Really," he confirmed, his lips quirking upward in amusement. "I mean, it's something I can do, you know. She won't let me bottle feed her and she most certainly won't go to sleep for me anymore," he then explained, chuckling slightly. "She prefers you to do it," he continued, grinning broadly at you.

"Well, I do have the mother's touch," you winked while Cillian disposed of the used diaper into the bin, before he grabbed a fresh one and placed it on the changing mat.

"Or maybe you're just naturally gifted Y/N. You are amazing with her," Cillian said honestly while putting a new nappy on to her and taping it securely before he lifted her up in his arms. "Ready for mommy to feed you again?" he then asked your baby sweetly while she gurgled happily and kicked her legs in excitement.

You took her out of his hands, kissing her forehead affectionately before responding to Cillian. "I guess the only real difference is that I have got the goodies and you don't," you joked lightly, watching him chuckle softly.

"You are perfect with her Cillian and you are most certainly perfect with me these days," you admitted quietly, feeling Cillian's gaze lock onto yours.

"If I was really that perfect, then I wouldn't have made you come here with me," he retorted, his gaze flickering across your face. "I mean, with the way Sarah and Frank are acting, this is far from ideal and I am sorry for making you come. You deserve to be treated so much better," Cillian apologized, his gaze boring into yours.

"Cillian, you didn't make me come here," you countered, your gaze flickering across his face. "I chose to come with you, remember? It wasn't an obligation," you pointed out, watching him consider your words.

"You are something else, you know that?" Cillian murmured, his voice hushed and filled with emotion. "And I think that l am actually in love with you, Y/N."

You paused, studying him intently. His confession caught you off guard, his words painting a vivid image of his inner turmoil. "Cillian," you breathed, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. "I think I may be in love with you too," you confessed hesitantly, blushing profusely.

His breath hitched sharply, his gaze locked onto yours. "Really?" he gasped, his eyes widening in surprise.

"I have been for a while but things were just too difficult between us. You then met Amanda and dated her for a while and I figured that my feelings for you were unrequited so I tried to ignore them,” you confessed, blushing deeply. "I never expected that things would change," you added, squirming uncomfortably.

"Things have definitely changed," Cillian agreed, his gaze burning with intensity. "Or maybe they haven't, and I was just trying too hard to ignore how I felt as well," he sighed wistfully, reaching out to cup your cheek affectionately.

"So, what are we going to do now then?” you asked cautiously, your gaze fluttering across Cillian's face.

"Well, we could work things out. We could be a proper family, move in together and give this relationship a shot," Cillian murmured, his words stirring a warm flush in your veins. "You, me, Mara and, occasionally, Max," he added, his gaze piercing into yours.

"You know what? That sounds absolutely wonderful," you exhaled, smiling brightly. "I want that, Cillian," you confessed fervently, your voice trembling slightly just as Cillian finally leaned in and captured your lips in a passionate kiss.

To be continued...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine

152 notes · View notes