#me knocking on the side of my own head: stop! it! right! now!

[anonymous-dentist]

Bleeding Heart Part Six

Part One | Previous Part

-

Almost two months after his first altercation with Hombre Misterioso, Cellbit hears a knock at his door as he's editing the last of Roier's photos.

Yawning, Cellbit leans his chair back and runs a hand through his hair. He cracks his neck and blearily checks the time in the bottom corner of his computer screen: three in the afternoon. He started editing almost nine hours ago. He's been out of coffee for two and a half hours at least.

So he gets up, groans as his spine protests at the sudden weight, winces as his bones all pop in quick succession. Picks up his coffee mug, ignores the knocking at the door, goes to start a fresh pot of coffee.

His mug was painted by Richarlyson at one of those do-your-own-pottery places. It's a bright, ugly yellow with a red heart and the words, 'World's Okayest Dad' painted on it in black.

The knocking continues.

Cellbit checks his hair in his reflection in the microwave. Pulls at one of the bags under his eyes. Sticks his tongue out. Grimaces at how stupid and old and tired he looks. (Bagi is 26, he thinks, so he should be, too. But, wow, he looks older. Much older.)

More knocking.

With one last forlorn look at his bubbling, brewing, beautiful coffee, Cellbit finally goes to answer the door. He's in his pajamas (sweats and one of Felps' old shirts), and he probably looks like a walking corpse, but, like. Whatever, anyone stupid enough to actually come to his apartment knows that he works from home. They should know what to expect when bothering him.

But:

"Hi!" Bluebird cheerfully says as soon as Cellbit's door is open.

Cellbit looks at her. He blinks, rubs his eyes with one hand, and moves to close the door in her face.

But he's stopped by Bluebird sticking her foot in the door and weaseling past him and into the apartment. She apologizes as she does so, but Cellbit knows that she doesn't mean it; she's a hero.

"Nice place," she comments, walking to the couch and plopping herself down like she's right at home.

"Um," awkwardly says Cellbit. "Get out of my house?"

"Who, me?"

Bluebird actually, really, legitimately looks around the room dramatically, head and hair whipping back and forth as she tries to find whoever it is that Cellbit is actually talking to.

Cellbit balls his hands into fists by his sides. Fucking. Heroes.

Bluebird's costume is basic: black undersuit, light blue vest and darker blue pants, white ski goggles. Her hair is halfway tied back in a ponytail. Her weapon of choice, her now-famous scythe, is on her back and digging into Cellbit's couch cushions. The Federation's logo is right on her chest, and all her sponsors' logos run down her sleeves and the legs of her pants.

Cellbit hates her. She isn't even making an attempt to hide her identity- the goggles aren't doing shit. Heroes don't have to hide themselves. Their faces are on cereal boxes. Bluebird is no exception, especially now that her popularity is skyrocketing.

Bluebird, of course, is assigned to find and defeat Hombre Misterioso. The public thinks that her job is to capture them so they can be tried and imprisoned in the Federation's special underwater prison facility. But Cellbit knows that she's going to kill Hombre Misterioso, and it'll be framed as an accident, and she'll get 'suspended' for a month or so as punishment but, really, it'll actually be a vacation reward for a job well done.

"What do you want," Cellbit flatly asks.

Sighing, he nudges the door shut behind him and leans against it, arms crossed.

Bluebird stares at him for a moment.

(Bare arms crossed, scars and all.)

And then she lets out a breath and crosses her legs, fold her hands neatly on top of her knees and tries to smile. Tries, because Cellbit can tell that her heart isn't in it.

"Hey," she hesitantly says, "so I'm supposed to be asking you about Hombre Misterioso and stuff, but, real quick, I just wanna say that I'm really sorry if Cucurucho's been bothering you."

"You're wasting your time," Cellbit tells her. "Get out of here before I call the cops for trespassing."

Bagi would love to arrest a Fed, even if the charge wouldn't stick longer than an hour after arrest.

Bluebird winces. "O-kaaaay, sensing some hostility here. But, listen, we all just want this guy caught, right?"

"Sure. It's a real shame what's happening to all your heroes."

"It is! And you almost ended up like them, but! But you didn't."

"Yeah." Cellbit nods. "Because I'm not one of you. You're talking to the wrong guy."

He smells coffee.

Ignoring Bluebird for the moment, he walks through the main room and past the couch and the hero on it so he can squeeze into the kitchen. His apartment isn't small, but the kitchen table takes up a solid ninety-percent of the kitchen's floorspace. It even dips into the main room, making it real hard to get around at night when the lights are off.

He grabs his mug and the coffee pot and pours himself a fresh cup. He can feel the warmth radiating out from them both, and he shivers involuntarily. (He usually wears a hoodie when he's working, but he spilled coffee on it earlier in the afternoon and hasn't gotten around to getting a fresh one out of the closet.)

Bluebird, of course, follows him. She hovers in the doorway near the end of the table; her scythe is tall enough to almost scrape the top of the doorway.

Cellbit raises his mug to his lips.

"You might not realize this, but you were probably targeted," Bluebird says, actually almost sounding serious. "Your parents might be dead, but you and your sister aren't."

Cellbit jerks so hard in response that he spills his fresh, hot, boiling coffee all down his front. But he can barely feel it through the sudden rush of hatred in his body.

"My parents had nothing to do with the Federation," he snaps. He pulls his wet shirt out in front of him and wrinkles his nose. "Excuse me."

He puts his cup down on the counter and pushes past a surprised Bluebird to go to his room. He actually manages to close this door behind him as he pulls his shirt off and starts searching for a new one.

As he's digging through his shirt drawer, he hears a tap-tap-tap at the window behind his desk.

Dread filling his veins, Cellbit turns around and sees a familiar gas mask poking out over the top of his computer monitor.

Hombre Misterioso waves.

Cellbit, suddenly, feels rather faint.

"No, sorry!" Bluebird calls through the closed door. "That was my bad! I meant your, uh, the parents you and your sister share? Not your actual parents."

Cellbit points aggressively at the window and mouths, 'Get the hell out of here!'

Hombre Misterioso just waves some more. They're absolutely smiling under their mask.

It's the afternoon. They haven't been seen once in the day, only at night. Sometimes in the evening. Rarely at dawn. Not when the sun is out; it's theorized that their powers relate to the darkness like the Demon's.

"I have nothing to do with those people," Cellbit huffs. He turns back around and grabs a random shirt out of the drawer and starts pulling it on. "Cucurucho probably made you read my file, right? So you should know that."

"It... briefly mentions the Webbers, but that's not what's important!" Bluebid protests. "The Federation is really worried about your safety here, dude! My partner, Lavagirl, is currently talking with your sister about this exact same thing."

"You'll have better luck with her. She's actually on your payroll."

"Yeah, so her time with the Junior Heroes actually makes her a bigger target than you, probably, but, listen-"

Somehow, Cellbit's window starts to squeak open behind him.

He whips around and glares at Hombre Misterioso, who freezes in place with their fingers on the glass. Are those... suction cups on their fingertips? What, are they a thief now? A Spider-Man wannabe?

"No!" Cellbit shouts.

Hombre Misterioso flips him off with a palpable roll of the eyes.

Bluebird repeats, "'No'? Aren't you listening to me right now? Hombre Misterioso is trying to kill you!"

Cellbit laughs dryly. "Yeah, no."

He angrily drives his finger downwards: 'Get down.'

Hombre Misterioso shakes their head.

Cellbit rolls his eyes and points at his bedroom door: 'Someone's here!'

Hombre Misterioso shrugs and starts moving his window again.

Cellbit bites back a groan and rushes to slam his window shut, having to reach around his computer to do it. It slams, and then it's immediately being raised again by the goddamn menace on the fire escape outside.

"Are you okay in there?" Bluebird worriedly asks. "You didn't get burned or anything, right?"

"Mmm, yeah, no, I'm burned as shit," Cellbit lies.

He hisses, eyes narrowed, "Fuck off! There is literally a superhero in my living room right now!"

Hombre Misterioso responds by pulling their cape aside and revealing the hilt of their sword.

"No!"

"Do I need to call an ambulance or something?" Bluebird asks.

"No, I'm fine!" Cellbit replies. "I'm putting on some burn cream now!"

"...You keep that stuff in your bedroom?"

"My computer is old as shit and I have to run Photoshop on it. I burn myself daily. Just... get out of here!"

Cellbit, only vaguely panicked, suddenly grabs an exacto knife from his supplies drawer and drags it across his palm.

Hombre Misterioso lets out an alarmed-sounding electronic gasp, but Cellbit just grits his teeth through the pain and forces a string of his blood out of his hand and around the window's latch and then around the leg of the desk. It ties itself off with a neat knot; Cellbit forces his bleeding to stop and starts willing his platelets to kick into action.

"No, wait, I'm a hero!" Bluebird argues. "I'm trained in first aid! Let me help!"

"I'm literally shirtless!" Cellbit, wearing a shirt, shouts. "Get the fuck out of my apartment!"

"Not until I know you're okay! Do you know how much trouble I'll get in if they find out I let a civilian get hurt?"

Oh, Cellbit knows.

The window rattles and strains as the string of blood keeps it shut. (Blood is made of iron, after all.)

With his palm already scabbing, Cellbit storms towards the door and slams it open, blocking his desk and window from view with his body.

Bluebird looks up at him, determined.

Cellbit wants to stab her.

Instead, he says, "Look, I'm not the guy you want to talk to about this. Your partner is already talking to Bagi, but you both have forgotten about the guy who chased Hombre Misterioso away from me that time."

(The window goes silent.)

For whatever reason, Bluebird sucks in a sharp breath before attempting a smile.

"Oh, Roier?" she asks. "We don't need to talk to him."

Cellbit cocks his head. "Really? Because I was unconscious. I can't tell you anything about what Hombre Misterioso was doing. But Roier saw it all."

"And he talked to the police."

"But Hombre Misterioso has to be pissed at him for ruining their kill, right?" Cellbit asks. "Serial killers always end up escalating outside of their pattern, everybody who's studied them knows this. They lose control. The pattern now is Federation workers, but maybe it'll expand to people protecting Federation workers."

Bluebird pales.

Cellbit rolls his eyes. "Come on, have you really not thought of that? Aren't you guys supposed to be, like, crime experts?"

"Hey! I'm new!"

"Yeah, and you're letting a civilian stay in danger because you're too focused on protecting a failed lab experiment," Cellbit scoffs. "Trust me, if this guy knows as much about me as you think they do, then they know that I'm not the guy they want to kill. They're looking for people who like the Federation, not people who hate it."

Bluebird narrows her eyes. "That's a dangerous thing to say to a superhero, you know."

Cellbit shrugs. "Sue me. You read my file, you know that I'm more likely to be a suspect here than a victim."

She nods. "...Yeah, but you don't have powers. And they do."

He smiles bitterly. "Right."

He looks at Bluebird.

Bluebird looks at him.

"Well?" he asks. "It's a couple of hours until the sun sets, and Roier's going to be leaving work soon. In that area of town? It's only a matter of time until Hombre Misterioso catches him."

There's a quiet laugh from the window.

Cellbit quickly covers it up with a cough and a faux-pained wheeze. He grips at his chest, wincing.

Bluebird's eyes widen. "Oh, shit! Right! Your burn!"

He waves her off. "Don't worry about it, I texted my friend. He's a doctor, he's on his way."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Pac from Chume Labs? He probably helped develop your training program."

"Oh, shit, you're friends with him?" she gasps.

"What can I say? Us Brazilians gotta stick together."

"Huh. Fair. Well..."

She looks uncertain, but she nods, acquiescing. "Fine. If he's coming. But, listen, call the hotline if you see Hombre Misterioso around, okay? You might not have the... best history with us, but the Federation is good people."

Cellbit smiles. "Get out of my apartment."

Once she's gone, Cellbit lets out a scream into his hands and turns to go and yell at Hombre Misterioso some. What the fuck!

He storms to the window and drops the string. It falls apart, blood splashing onto the desk and the carpet.

He wrenches the window open and finds himself nose-to-nose with Hombre Misterioso.

Well.

Nose to gas mask.

"What do you want?" Cellbit growls.

"Who was that?" Hombre Misterioso replies.

"Bluebird. You know, the hero literally assigned to kill you?"

Hombre Misterioso's shoulders tense minutely. "Oh."

Cellbit rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Now. What do you want? The sun is out. And I hate you."

"Ouch."

"Don't act surprised. You're literally stalking me."

"I'm not. But I am here for a good reason."

"You are literally at my apartment." Cellbit blinks. He flushes red in both anger and embarrassment. "You saw me shirtless!"

"And it was very nice, but I'm here to tell you that I am going to kill Iron Boy tonight at midnight."

Iron Boy... former Junior Hero, graduated a few years ago into the mainline hero program, no known powers but an affinity for technology. Otherwise known as Tubbo, one of Pac's coworkers at the lab, and one of Cellbit's biggest haters for no good reason.

Tubbo isn't that old. He's a mentor hero for the Junior Heroes. He doesn't do much actual hero-ing outside of escorting the juniors on crime fighting field trips and testing out weapons for the lab.

Cellbit shakes his head. "Not him."

"Yes, him."

"Do someone else. Without him, the lab is understaffed until Mike gets back from his honeymoon, and we don't know when that's going to be. Kill him when Mike's back."

"Ugh, fine," Hombre Misterioso groans. They slump against the windowsill and rest their chin on their arms. "Who should I kill, then?"

"Why are you asking me?" Cellbit asks. "I'm not a villain, in case you haven't noticed. I'm retired."

"Whatever you say, enigmito." They drum their fingers against the inside of Cellbit's wall. "Maybe I should find Sharkboy."

"Fuck Sharkboy," Cellbit immediately declares. "If you can find him, kill his ass. But he's also retired. Nobody from the Order has been able to track him down."

"Maybe I should find one of those French heroes," Hombre Misterioso muses. "What do you think?"

"I think that I should give you Crow Man's phone number so you can ask him about this and not me."

Suddenly, Hombre Misterioso sits up and snaps their fingers.

"I know!" they excitedly say. "Man-Bear!"

Man-Bear... must be one of the newer heroes that Cellbit doesn't know about. Richarlyson might have heard of him, but. Yeah, no, Cellbit isn't going to ask him. He doesn't want to risk a repeat of the aquarium.

"Fine, Man-Bear," Cellbit sighs. He gives Hombre Misterioso a tired look. "Is that all? Can you go now? And never come back? And leave me alone?"

"I mean, you can come with me toni-" Hombre Misterioso starts.

They freeze.

Cellbit watches their still body until they come back to themselves in the middle of a different sentence and in a different pose: gesturing grandly with their hands and audibly smiling.

"-a team!"

"Yeah, no," Cellbit immediately says. "I can get you the Demon, if you want? But he's kind of on a murder break right now..."

(Fatherhood really has mellowed Bad out, hasn't it?)

Hombre Misterioso audibly grimaces. "I fucking hate that guy. Look, I'll call you with the details tonight when it's about to happen. You can show up if you want. If you don't, it's no big deal, you can just come to the next one."

"Please don't do that."

"Don't worry, I still have your number."

"I'm literally going to go change it as soon as you're gone."

"You won't." They tilt their head tauntingly. "You want to keep an eye on me. If you don't, how will you keep me away from your son?"

The hair on the back of Cellbit's neck stands on end.

"You haven't changed your number since I first called you," they say. "You won't do it now."

They laugh, slow and deliberate and absolutely just grating on Cellbit's ears.

"I'll see you tonight," they say.

Cellbit slams the window shut and backs away from it.

Hombre Misterioso wiggles their fingers in a farewell, and then they hop over the edge of the fire escape and drop out of view.

...Maybe. Maybe, Cellbit should call Bagi.

-

A/N: Let me know what you think in the tags or in my inbox! I want to hear your theories, thoughts, opinions, everything!

[novelconcepts]

Hey. Heeeey. heyheyhey. Stop putting pressure on that thing you're making. Stop it. Stopitrightnow. Stop putting the pressure on. Let that motherfucker bleeeeed onto the page (canvas, wood scrap, screen, whaaatever it may be) as the muses intended. Quit putting pressure on it. You're just cutting off the source. Stoppit. Okay? Cool. Good talk. Drink some water, it's hot as balls out there.

[headkiss]

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

-

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

-

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

-

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

-

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

-

+1

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aegon has been in love with reader for years but she got betrothed to Aemond. She finds Aegon drunk at her door and she takes him in. He tells her he loves her and make smut happen please

I've been on a roll with these request this week! Only three days until the start of Season 2 *screaming*

Question: Should I add Cregan Stark to my character list? If yes, please send requests for him <3

Warnings: 18+, smut, drunk!Aegon, unprotected p + v, cheating (on Aemond)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When the news dropped, Aegon was devastated. He had always known his feelings for you ran deep, but hearing that you were to be betrothed to his own brother made him regret not asking for your hand sooner. The thought of losing you to Aemond gnawed at his heart.

In a fit of fury, Aegon stormed into Aemond's chambers, his eyes blazing with anger. ‘’You knew of my feelings for her, how can you do this to me?’’ he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation. 

Aemond looked up from his book, his expression calm and composed. ‘’Father wanted to unite our families. I’m only doing my duty,’’ he replied, his tone measured and devoid of emotion.

Aegon’s frustration boiled over. He slammed his fist on the table, making the goblets and plates clatter. ‘’Fuck duty!’’ he shouted. His voice broke as he continued, ‘’I just…I just want her.’’

Aemond sighed, placing his book aside. ‘’I was asked to marry her, not you. You already have the throne.’’

The throne was given to him because he was the first son. Aegon never asked for it, never cared for ruling or showed interest in politics. He would rather spend his life with you and Sunfyre than sit on the Iron Throne. 

‘’I would exchange my birthright for her in a heartbeat,’’ he confessed, his voice unwavering.  

Later at dinner, Aegon didn’t come down to eat. He couldn't beat the idea of seeing you sitting beside Aemond during a meal. So, he stayed in his chamber, drowning himself with wine. His goblet wasn’t even empty that he would fill it up again. 

He drank until the sun went down and his pitcher was almost empty, and fell asleep on his couch with his goblet in hand. It wasn’t surprising considering how much he had drunk. 

When Aegon woke a few hours later, the castle was sleeping under the cover of darkness. He stood and found himself stumbling through the corridors. His feet carried him to your door in the guest wing, having been many many times. You always took the same chamber when you visited King’s Landing. Aegon raised his fist to knock, but before he could, the door creaked open.

You expected to find a servant with your tea, but instead found your uncle Aegon. A frown of surprise and concern creased between your eyebrows. ‘’Aegon? What are you doing here?’’

He swayed slightly, leaning heavily against the doorframe with his undershirt untucked from his breeches. His eyes were red, his expression a mixture of anger and sorrow. ‘’You can’t marry him. Please, don’t marry him,’’ he mumbled, his words slurred from the wine.

You should have walked him back to his chamber or alert the Queen of her son’s state, but instead you stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. 

Aegon stumbled through the doorway, and you came to his side, helping him sit onto the bed bench. He leaned forwards as you let go of him, resting his forearms on his thighs and his spinning head in his hands. 

You watched him with a heavy heart, guilt knotting your stomach. ‘’I’m sorry for the betrothal. I wanted to tell you myself, but our parents sent the ravens before I could.’’ 

‘’Don’t marry Aemond.’’ Aegon grabbed your wrist, pulling you to him. ‘’Don’t do this to me.’’ He looked up at you, his eyes pleading. 

You stayed silent, looking down at him. There were a hundred reasons you should put a stop to this right now. Aegon was drunk. He wasn’t in his right mind. And yet, seeing him like this, vulnerability written all over him, made your heart ache for him. 

‘’You’re drunk. This wasn’t a good idea. Let’s get you back to your chamber.’’ You reached for his arm to help him up, but grabbed your wrist. ‘’Aegon…’’ you sighed.

He pulled you closer to him, but you remained standing. Aegon’s voice was barely a whisper, his words more a plea than a demand. ‘’It’s me you should marry, not my brother.’’ 

You pulled on your wrist, but his grip only tightened. ‘’Aegon, let go. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.’’ 

He shook his head, his eyes fixated on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. ‘’I know exactly what I’m saying. I…I love you. I always have. And I can’t bear the thought of you marrying him.’’ 

Your heart was racing in your chest. 

Despite the feud between your mothers, you and Aegon had always been close. He was there when you claimed your dragon, took the blame when you got caught stealing lemon cakes in the kitchen, and always invited you to dance at gatherings, even though he hated dancing. He even exchanged letters with you when you moved to Dragonstone, secretly writing back despite his terrible handwriting and his mother's interdiction. You were his favorite person, the only one he felt truly cared for him.

And now, he was sitting in your chamber, confessing his feelings to you out of pain and desperation.

You wanted to scream. 

At yourself for not recognizing his underlying feelings. At him for not saying those words sooner. At your mother and grandsire for arranging a betrothal with Aemond. He was closer to you in age, mayhaps it was the reason for their decision? And most of all, at the cruel twist of fate that had kept you blind to what was right in front of you.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Thoughts swirled chaotically in your mind, overwhelming you. You needed time to think, time to process everything. 

But time wasn’t in your hands, it was ticking and passing fast, so you crashed your lips on Aegon’s. He brought you down to his lap, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed across your hips and thighs and everything he could get his hands on in a desperate attempt to bring you closer. You could taste the wine on his lips, the bitter alcohol still lingering in his mouth. Your hands tangled in his hair as a moan left his throat, igniting the fire between two dragons.

Impatient, Aegon pulled at the laces of your nightgown while you discarded him of his undershirt and threw it on the floor. Your nightgown found the same fate, goosebumps rising across your skin from the cool air or the room. 

His hands skimmed along your sides, coming to rest on your hips as he rocked against you, his body betraying his need. The rough fabric of his breeches brushed against your bare cunt, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. 

Your lips moved from his lips to his jaw, trailing a path of kisses along his jawline and down to his neck. His breath caught in his throat as your lips and teeth found the sensitive spot between his collarbone and throat. Aegon let out a soft moan, his hands gripping your thighs tighter. His fingers dug into your skin, leaving small imprints that would surely turn into bruises come morning.

His hands continued to roam, exploring every inch of your body that he could reach. He moved his lips down to your chest, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your breasts. You arched your back in response, the feeling of his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched.

What you were doing was wrong and breaking many rules, but you couldn’t stop. It felt too good. 

Aegon pushed you back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours as he found your lips again. His hands fumbled with the ties of his breeches, desperately trying to undo them while keeping the kiss going. A soft groan escaped him as he managed to push them down, freeing himself from the constricting material. 

The feeling of his bare skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine. His body was hot and demanding as he pressed himself closer to you. A gasp left your lips when you felt the head of his cock against your folds, surprised by how warm it felt. 

You gripped his shoulder as Aegon pushed himself inside, your walls closing around him in a snug grip. Aegon’s breath hitched from how tight you felt, his eyes closing briefly as he sank deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as your body adjusted to him. 

When he started to move, you felt like he was splitting you in half…but in a good way. You clawed at his back, soft little sighs spilling from your lips as Aegon thrusted into you. 

Unfortunately, the pleasure didn’t last long. You were so wet and squeezing him too good that after only a few thrusts, Aegon spilled inside you. 

In his defense, he was drunk and not entirely in control of his cock. 

The sunlight coming through the large window woke you up. You turned away from the window and buried your face into your pillow, trying to fall back asleep, but your arm came into contact with something — someone. 

You opened your eyes, the late events of the night surfacing, and saw Aegon lying beside you. He was still fast asleep, his white hair tousled and messy. His face was relaxed, a stark contrast from his drunkenness. For a moment, you just watched him. He looked so peaceful and calm when he slept.

The light streamed over his face, illuminating the sharp planes and angles of his features. You reached out, gently brushing away a strand of hair from his forehead. 

He stirred at your touch, but didn’t open his eyes. ‘’What is it, Mother?’’ 

You chuckled softly, watching as Aegon stirred in his sleep. 

He mumbled again, shifting under the covers. His eyes still closed, he reached out blindly and brushed his fingers against your waist. The contact startled him, not expecting to find another body in his bed, and he opened his eyes. 

A mixture of embarrassment and confusion flickered across his face, remembering his drunk stumble into your chamber. 

‘’I’m sorry for last night,’’ Aegon apologized, his voice strained and hoarse because of how dry his mouth felt. ‘’I made a fool of myself, didn’t I?’’ 

You decided against mentioning his short sexual performance. ‘’More than usual? No.’’ 

He laughed, then groaned as his head pounded. 

‘’Aegon?’’ you said quietly. He hummed. ‘’Why didn’t you say you have feelings for me?’’ 

‘’Because I enjoy self-sabotaging my life.’’ 

You swatted his arm. 

‘’I need to speak to my mother,’’ you declared after a moment of silence. 

The hour was early, but she should be awake. 

You climbed out of bed, your naked body exposed in the bright light of day as you moved around your chamber. There was an ache between your legs, reminiscent of Aegon’s passage inside your intimate part. 

‘’I do not wish to go through the same suffering she endured in her first marriage.’’ You grabbed a dress from the wardrobe and dressed yourself. It was more difficult without the help of a handmaid. ‘’And I know exactly how to convince her to call off the betrothal. I broke my vows to Aemond, I let you take my maidenhood. They will have no choice but to let us wed.’’

—

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[portgasdwrld]

☆ naked in bed.

•°. *࿐what are their reaction when they see your naked body waiting for them under the sheets?

•°. *࿐NSFW, featuring : Law, Shanks, Zoro

Law

It was a long day, and he wanted nothing more but to rest in his bed and relax

You had other plans

You have been craving for his touch for such a while but never found the perfect moment to make a move

So you thought about doing something simple but clear: sleeping naked

You giggle to yourself when you hear your boyfriend slide open the door from the bathroom.

You stare at him shamelessly full with need and lust

Only his hips were wrapped around a way too colourful towel for him (you insisted to buy it for souvenir at an island) the water from his wet dark hair was slightly dripping down his toned back. You watched his beautiful tattooed body move as he was searching for his clothes, his tooth brush in his mouth.

You wanted to jump on him

He still hasn’t noticed your little stunt and you don’t believe he will until he gets into the bed

Law finally heads back into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth and change into fresh clothes

As he gets out, his eyes connect with yours immediately. Your gaze barely left his silhouette and he has been quite aware of it.

He smiles as he approaches the bed and he quickly kisses the top of your head. He moves the sheets a little to get into them, until he stops and look at you.

“What-…”

“What’s wrong?” You ask him with a smirk as you wrap your arm around his waist. Your chest pressed against his tank top. Law smiles

“You never really let me rest, you know that?”

“It’s just another way to relax” you say to him as you feel his cold fingers brush against your skin. His lips press against yours and with his other hand, he cups your breast.

“If you say so..” he whispers back before diving back into another passionated kiss.

Shanks

Your lips were hungrily attached to his as you two were caught in an intense making out session

It basically started off by some flirty comments from both side, a little kiss on the neck by Shanks and boom..

You found yourself hovering over Shank on the bed, desperately trying to get his clothes off

Then suddenly you got interrupted by a knock on the door, claiming they needed the captain for something

You two sighed frustrated and you got off your man and watched him leave horny and disappointed.

“I will be right back ok?” He reassured you with his familiar smile before closing the door behind him

You wanted to waste no time, so you took your clothes off, ready to just get right into it

As Shank opened the door again, his eyes fell on your naked upper body , leaving him confused at first, but it was soon replaced with a mischievous smirk

“So eager, are we darling?”

His mouth closed around one of your nipples , bringing a moan out instantly out of you

“Shanks please..”

“We have time, let’s take it slow”

He’s such a cocky teasing asswhole

we still love him

Zoro

He always ripped apart some pieces of your underwear

Last night your thong barely made it alive, few days ago your bra lost an arm, one of your pantie didn’t make it through the injury

You were two panties away from a penury of underwear and when you were sailing for days and days, you couldn’t afford that

So you had to protest in your own way, and it was now to sleep naked so he won’t rip none of your clothes off

Zoro walked into your shared room with a cocked eyebrow when he quickly realized what was happening

“What are- why are you-“

“I’m protesting!”

“Huh?”

“You carelessly rip my underwear off so I won’t sleep with them anymore”

He rubbed his face against his face before he broke in a silent chuckle. He smirked and looked you up and down.

“Sure, doesn’t seem like the big punishment if you ask me”

“Shut up and get to bed already” you spat back annoyed as you push yourself more against the wall to leave some space for him

“Who said we were gonna sleep?”

He smirked as he removed the sheets and pulled your body closer to him. He got to his knees and propped himself between your thighs.

“Let me apologize first”

[gloomwitchwrites]

I absolutely love your writing!! Your writing and fics are just *chef's kiss*. Please write one where they tell us to "sit down." And Please!!!! Make us sit down!! I want to be sat.

Anon!! Oh my goodness! You're so freaking sweet!! Thank you for dropping into my ask box and leaving this little prompt. You want to be sat, anon? Do you? Because I do. If I was having a little argument with one of them, and they told me to sit down, my ass would be sat immediately. No question.

Presented in four drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, brief alcohol, arguing, butt grabbing, kissing, established relationship

Word Count: 400

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“You’re being a brat, love.”

“Then punish me,” you snap back, arms out at your sides.

“That’s exactly what you’re hoping for. Isn’t it?”

You sigh and cross your arms over your chest. John is right, but you don’t want to admit it. “You don’t order me around. That’s not how this works.

“That’s exactly how this works,” growls John. He strides forward and grabs your ass, squeezing hard.

You gasp, hands fisting the front of his shirt.

“Sit. Down,” he murmurs.

You promptly drop onto the sofa.

John’s hand goes to his belt buckle. “Show me that mouth, love.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Can you stop for a second and just bloody listen to me?”

You throw the empty plastic cup at Kyle’s head. He easily knocks it to the side. “Real fucking mature.”

“Fuck you, Kyle.”

You try to walk past, but he grabs your arm. He pushes you up against the kitchen table, holding you so possessively it steals your breath.

“Fuck me? You’d love that wouldn’t you?”

You remain silent and he drops his hands away. “Sit down.”

You drop into the chair, surprised at how quickly you folded.

“Now, love,” he says, pressing into your space. “You’re gonna listen.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I’ll leave if this is how you’re going to talk to me,” you snap angrily.

Simon strides forward so quickly you don’t have a second to process his movement until he grabs your face and smashes his lips against yours. It is a deep, possessive thing that unfurls heat low in your belly.

He draws back, gaze harsh and consuming. “Sit down,” growls Simon, pointing to the sofa behind you.

You hesitate a second before sitting.

Simon leans forward, resting his hands on the back of the sofa, boxing you in. “I’m gonna fuck that attitude right out of you.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“You’re bloody pissed, love.”

Johnny grabs the shot glass out of your hand before it reaches your lips.

You whirl on him. “You’re not my boyfriend, Johnny. You don’t tell me what to do.”

Johnny stares you down, and then downs the shot, not grimacing. He places the glass back on the bar top.

“No. I’m not your boyfriend.” He leans in. Lowers his voice. “But I’m the man you get on your knees for and please.”

Your face grows red. “How dare—”

“Sit down,” he commands.

You immediately drop onto the bar stool.

“I’m sat,” you murmur softly.

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[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 & 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: oh god this man is doing things to me...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISFJ or ISTJ

Ravenclaw

Lawful Neutral to Neutral Good

Sagittarius Sun, Cancer Moon, Scorpio Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・You're the rider of Silverwing, the glorious, graceful and maternal dragon who watches over you wherever you go.

・When you were young, it was very difficult for your mother because Silverwing would sweep you away and take you to her nest. Making you one of her own.

・You knew about the Hightowers, and how close Alicent & Rhaenyra were. You were very jealous, but weren't the kind of person to bump shoulders just to be included.

・So your best friend was a dragon. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

・Your connection with her is incredibly strong. Almost telepathic at times. She can feel what you feel - like two one soul in two bodies.

・And when you become of marriagable age - she did not like any of the suitors. So she was there, right by your side, huffing and puffing (putting your white cloaks on edge...)

・Just like Rhaenys the Conquorer, you flew further and further with your mount.

・You weren't the sister of Rhaenyra, but of Rhaenys. Your parents were Aemon Targaryen and Jocelyn Baratheon. And they had you when they were very, very old. Your birth was a miracle.

・And your sister, who was many years older, became a mother to you. As your two parents died.

・Your marriage was put forth by Viserys, well, Otto mainly. He knew his daughter would become queen and yet he was still full of ambition.

・Rhaenys saw straight through this. And your sister did everything she could to stop the marriage.

・But Viserys would not be persuaded...

・When you first met Gwayne, your initial opinion was that he was an ass. A pompus, arrogant, rude, ass.

・He had kissed your hand within the first two minutes and let his eyes linger on your own for far too long.

'I hate him already.' You thought and Silverwing snarled in agreement.

・But the dragon did not deter the Hightower man. He simply smirked and bowed his head.

・As time went by, your cemented walls were slowly knocked down one by one by Gwayne.

・But it wasn't until you offered to take him flying that you truly bonded.

・Clinging as tight as he could to you, Silverwing did every trick in the book to make him faint; straight diving and pulling up at the last second, twirling over herself over and over etc.)

・The whole time you were laughing, not just at his reaction but laughing with pure joy. Your fiance feeling what you feel.

・After that Gwayne looked at you with a newly found gratitue. You were true friends.

・But when Rhaenys started to speak to you about what marriage was really like - you didn't want to hear it.

"...my love, he may stray and sometimes you cannot stop it."

The words had hit you like a boulder to the heart. No, you could not endure such a betrayal.

"Sister. If he dares, then Silverwing will have the most royal feast she has ever had."

・But you need not ever worry about Gwayne's attention turning to another. You are all he needs. All he wants.

・He shows it to you through the way he speaks; the charming, soft voice that makes your knees tremble. The ever so gentle brush of his hand against yours.

・It drives you insane.

・And you never, not once in a nillion years, thought you would say this.

・"Gwayne, please. Let's just marry. Now. It needs to be now or I'll explode."

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Forced Proximity

"I'd do anything for you." (Gwayne) x "As you should." (You)

Survives because of pure luck (You) x Is the pure luck (Gwayne)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Enemies to Lovers

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Let It Happen by The Midnite String Quartet

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・Your first kiss was ... passionate. The hesitation of your lips before one another caused such heat you could not comprehend.

・You consummated your wedding night. Over and over and over again. Until Gwayne said, "my heart I cannot handle another round. I do not think I can move."

"Oh husband," you said while rolling onto your side. "You are going to have to get used to this. There's fire in my blood after all..."

・His eyebrows rose and his handsome face was covered in amusement.

"Well, wife. I guess I'll have to train harder," and with that he gripped your waist and flung on top of you.

・It is well known that the two of you cannot keep your hands off each other. You always do it when no one is around - but somehow someone always sees.

・But it's very difficult when he whispers in your ear all the things he thinks about. The things he wants you to do to him. Where he wants you to touch him.

・Is this not what married life is about? Being so incredibly obsessed with the other that your whole body hurts whenever they aren't near?

[misaamoure]

“Zayneeee oh my god!” You cried out as his thick cock repeatedly slammed into your g spot.

The pleasure was almost incomprehensible as he fucked into you from the back, his hips colliding with the flesh of your plump ass, your glasses practically jumping up and down from the force.

What had started as an innocent trip to Zayne’s office to deliver him a dessert you picked out that you thought he’d particularly like quickly turned into something much filthier.

It was record breakingly hot outside, and you had dressed accordingly.

A powder blue, backless, spaghetti strapped mini dress. A tight one at that, that emphasized your curves.

Upon seeing you in such a garment, in his favorite color no less, Zayne had a rare moment of spontaneity.

You should’ve known something was up when he stretched your greeting kiss out longer than your usual peck.

You seem to always end up in these situations; at the mercy of the pleasure he gave.

Upon fucking your thighs and making you cum once from the delicious friction on your clit, he wasted no time bending you over the desk.

The desk creaked under the movement of both of you.

“Please you need to be… quiet…” Zayne was struggling to be quiet himself.

You were so warm and tight inside, he was losing his fucking mind.

Especially since he waited years to have you again.

Zayne stopped thrusting for a moment, making you whine at the loss of such a mind numbing feeling.

“Why’d you stop?” You peered back at him, looking over your glasses that had been knocked lower on your nose, a sight he simply adored.

He simply couldn’t help but tease you.

Zayne chuckled lightly before grabbing both your wrists and pinning them to your sides.

“Wha-” You were cut off by Zayne grinding his dick into your walls.

It felt like he was in your guts.

You practically screamed before muffling yourself by biting your bottom lip.

“Do you want it?”

“Yes, Zayne, please!” You barely managed to get out before he sped up.

“Fuck back on me. Show me how you want it, (Y/N).”

You tightened around his dick at his words. He was so filthy sometimes.

Who knew Dr. Zayne got down like this?

You whined before doing exactly as he said. You could probably fuck better than him anyways.

He kept your arms pinned at your sides, which made the position all the more tantalizing.

“Hurry,” He breathed out with a groan. “I have an, mmph, 4 o’clock soon.”

Though he smothered his own sounds and barely showed it outwardly, Zayne was feeling it as much as you.

The sight of your disheveled hair and flustered face nearly made him cum right then and there.

He was simply that attracted to you.

He was significantly louder now, enjoying the feeling of you throwing it back on him plus the visual stimulation.

“Yes, just like that,” He threw his head back, letting go of your wrists and instead opting to grab your hips. “That’s so good.”

“Fuck…” You moaned as you sped up. His praise was pushing your further to your orgasm as you angled your thrusts to hit your g spot every time.

“Zayne… gonna cum… I can’t take it anymore…” You once again barely managed to get your words out through the gasps and moans.

This pushed Zayne over the edge that he was barely holding on to.

He completely pulled out before grabbing you by the neck and pulling you upwards, making you gasp.

“I’m sorry.” He gave gave you a short kiss before letting go of your neck.

He didn’t even give you enough time to wonder what for before covering your mouth with his palm and slamming back in to you.

The force of this motion knocking your glasses off your face and onto his desk.

Your screams and moans were muffled as he pounded into you fast, hard, and deep.

He had literally never fucked you like this before, it was like he hated you.

The sheer pleasure of how good he was fucking you made tears run down your face, ruining your mascara.

Your sobs were also muffled into his palm.

Zayne was right in your ear; huffing and moaning louder than he ever has before.

“Inside,” he gasps. “You want it inside?”

You nodded frantically, shouting muffled “yes’s” into his palm.

His thrusts got sloppier as you tightened around him, both your orgasms impending.

His breathing got heavier before he reached down and pinched your clit as he came deep inside you, making you squirt all of his cock.

“Fuckkkk (Y/N).”

You had never heard him gasp and pant like this.

And you’d never felt this level of pleasure before.

You came hard as he slowly fucked into you, riding out your orgasms.

You both relaxed your tensed muscles as your orgasms ended, and Zayne took his palm off your mouth to give you a deep searing kiss.

He pulled away, wiping away some of your mascara riddled tears.

“Thank you for the dessert.”

[calypsocolada]

how your first kiss went with them... ft. shigaraki, aizawa, & hawks

authors note: hi hi! just finished watching season 6 of mha and got inspired. first time writing for mha characters and started with my favorite ones :) hope you all enjoy!!

cw: angst, fem! one for all weilder, slight spoilers for season 6

wc: 2.6k

click here for my masterlist

Tomura could only watch as his mind was stolen, watch his body being overtaken by a force he wasn’t strong enough to stop. All for One’s control taking over. He knew he had seconds left before he’d no longer cease to be himself. You burned with hatred beneath him, your left arm broken and useless, your right hand holding some sharp shrapnel that you’d plunged desperately into his side, your powers flickering weakly within you. He didn’t feel the pain. Your eyes flashed, his hands around your neck, squeezing. Someone was going to win here but… it wasn’t going to be him. 

He pulled you hard, the fire in your eyes licking and burning his own but he couldn’t care less. If he was going to die he was going to make one last grave mistake that might send him to the grave earlier than expected. He leaned down where you were pinned beneath him and with impressive force, smashed his lips against your own. 

The kiss was like a fight. Like all your other fights. But lips instead of fists. With breaths instead of words. With groans instead of screams and growls. His hands gripped your face hard to keep you where he wanted you. You, in a fit of confusion and pure survival instinct twisted the shrapnel in his side. He gasped in pain but that only spurred him on, his mouth cracking yours open in a feverish attempt to be as close as humanly possible. He had no indication whether or not you wanted this until the pain ceased and he felt your tongue brush against his. His breathing hitched, muddled with pain and sorrow and complete obsession. He pulled you off the ground roughly and kissed you until you both were gasping for air. When he pulled back the state he left you in was enough to satisfy him for years. Your lips were kissed pink and wet, your cheeks had a wicked blush across them as you stared at him with utter bewilderment and something else that had his stomach tangling in knots within him.

He resigned himself to death then. He was guilty as sin.

Your hand was still on the hilt of your shrapnel that was embedded in his side as you stared at each other. Breaths heavy. Tomura didn’t know how to be kind. He didn’t know how to be soft. He’d never kissed anyone before and it should’ve been pretty damn suspicious when the first person he’d ever felt the need to devour with his lips was the one standing opposite of him in this endless war. The one he needed to destroy. And to say he wanted to devour you was almost an understatement. He wanted to climb into your body and live in your ribcage, safe and tucked away. He wanted to be inside you, wanted that mind of yours to only know him, wanted those pink lips to only speak his name, those pretty eyes to only meet his. The obsession was endless. He wanted it more than ever right now. Death knocking down his rotted door. So bad that he hadn’t even noticed his own tears before they fell and hit your cheeks. You blinked a few times, slowly coming back down from the clouds. Tomura reached for you a last time, the pad of his thumb swiping his tears off your cheek. 

“Save me, hero.” He breathed out before everything went black.

~

“Again!” He called as you huffed. Aizawa was a relentless teacher. You felt your powers flicker inside your veins as you tried to control them, to harness them and use them the way they were meant to be used. But dammit, you were tired. You two had been at this for hours. You weren’t some kid he could push around and it was then, with exhaustion mingling with annoyance you shook your head defiantly. Throwing your hands down.

“I’m done!” You growled at him, tossing aside your practice weapon. Aizawa straightened.

“We’re just getting started, hero.” He mocked as you stared at him with venom. He knew all about your inherited quirk, knew there wasn’t much time for you to harness it and so he’d been pushing you to the edge for months to train you. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you then? Fraud?” He asked and that fire that you wanted to extinguish flickered in seconds, catching your inside on fire. 

“I’ll kill you!” You growled. You didn’t need that useless weapon. You outstretched your arm and black whip shot out like an extension of your grip, it wrapped around Aizawa in milliseconds as you yanked him towards you. You knew he’d use erasure and you were looking forward to it. The moment he used it it didn’t stop his moment as black whip dissolved around him, your powers canceled out only for his face to meet your fist. You hit him hard enough to rattle the brain in his skull. He hit the ground even harder and for a moment your heart leaped. He’d always said you were quick to fly off the handle and you’d just proved him right. Your hand ached, your knuckles busted. Aizawa groaned from the ground, pushing up on his forearms. You breathed out a relieved breath, thinking you had maybe killed him with that fuckery of a move. 

“That was smart.” He sighed, his upper cheek already had a bruise forming. “Why don’t you give me this energy during practice instead of making me get you angry?” He asks as you look at him hard.

“We’ve been at it for hours.” You growled angrily. “I’m tired.”

“And you don’t think I am too?” He pushed to his feet, giving you a hard look, his dark hair falling in his face. “You are a brat. You are stronger than any quirk user yet you don’t care enough to really harness those powers. You asked for this.”

“I know!” You burst out, turning pointedly away from him, dreaming of your bed, dreaming of a night without nightmares of all for one stealing your power and killing the world. You weren’t a kid but you were still young, young enough that this burden on your shoulders was crushing you. 

“You can’t run from this.” Aizawa said but he didn’t sound angry. You still didn’t turn to face him. “You think you’re all alone?”

“Of course I’m alone! It’s just like you said, I’m the strongest.”

“Everyone needs a hand. Even All-Might.” Aizawa said. You turned on him, eyes sharp. 

“All-Might defeated All for one on his own. There’s not a soul that could stand beside me and not be killed.”

“I’ve stood beside you this whole time. I’ve trained you. You think I’ll just let you go at it alone after everything we’ve been through?” Aizawa asked as the look in your eyes hardened.

“I won’t let you.” You said in a low, intimidating voice. Aizawa’s lips parted slightly. “All for one will not get a shot at you. I’ll die before that happens.”

“You’re stubborn but not as stubborn as me.” Aizawa returns, taking a step towards you. “I’m with you till the end.”

“Did you not hear a word I-” Aizawa leaned into your space, hand sliding over your cheek as his lips cut off your sentence. You almost pulled back but he stepped closer to you, one hand on your face the other sliding around you and resting on the dip of your back. You pushed him back forcefully, your breath shaky as you stared at him. 

“Forgive me… I-” You grabbed him roughly by his shirt, slamming your lips against his. He grunted against your lips in surprise, hands barely ghosting over your hips. You kissed him unforgivingly hard. This was a sort of ultimate payback in a small way, of all the hours he overworked you. You pushed him back on the training mat and slid atop him. This was a form of practice, right? A workout that wouldn’t exhaust you… or would it? If he thought for a moment you’d let him help you now he was sorely mistaken. But on the other side of the coin, if you thought for a moment he wouldn’t die for you, you were sorely mistaken as well. Rock meets hard place.

~

“Idiot.” You growled beside his hospital bed. Hawks looked peaceful and you wanted nothing more than to shake him awake and smack some sense into him. But he was still healing so your assault of slaps and punches would have to wait. You huffed. Leaning back in your chair, flipping through the channels on the tv. It wasn’t long before your mind wandered to the same thing you’d been thinking about for days.

Hawks almost dying for you. Hawks pushing you aside before you were impaled with Shigaraki’s power. Having to watch Hawks get impaled, having his eyes meet yours and a stupid soft and beautiful smile on his face as he mumbled something you didn’t even get to hear. You tried remembering again, tried focusing on his lips in your memories but it was of no use. You huffed, unable to relax as you turned back to look at him. The number two hero. You stare at him, your eyes drifting to those lips. You willed him to say those words again and when his eyes opened you didn’t even notice.

“Watching me sleep? How romantic.” He said, his voice gruff from being unused for days. You jumped at not only the sound of his voice but being caught staring at his lips.

“I wasn’t. I was trying to kill you with my mind.” You grumbled protectively, eyes snapping up to meet him. The way he looked at you was the most dangerous thing you’d see in a while. The pure adoration in his eyes, the smile that formed on his lips at your joke. It twisted at your insides.

“Are you alright?” He asked because the last thing he remembered in the fight was you hurt and in trouble. You tensed.

“You're the one in a hospital bed.” You growled. Hawks seemed to just notice this fact, he was utterly distracted by the fact that you’d been sitting at his bedside. He reached for your hand but you pulled away and stood to your feet.

“Y/n-”

“I told you not to get involved.” You growled. “I had it under control but you had to go and try to play the hero.”

“I am a hero.” Hawks said, something in his eyes that angered you more.

“Not to me. I don’t need your sacrifice. If you wanna get yourself killed, do it for someone else.” You hissed. He looked at you. You hoped your venomous words would have some effect on him. You wanted him to be angry. Wanted him to hate you. To look at you with harsh eyes but his expression didn’t change.

“Such venom.” He said with a smirk. If you didn’t have some modicum of control over your powers and anger this whole hospital would’ve been brought down. “Are you trying to push me away again?”

“What?” You huffed.

“You heard me, number one. I know what you’re doing but it’s not gonna work.”

“And what am I doing?”

“What you do to everybody you start to care about. You lash out at them so they’re not tempted to stay by your side when things go sideways.” 

“I-- I don’t do that.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Hawks admonished with a shake of his head. You take in a deep breath, tensing your jaw. “Growl all you want, I’m not getting scared away.”

“You’re crazy. You almost died, this isn’t some fucking joke.”

“I knew I’d be fine. Knew you’d carry me off the battlefield.” He croons, you stare at him hard.

“How could you have known?”

“I’m an optimistic guy.” He smiles. You roll your eyes, turning to leave. He catches your wrist just as you reach for the handle.

“What-? You need to stay in bed, idiot.” You growl as Hawks holds your wrist gently in one hand, the other on his bandaged torso.

“I’ll get back in bed if you stay.”

“Are you serious?” You growl as he nods his head.

“Deadly serious.”

“You’re a child.” You sigh. 

“Stay. Don’t run away from me.” He says and the seriousness in his voice has your stomach flipping. You pull out of his touch.

“Get in bed.” You direct and his eyes look down into yours, a challenge.

“Make me.” He says. Your eye twitches as you waste zero time pushing this idiot back towards his bed. Once the backs of his knees hit the mattress he pulls a move on you and you’re pulled on top of him. You two tumble onto the hospital bed. Your heart lurches dangerously into your throat, feeling the warmth of his hands ghosting your hips. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hush.” He says, hands sliding up to either side of your face as he pulls you down so that your lips meet. The shock of his cold lips against yours was like a rush to your system. An overloading and overheating shock. You gasped at the ache of want that tore through you. That had always been lurking beneath every tense moment with Hawks. Him training you. You two on missions. Reluctant breakfast, lunch, and dinners with him. He wormed his way into your heart and you hated it. Anyone close to you was surely going to be killed and that dangerous hope in your chest that built when he was around should’ve raised flags for you. But you let him in. You selfish creature. You pushed him back, and moved shakily to your feet. Hawks reached for you again and you caught his wrist, twisting it. He flinched in pain, staring at you with confusion and hurt.

“Don’t touch me again.” You growled. You needed space from him, your head swimming, your eyes traitorously drifting to the lips that had just been against yours.

“What's wrong?” Hawks asked. You stepped back, narrowing your eyes.

“You never listen. You-- you’re always trying to confuse me and sneak your way into my-- you need to leave me alone.”

“No.”

“N-No?” You asked as Hawks barely raised his brows, nodding his head. His blond hair falling against his forehead. He looked so annoyingly beautiful you wanted to hit him. 

“I don’t just sacrifice my life for anybody.” He says as he stands, wincing in pain.

“Just stay in the damn bed-” He pulled you to him, inches taller than you, eyes unwaveringly serious as he spoke his next sentence.

“I love you.” He said and the words had your eyes widening, a soft gasp escaping your lips. He clearly loved that he caught you off guard. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know what I said.” 

“What you said?” You echo, unable to properly digest this moment. 

“When I saved you. I said I loved you.” The words his lips spoke that you’d been driven up a wall trying to remember. If he died you would’ve never known.

“I hate you.”

“Close enough.” He grins, leaning and pressing his lips gently to yours. You didn’t push him off, you didn’t have the strength, something selfish was taking over and you didn’t have the will power to fight it. You’d played it safe for years. Not letting anyone get close. But… you failed. You kissed Hawks back with twice the passion, pushing him back on the bed, caging him beneath you. If he was going to love you you were going to let him. Damned selfishness…

[annwrites]

⸻ sons & daughters. part four.

· pairing: cregan stark x velaryonprincess!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you see a different side of cregan, reminisce on old memories, & a confirmation is made. · word count: 15,854

When it comes time for supper, you are famished.

You'd had a small lunch while seated before the fire in your room—a sandwich and soup, with a hearty side of roasted vegetables—but it had not entirely filled you.

That was what you got for having missed breaking your fast, and instead spending the morning lost inside your head. In your worries.

But praying, as Cregan had suggested, had lightened your load. There was something about the simplicity of it—that beautiful bit of woods, the tall tree with blood-red leaves standing resolute before you, a face to listen—which had settled you.

It had not taken long before your crying and rapid breaths had calmed, and you began to simply speak to them: his Gods, as if they were old friends.

It had been a far-cry, in terms of experience, from how you felt when praying in the Sept at King's Landing. There, you had felt spied upon by those looming statues, meant to judge and decide your fate.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, you were sure they whispered in congress.

You had felt uneasy about the Septas and Septons who walked about, curious eyes roving over you as they placed new candles when the others finally burnt down to no more than wicks.

But, as with everything else, even your spiritual experience here had been preferable to out there.

You are glad for it, though. To have found new deities to confide in. It brings you peace to have them now at your requisite.

Cregan has just pulled on a pair of trousers when there is a soft knock at his door.

HIs head turns in that direction and he pads over to it on bare feet, and when he opens it, he is met by the sight of you staring up at him, and then to his naked, muscled chest with wide eyes, your face reddening.

"I—" You start, then stop suddenly.

His lip twitches.

He supposes your mysterious suitor is, at the very least, forgotten in this moment as he instead overtakes your senses.

He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, his biceps bulging. "Yes, My Princess? I was just readying myself for supper."

He sees his cloak in your arms, but instead of making this easier for you—he thinks himself a rogue for even thinking it—he waits on you to instead continue.

Your eyes trail back up, until meeting his own once again.

You shove the cloak suddenly toward him, your hands shaking. "Thank you. For the cloak, that is. Well, both of them. Here it is."

He grins, taking it from you. "Thank you. You received my gift, then?"

You nod, still flushed.

"I did," you say quietly. "I am very grateful for it. It was kind of you to give it to me."

You nod toward the one in his arms. "And for allowing me to borrow your own for the day."

"How did it go, then?"

You blink at him, mind whirring. "What?"

He raises a brow. "Praying."

You smile. "I should have spoken to them sooner. The Seven never felt...quite right for me. Whereas everything here does."

He smiles as well, pleased to hear that you finally found something you had mayhaps been looking for—before the weirwood. In his home as a whole.

You go to step away, then.

"I shall leave you to dress," you say, blood rushing to your face once again.

"Will you wait for me to escort you to dinner, Y/N?"

You nod gently, and go to wait in your room for him to retrieve you.

You sit beside Cregan once again this evening, softly smiling—unable to stop, really—each time you think of him standing so...immodestly before you.

It is immodest for you to think of it, you know, but you cannot help yourself.

As if you have not been immodest with another before...

You glance to him from under your lashes, smiling when he smiles at Jace as they jest, then quickly away, back to the dish before you when he looks in your direction.

You flush when you feel his thigh press against your own under the table, and when his forearm brushes against yours atop it.

Mayhaps you seem a bit foolish, to be so taken with him and so early at that, but it is difficult not to be. No man has ever treated you with such tenderness. Such concern.

So you choose to indulge yourself by enjoying it: his company. Even if you know it will not last, and sooner, rather than later, come to an end.

Your heart sinks at the knowledge, so you decide to push it aside for now and play pretend once more that everything is alright. That you and Jace are merely here visiting with a friend, and not plotting for battle.

During a brief silence, you finally speak to Jace.

"I saw you in the training yard today."

He looks at you with a raised brow, prepared for whatever commentary you are about to bestow upon him about his quick defeat.

"Spying, are we, sister?" He asks, voice monotone.

You shrug, taking a bite of your venison, then swallowing. "You clearly could use the practice."

Cregan's lip twitches at your banter, wondering if you had been impressed by him; his skill with a sword.

"You're one to talk."

You sit up straighter. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He leans in toward you. "I could have you suing for peace in only a moment with only a stick in my hand."

A smirk comes onto your lips. "Is that so?"

He groans. He should've remembered.

"Tell me, dear brother," you start, watching as he rolls his eyes. "Who was it, some years ago, who was begging who for mercy when one of us was equipped with only a switch from a sapling?"

"Yes, well," he states sarcastically. "It wasn't very proper of you to be assaulting your future king, and Prince of Dragonstone, now was it? Some might even say treasonous."

You kick him lightly. "You took my doll."

"For the last time, I told you it was Luke."

"I found it beheaded in your chest!"

Cregan snorts from beside you before taking a drink of his ale.

Jace sighs dramatically. "I will remember this insolence when you are once again clinging to me for warmth atop Vermax on our way home."

Cregan's face falls then.

You glare at him. "I have a new cloak. I shall be perfectly content."

"From?" Jace asks.

"Me," Cregan interjects.

Jacaerys turns to him then.

"You gifted my sister a cloak?" He asks, questioningly.

He shrugs. "She was ill-equipped for northern weather. I misliked seeing her cold and shivering. It pleases me to see her, instead, warm, and looked after by mine own hand."

You grow suddenly quiet, a warmth blooming in your chest at his comment, your heart fluttering.

Jace glances between the two of you then, wondering if something has transpired which he had missed. He trusts Lord Stark well enough thus far, but knows that he is, still, a man. One without a wife for some time now, at that.

He doesn't know that he envisions him as the sort to win himself your good graces, so as to then fall into bed together under the false pretense of a promise of marriage, but he must still be cautious.

You as well.

"That was very kind of you, Lord Cregan," Jace offers, studying him.

Cregan looks to you, watching as you eat your meal silently. "I wish only that I could give the Princess more."

You glance up to him and he smiles softly at you. "Mayhaps we should all journey into Winter Town on the morrow."

He looks at your brother then. "What say you, Jace?"

Jacaerys grins at the offer. "We shall make an afternoon of it."

Initially, when you lie down for the evening, you struggle to sleep due to excitement. Giddiness, even.

The way he'd treated you today—the small touches and the lingering looks he'd given you—it had all served to make you feel, once more, like a woman grown. Not as a girl, not as a child. But a lady desired.

A feeling you have thought you may never experience again after your last day in the capitol.

When you began to grow into your body all those years ago, you still felt inside the way you always had. Shy, and one to hide behind your mother's skirts. You have, clearly, much felt it here as well, despite this place having a sense of home for you.

Until he gave you his attentions and said stern words of wisdom.

I cannot imagine a finer fate, he had told you about you one day being a man's wife and mother to his children.

Does he...does he feel it, too then? It is so foolish to think he may, after only being here together a handful of days, but you cannot deny that you admire him. That you...wish for him.

For his attentions to continue.

He is stern, yet gentle. A man of convictions, yet open-minded. Young, but seemingly old at-heart. And rugged, but very handsome. And above all else, intimidating, but so very safe.

When his eyes fall upon you, you feel warmth spreading along your body like a dragon's fire across a field, your heart blooming like a rose in spring.

You turn on your side, softly squealing into the furs that your flushed cheek rests upon, heart beating wildly like a drum each time you even attempt at closing your eyes, for you are soon greeted by the image of him, like that of this morning.

His broad chest, his wide shoulders, tall frame and muscular arms.

You grin like a girl in love when you so much as think of his voice, it whispered into your ears.

As you finally begin to calm, you fall off to sleep with a smile, knowing: you will see him once more on the morrow.

You and Jace meet Lord Stark the next morn near the stables after having broken your fasts together.

Jace had asked you many questions about your time together with Cregan as you dined on bacon and bread and potatoes. Such as the things you have discussed, the places you have gone around the grounds, and then his true inquiry became apparent before long: had he done anything...untoward.

You'd stated firmly, then, that Cregan did not seem that sort of man to you, so of course not. He is a man of honor, you'd insisted.

You'd shrugged off your shawl then, hoping to cool yourself—rid yourself of your flushed cheeks—at that image of him half-undressed once again painting itself within your mind.

You were desperately glad, then, that Jace could not read it.

Lord Cregan greets you with a smile, his hand coming to find its way to the small of your back as he leads you over to an inky black courser with a mane that is so silky, it looks like water running over stones at midnight.

He watches as you pet its neck gently.

You look up to him, his fingertips dancing lightly over your gifted cloak.

It pleases him to see you wearing it—including that of the sigil of his house. He deems it much suits you.

"What is her name?" You ask.

"Onyx."

You laugh lightly. "Fitting, I suppose. Will you be riding her, then?"

He shakes his head. "She is for you, Princess. I would gift her to you, but I imagine getting her properly seated atop a dragon would be with much difficulty," he states with a grin.

He would gift you a horse?

You flush.

"It is the thought that counts. Thank you," you say, taking his hand in yours with a gentle squeeze.

You then look behind him at a large, gorgeous chestnut steed. "Yours?"

He nods while looking to him. "I've had him since I was a young lad. My first horse, in fact. Given to me by my father on my fourth name day."

"I was sorry to hear about him," you say, taking a step closer, nearly pressed against his side.

He closes the distance. "I suppose we both know that pain. You all too well—two-fold."

He glances at Jace, who is busy speaking to the stablemaster and he decides to be rather bold—for only a moment. He slides his hand beneath your cloak, along your waist, circling it within his arm.

Your gaze immediately meets his, to find him staring down at you with an unreadable expression.

"I—" You start, then stop.

His gloved thumb brushes over your hip. "Will you walk with me, once we have reached town, Y/N?"

You swallow thickly, then nod. "I will."

He nods toward your horse then, sliding his other hand beneath your cloak as well, gripping both your hips firmly, and suddenly lifting you atop your new traveling companion for the morn.

You brace your hands upon his shoulders, smiling down at him over the unexpected gesture as his rough hands slide from your hips and down your thighs before finally settling back at his sides once more.

When you arrive in the small market town—which is located closely enough to Winterfell that you would have been just as equally pleased to walk there—you go to dismount, until Cregan orders you to wait for him.

You flush at the stern command, but obey, nonetheless.

Jace watches from the side as Cregan lifts his arms, takes you by the hips and slides you off in one fell swoop, placing you firmly back on your feet on frozen northern ground. 

He rests his wrist over the pommel of his sword, now wondering, as Lord Stark tucks a curled lock behind your ear with gentleness, if mother’s blessing for marriage will not soon come to be of much use.

He would not mind calling Cregan brother.

He smiles at the thought as he trails behind the pair of you—your arm wrapped firmly around Cregan’s, so as to keep you safely close to his side—giving you both your space, curious to see if blossoms can still bloom, even in such temperate climates.

As your twin brother—the other part of your soul, for you have been together since the moment of your conception—he wants nothing more than for you to be safe and contented. He thinks, with confidence, that Lord Cregan could potentially provide such things, and more.

You smile as you watch a family of five walk past, bowing their heads in respect to their liege lord, while he does the same to them in return. The children trail behind their mother like a row of ducklings, which only causes your smile to grow wider.

Cregan glances to you, very much liking the sight of you so happy for a change. “Do you wish for children, Princess?”

You glance to the side, worried someone may have heard him.

You and Jace had opted not to wear anything indicating your house—who each of you are—this morn, so as to remain at least slightly inconspicuous out of an effort to enjoy yourselves here.

As far as these people know, you are just friends of Lord Stark’s.

You nod. “I do.”

His hand slides overtop of yours, which is wrapped round his bicep—the location chosen by you on purpose. 

“How many?”

You shrug, glancing to a stall selling various spices. “As many as my future lord husband desires, I suppose.”

He nearly groans at the unsatisfactory answer. “I did not ask about about him, Y/N, I asked about you. Your desires, and yours alone.”

You glance up to him, yet again enjoying his stern tone. 

You know not why. 

It had initially frightened you in the crypts just a day ago, but now…you think mayhaps his congenial façade is beginning to lower, and the Wolf of the North is instead emerging the more time you spend in one another’s company. 

You do not entirely mind it.

Someone for once refusing to accept what you first offer them on the surface, and instead asking after what lies within you instead is not something you have experienced for quite some time.

Well, not entirely true. Naught but a few days past did another look directly into you as well—but with him that was nothing new. You had just been surprised he was still so adept at it after so long apart.

It had meant something to you that he was.

“In truth? I would like as many as my body will allow. I may wish for a quiet place to live, but I do not wish for a quiet home.”

You smile warmly. “I wish to be awoken by the pitter-patter of little feet and hear laughter at all hours of the day. I would even prefer the sound of my children crying because the other has once again broken their favorite toy to that of solemn silence.”

You look at Cregan and laugh. “Jace and I might have done that quite often when we were cross with one another. And we were always cross with one another. I destroyed a number of his wooden soldiers growing up.”

His lip twitches. “You must have very strong hands to accomplish such a feat.”

You shake your head. “I threw them into the hearth to use as kindling.”

He laughs then. 

“There is another thing I am most certain of, which I know is not common practice, but I will not have it any other way, so long as my husband agrees.”

“And what might that be, Y/N?”

“I will feed my children from mine own breasts. I won’t have a wet nurse do it for me if I can help it. My babes will have come from me, and they will thus be nursed by me. I can’t bear the thought of another woman instead having that privilege. To think of them instead in her arms and…”

You shake your head, upset just at the thought of it.

He leans toward you, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. “An admirable thing for a highborn lady to want.”

You flush at the tender gesture.

He leads you into a shop then, which is filled with various wares: dried herbs, jars, pots, decanters, mortar and pestles, ointments and salves—clearly an apothecary. And up front is a small selection of brass and wooden toys, at perfect eye-level for little ones. 

You step over to a crate holding cinnamon sticks which are bound together in small batches with twine, then pause when you hear a child asking for a little wooden horse. 

“Please, mummy? I lost my other one. Please?”

She shakes her head, counting coins—even looking to the shopkeep and pushing a jar toward him, clearly not able to afford it.

“Not today, darling. I’m sorry.”

She takes her purchase in one hand, and then her child’s hand in her free one, and your heart sinks and you watch the little boy rub at his eyes.

“Would you—” Cregan starts, but you brush past him, racing to the counter and hand over a few shining Dragons to the elderly man behind it before grabbing the jar the woman had left, as well as a toy horse—even a wooden knight to go with it—quickly following after them.

Cregan steps out after you, trying to keep up with your brisk pace, and then he watches from a distance—halting in his tracks—as you greet a woman with a warm smile and an understanding look, placing a jar firmly within her hands.

She fervently shakes her head, trying to hand it back to you, but you insist before then bending down to meet her son. And he watches as you hand the little boy a set of matching wooden toys—painted ones, at that. 

The mother’s chin wobbles as her son squeals with glee. Both of them thanking you profusely, while you try desperately to brush it off as nothing.

But it is not nothing to the stoic northern lord who watches you. To him, it is everything. Yet one step closer to confirmation of a question of great importance that he has in-mind.

You walk back over to him, cheeks burning as you take his arm again. 

“Princess, that was…very generous of you.”

“I have more coin than I know what to do with. I won’t watch others go without if I can help. I refuse to. It wasn’t generous. It was just the right thing to do.”

“You have a kind heart,” he remarks.

“Mayhaps I just have one in general. It seems so many others like us—highborns—have forgotten theirs. I won’t be one of them. Especially now.”

You’re quiet for a moment, with a question to ask—as you are on the subject of hearts and humanity—but worried it may be too personal, or, perhaps, offensive. 

You use your most gentle tone. “Does it…bother you, the thought of having to potentially take a life when the time comes?”

His thumb brushes over your fingers that grip his upper arm. “At one time, mayhaps. But it has long since passed. I know my duty. As Lord of Winterfell, but much more, Warden of the North. Hard times call for hard sacrifices. For difficult acts. I will do what must be done. Not just because it is what is expected of me, but to honor my forebears, my name, my people, and kingdom. Any duty, great or small, is to be looked upon as a privilege. Not a burden. As a Stark, we do what we do in the name of honor—of what is true—instead of doing it out of personal benefit, or for some form of political gain.”

You press your cheek against the crown of his shoulder then, much liking his honest answer. He always seems able to speak from the heart. You appreciate such a quality.

Being raised in King’s Landing…it is something you are not used to.

You wrap your other arm around his then, holding tightly to him. “Wish that I knew what that was like. I fear I never will.”

“You do not miss it then? King’s Landing?”

“If I never set eyes upon it again, I think I would be quite content with that.”

“A den of vipers, I believe I once heard it referred to it as,” he states.

Your lip twitches. “An apt name for it, yes. Even when you think you are alone, you’re not. Spies and worse around every corner, always waiting and listening and watching. The courtiers do adore their gossip.”

“Were you not close with any of them, then? The ‘Greens’, as they now seem to be called—the Hightowers.”

You straighten your head again, looking forward as the two of you round a shop, which you then come to lean back against as you release his arm, Jace otherwise occupied across the way speaking with a blacksmith. 

You rest your gloved hands over your abdomen. “I was. With one.”

“Princess Helaena, I presume?”

“She and I were polite with one another, but she seemed always content to be left alone. Which I understood. So no, not Helaena.”

“The Queen dowager, then?”

You shake your head. “Due to her and my mother’s…falling out so many years ago, I did try to keep my distance from her.”

“One of your uncles.”

You finally nod. “Yes.”

He watches as you turn your gaze away from him, toward the treeline in the distance instead, a faraway look about you. 

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Which, might I ask?”

You look back to him, the look in your eyes that of…melancholy. “Aemond. We were close friends as children.”

It all suddenly falls into place for him then. The childhood friend, the inability to marry due to current circumstances, the refusal to name your suitor. It is because it is not just your uncle, but a man you are now meant to call enemy and traitor. 

“He is the one who proposed marriage,” he states firmly.

Your eyes immediately flit back to his and his suspicions are then confirmed. “Jace cannot know. Please, promise me—”

“You know I will guard your secrets, Princess. That they are safe with me.”

You breath a sign of relief then. “Thank you.”

“You would have considered settling for remaining in King’s Landing just to be with him—before Aegon’s usurpation, that is.” The thought displeases him—you being that devoted to another that you would have stayed in a place which causes you misery, just so you may remain by his side.

You glance away, thinking. Remembering. With an ache in your chest. “We would not have remained in King’s Landing.”

Let us finally be free of our gilded cages, beloved niece.

His brows furrow, heart-rate quickening. “Surely you do not mean to imply that the two of you would have run away together?”

He cannot imagine you doing something so impulsive. More and more he begins to doubt how well he can read you.

You shrug. “It was Aemond’s idea. I had no home to miss, only family—if I followed through, that is.”

“But you said no.” He takes a small step closer, desperate for you to confirm that you did.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I told him I needed time to consider.”

His heart drops, his hope shattering. 

You continue. “But it does not matter now. Not after what they have done. There is naught left to consider in terms of…matrimony. I suppose if we had, though, that last night—just done it—fled, we would be far away from all of this by now.”

“Do you still love him?” He asks again, repeating himself from just a day ago, desperate for your answer.

Your eyes meet his once more. “I believe a part of me always will. Aemond and I—growing up—we leaned so heavily on one another. A bond like that is not so easily forgotten or forsook.”

He knows all too well. Arra.

“We were both just…different. Aegon and Helaena were betrothed, so they had one another—even if they kept their distance from each other—which made him feel much alone. Compound that with him being dragonless, and the fact that both mine own brothers and his mocked him for it.”

You sigh.

The Pink Dread.

You had given Jace an earful after that one when Aemond cried in your arms about it before going to his mother after you had consoled him, ensuring him that you thought no less of him for it—that you still saw him every inch a Targaryen. 

He knew your doubts about your paternity, so he had repaid you the same sentiment in kind.

“And then there was me being the only girl in my family. And, as I said, always feeling out-of-step. My brothers being taught politics, fighting, strategy, and history, while I was taught how to smile and look pretty and recite Valyrian poetry.”

You shake your head. “My mother had attempted at betrothing Aemond and I when we were young, as well as Jace and Helaena—she offered either—both arrangements, to try and mend the rift between her and Queen Alicent, but Her Grace refused both offers. Yet, we found our ways to one another time and again anyway. He never obeyed when his mother ordered him stay away from me.”

You smile slightly. “His stubborn disposition has not much changed, even as his body did. That much has, at least, remained consistent.”

You clasp your hands. “But we grew up and apart. Things changed. The night Luke took his eye and he claimed for himself the largest dragon in the world he became more…bold. Fearless, mayhaps. We already had distance between us. Literal and figurative. The chasm only grew after what my younger brother did. Aemond and I had, at least, occasionally written to the other after we parted from the Red Keep, but correspondence from him ceased altogether after that night on Driftmark.”

You still are unsure that you believe what he told you that last evening together as he grabbed you firmly by both your arms—squeezing as he held you close to him—insisting: What fucking letters?, his one good eye desperately flitting between both of your own in a frenzied panic for an answer.

It was abundantly clear just from your private moment in the Godswood that afternoon, before Vaemond lost his head, that he had perfected a silver tongue over the years.

In more ways than one…

He does not want the answer, he knows he does not. But he asks the question anyway.

“Do you wish you had said yes?”

You stare at him for a moment, a sense of longing overtaking you. “Perhaps. It’s just…at least with Aemond…”

You sigh, searching for how to word this. “As I told you in the crypts, I have endeavored for the better part of my life to resign myself to the fate of a stale marriage. But now that the actual possibility looms ever closer, I do not know if I can withstand such a horrible future. Not even telling myself that it may be for the benefit of my family comforts me now. Just, with Aemond I would’ve had…”

You shake your head.

“What?” He presses.

“I—”

“What would he have given you?”

“Passion,” you blurt out.

He takes a step back.

“I know that it may seem strange, given it is not your custom: intermarrying relatives, but I think our relation only brought us closer. He has been there since the day I was born. Had been every day after, until my mother spirited us away. I often wonder what might have happened had we instead remained together.”

He remains silent, merely looking at you, searching for words, wondering if there are any to be had, now that he knows another still holds your heart within his hands. Hands which have your same blood flowing through their veins.

He solidifies himself then. He is not a green boy to give up so easily. The signs have aligned thus far, he will not shirk them—nor his desire for you—so quickly.

"Do you not believe you could have it with another?"

He takes a small step closer toward you.

Your brows furrow. "What?"

He leans in closer to you, attempting a different route.

You wish for passion? He shall then give it to you.

He has offered you genteelness thus far, and he fears that perhaps you have mistaken it as no more than congeniality or boyish fancy.

But it is not a boy whom stands before you, but a man with want.

A wolf with hunger.

He shall shed his sheep's skin, then, and show you what lies beneath.

He grips your chin firmly between his fingers, his dark eyes gazing into your own. "Passion."

You blink up at him, at a loss for words, your mouth growing dry.

Just then, Jace calls for you and the moment ceases to be.

Or, so you think, until Lord Stark places a firm hand against the small of your back as the two of you return to the your brother, which he refuses to remove for the rest of the day.

Atop that, he purchases for you a few gifts: a necklace of a small silver snowflake you had admired, herbs for tea, and yards of material for a new dress.

You had tried to insist that you could afford it all yourself, but he'd simply replied "it pleases me to please you, so let me". And you then had, without further quarrel.

On the return to the castle, he had ridden steadily beside you, keeping an eye on you all the while, which you had been unsure what to do with. So you'd occasionally smiled at him or laughed from nerves.

And he had eventually looked away, leaving you to then stare after him. His tall, confident form, the way of surety which he sits his steed, and the way his people look at him as he passes. With reverence.

With great admiration, you witness him addressing a great many with simple nods or calling them by name. You come to quickly realize it is not just respect which they give and feel toward him, but love. And at such young an age, at that.

They are very fortunate to have him watching over them.

“Wait for me to assist you, Y/N. Stay seated until I come to you.”

Jace’s head turns abruptly in your and Cregan’s direction, most surprised to hear his new friend now calling you, also, by your given name. He holds his tongue on the matter, however, when he sees the way you smile slightly to yourself at his words.

Cregan comes round the side of your horse and grabs you by your hips, pulling you down to him, settling you once again on flat feet.

You nervously tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Cregan.”

He nods, pressing a firm kiss to the top of your head then. “It would grieve me to have you injured when I am so near to prevent it.”

He cups your cheek in his hand then. “Will you join me for lunch?”

You glance behind him, toward the direction of the Godswood across the way. “I…I actually think I’d like to pray for awhile.”

His thumb brushes against your flushed cheek while nodding softly. “I am glad you have found new Gods to confide in.”

His eyes flit away for a moment, then settle back upon you. “You know you may also do so with me anytime you may need to lighten your load, Y/N. I assure you, I am more than capable of carrying it for you.”

You nod, gently pressing a hand to his chest.

“I know. You demonstrated as much in town,” you reply, stepping impossibly closer, your body melding against his own. “It means something to me, to have someone to talk to. A great deal. I feel that I need it now more than ever.”

He presses his lips to your forehead, cupping the back of your thick head of hair as he looks down at you. “Then I am yours to confide in whenever your mind feels troubled and your worries too much to bear.”

You reach up slowly, fingers slightly trembling, and brush a stray chestnut-colored strand from his eyes, cupping his cheek in your hand as you study him; his reaction.

He slowly turns his head, settling his palm overtop of the back of your hand as he presses a kiss to your palm. “I shall leave you then. To pray.”

You wrap your cloak tightly around you, burying your nose in the soft fur round your neck and breathe deeply, taking in a familiar fragrance which warms you to your core: Cregan. Being so near him all morn has now given you—rather, your clothing—his scent.

You lull your head to the side, resting it against your shoulder and your eyes flutter closed as you smile softly while thinking of him.

Something had shifted in him this morning. He had shown you a yet unseen—to you, at least—side of himself; a side which made you see him every inch the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North as he kept close to you, spoke to you with certainty, and looked upon you with an unwavering gaze.

And you much liked it.

You open your eyes then, studying the carved face before you, leaning forward, thinking, considering, recalling.

You simply wish for that hand which Cregan had spoke to you of to aid in guiding you toward your destiny.

Whether that is here, at Dragonstone, or, mayhaps, across the Narrow Sea, with a man with one eye and an unwavering desire for you. Or elsewhere, with a suitor chosen for you, due to what he can provide your family’s side in the conflicts to come.

Your stomach twists painfully at the prospect of the latter-most being that which comes to call.

You’ve wondered over the last sennight whether you regret Aemond’s proposal or not. Regret, because it had given you hope and want for the first time in a very, very long time. And not for the same exact reasons.

You cannot even put him as the one at-fault for seeking you out, for you had done it first that morn in the training yard.

You’d watched from the parapets as he quickly dodged and swung past Ser Criston’s morningstar, hardly even recognizing him as the boy you had once spent near every waking moment with in the gardens, the halls of the keep, in hidden corners playing games that your parents were not to know about.

He was now tall, lean, his hair long and smooth, his chin and jaw looking as if they were carved from the finest marble, and styling an eyepatch—a feature which bothered you. Not just due to it being a reminder of what had horrendously been done to him by your own brother’s hand that most horrific night, but because you knew: if he was hiding it, it was due to being ashamed.

Aemond had thrown his shield aside, continuing to dodge his opponent, swinging his own sword in return, before finally besting Criston with a blade held toward his throat.

The watching audience had clapped and cheered while your brothers looked on in astonishment, Aemond eventually turning to them.

You’d been far enough above them that you’d been unable to make out the words being traded between them, until Jace and Luke had both glanced up to you, Aemond slowly turning round, leaning his head back as a smirk ghosted its way across his feline lips at the comely sight of you.

“You prefer to watch then, niece? Come down, and I will give you a private show of your very own, if you instead join me.”

You’d blanched, panicking as you looked between various onlookers, their eyes now trained on you.

You’d unseated yourself then, deciding to head elsewhere, wondering what could’ve possibly gotten into him to make such a display.

That wasn’t your Aemond. It was like he was a wholly different person.

But watching him with sword in-hand and his deft footwork, his long silver hair falling over his shoulders…it had stirred something within you.

You’d decided to head for the Godswood then, simply to be alone and collect yourself before claims were heard for your brother’s rightful seat of Driftmark. It was ridiculous such pageantry needed be convened in the first place.

And that was where he had found you, back turned to him, staring at a carved wooden face in curiosity as he prowled closer, like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.

“Niece,” he’d called to you in High Valyrian.

You’d jumped lightly in surprise, turning round to him.

“I thought you worshipped the Seven,” he’d continued in the language, his measured steps carrying him closer.

“I do,” you had replied in Valyrian as well, suddenly unnerved by the look in his eye as he greedily gathered every inch of you.

Finally, he was standing before you, arms resting behind his back. “What is it you pray for, then, I wonder? An advantageous marriage, perhaps. One for love, I’m sure. You always did have your head in the clouds as a child.”

You had raised a brow then. “That makes two of us.”

His lip twitched in response.

“Though,” you continued. “I suppose for you it would be more literal.”

He had smirked in response. “I recently learned yours never hatched, even after taking it such a long way. I could tell you why that might be, but I fear it may offend you. So, let me instead make you an offer.”

Leaning down, he’d snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. “Come join me on mine own. She is the largest in all the world. Just consider what that might imply about her rider.”

You’d rolled your eyes then at the predictable reply, pulling away, heart beating like a hammer against cloth. Gods, there was no trace left of the sweet boy you had left behind here now, was there? His softness had been chiseled away until only impenetrable stone was left.

You’d put a healthy amount of distance between the two of you before looking at him once more.

“At least you have not forsaken your mother tongue,” he’d said, coming closer yet again. “Mine own is quite adept at it, among other things.”

You’d glanced away nervously at such a comment. “Yes, well, it’s important to my mother and Daemon. It was a love language of theirs at our age, so I suppose it was something they each grew quite attached to.”

“Perhaps we should follow in their footsteps with more than just mutual appreciation for a shared language, my sweet niece.”

Your brows had furrowed. “In what way…?”

He was standing before you once again now. “Tell me, have you received any prospects as of late, or am I still yet your only one?”

“Are…are you proposing marriage?” Your tone had been that of shock.

“And if I am,” he’d said, taking your waist in his arm again. “What say you?”

You had grown quiet, grasping for any form of reply.

“Hm. I’m sure it is a groom with two eyes that you prefer, then, is it not?”

You’d lightly shaken your head, thinking he must surely be bluffing. “I care not about such things. You could be missing a limb and it would not bother me. But it matters not. Our parents would never allow it, you know that.”

He’d reached up with his free hand, cupping your cheek to hold you in-place. “Then perhaps we steal away in the dark of night, married in secret by a septon. Like something out of a fairytale book, which I know you loved so dearly at one time. Our marriage consummated upon a bed of hay, in a barn where our secrets lay hidden.”

“They would find us,” you’d insisted.

But he quickly proved that for each objection you supplied, he would then hand you a previously thought-out solution.

“Let us flee across the Narrow Sea, then, for there is nothing left for me here now. Not with you having gone and hidden yourself away from me on that desolate island. Let us finally be free of our gilded cages, beloved niece. Together.”

You’d lain a hand upon his chest, wishing for just a bit of room to breathe. “You cannot be serious—”

“Mayhaps I am. Tell me—now—for the hour will soon grow late, and with it, our opportunities lessened.”

He had pressed your back firmly against the weirwood behind you.

“Aemond—”

He’d crushed his lips to yours then, cutting any further protests short, only interested in hearing agreement from your mouth or naught else.

He’d flicked the speared tip of his tongue against your lips, bidding you give him entrance and when you had gasped for breath, he had immediately seized the opportunity as his tongue came to dance against your own, his petal-soft lips smacking against yours while both his hands trailed up the curve of your waist, over your heaving breasts, before coming to tangle in your hair.

He’d then moved lower, sucking against your neck, your clavicle.

“Oh Gods, Aemond,” you’d sighed, wishing for…for anything but for him to stop.

He’d kissed back up and along your chin, gently nipping with his teeth, his hard member pressing against the soft skin of your stomach, burning you through your gown, your blood racing like the fiery lava that had flown freely through Old Valyria, at the feel of him.

He’d whispered in your ear then with husky breaths, “I see you have not forgotten our games as children we so often enjoyed together in those most private moments. Hm. How well we got to know one another then.”

He’d placed his lips back against your own then—you falling back so easily into old habits with him once more. Ones you had thought long lost to you.

You’d wrapped your arms around his neck, pouring yourself into it—into him.

You were supposed to be angry with him—something about lost correspondences—but you could not focus on such things when the two of you were like this.

Even when you were young…it became a sort of ‘playful’ response, if not eventual habit, that when either of you went to the other upset about something—anything—the most assured way to make one another’s troubles disappear was with a kiss, a touch, sometimes a whispered word not fit for children.

You would both blush madly afterward, looking shyly at one another, but always asking if the other wished to do it again.

Neither of you ever said no.

“Sister!”

The sound of Jace’s voice calling you from across the yard causes your body to jerk in panic, eyes widening as Aemond trails his hot wet tongue along your rapid pulse concealed beneath the thin, supple skin of your neck.

He had then clamped his hand over your mouth while smirking down at you. “Shh, we must be silent or he may find us in a quite…compromising position.”

You’d stared back at him in horror, terrified of what may happen if he did.

And then Aemond had cocked his head to the side, an idea coming clearly to mind.

He’d reached down to the hem of your dress then, shoving his hand beneath, and you’d whimpered, wondering what in the Seven Hells he was doing, and then you felt it—his fingers gently probing against your soaked smallclothes.

He’d hummed in pert interest. “Mayhaps I should let him, then,” Aemond had whispered into your ear. “If I do, you will thus be ruined for all, wholly belonging to me at last.”

He’d glanced around the tree toward your brother as he called your name once more. “An intriguing idea.”

You’d shoved his hand away then. “I have to go.”

“Stay. I’ve enough of you walking away from me.”

You’d filled with guilt then. Leaving had not been your decision. For so long you had hated the Red Keep, but after losing Harwin…to then be told immediately after you were to then lose Aemond, too—it had broken you.

“I’m sorry,” you’d whispered.

Then, “Jace, I’m here!”

You’d tried to step away, but Aemond had grabbed your wrist, tugging you back toward him.

“My brother wants me.”

“For he is not the only one,” he’d replied hotly.

You had yanked yourself from his grip then, unknowing of what else to do, before walking away and back inside with your twin, your uncle watching you every step of the way as you went.

And later that afternoon, when claims were made for the driftwood throne, you’d stood silently beside your mother, half shielding yourself behind Jace, and had jolted in fright as Vaemond finally spoke it aloud for all to hear—his voice bellowing through the throne room.

You’d caught movement across the room—imperceptible to any other, but not to you—Aemond had gripped the pommel of his sword, eyes trained on the offending man in question, but had quickly settled his arms behind him once more as Daemon instead slew him for his treasonous offense.

Aemond had then looked at you, as you covered your mouth in shock, with a protective gaze.

And that night, during dinner, he’d walked briskly toward you, taking Jace’s seat at your side, forcing your twin to instead sit elsewhere.

Your uncle had slid his hand up your thigh beneath the table, letting it rest there. You hadn’t shoved it away, despite knowing you should have.

Instead, you’d gently rested both of your hands atop the back of his own, fire singing in your veins at being so near him.

His lip had merely twitched in response as he leaned back with a pleased look on his face as his father spoke and various members of your family toasted one another, which had made you smile as you twined your fingers between Aemond’s.

And then Jace and Helaena had begun to dance, Alicent and her father laughing amongst themselves, your mother enjoying the festivities while your grandsire looked on, content.

Aemond had stood, loudly pushing out his chair, then silently offering you his hand, which you’d promptly taken, ignoring the sets of eyes all turning in your direction.

He’d led you into the middle of the room, taking you in his arms as the two of you began to dance slowly chest-to-chest.

Aemond had leaned down, his lips close to your ear. “Have you much thought about it? What we did in the Godswood—alone—with just ourselves and our sweet sin between us? I know I have. Would you like to know what I did about it? Mayhaps you did as well.”

“Aemond—” You’d started before being promptly interrupted.

“Come, then, let us find a dark corner so I might explore and discover the answer for myself. So I might see in what all ways you have grown into a woman, besides just your disposition.”

“Aemond—”

“Uncle. You know how it pleases me when you refer to me as such.” He’d pulled back then, staring into your eyes. “Niece.”

He had pulled you impossibly closer, a part of himself pressing against your stomach just the same as a few hours ago. “Do you see what you do to me?”

Your cheeks had warmed, as well as that most sensitive part of yourself between your thighs. “We have an audience. You must stop.”

He’d scoffed. “Fuck them. Let them watch.”

He’d pressed his cheek to the side of your head.

“How I have missed you,” he’d whispered.

You’d pulled back that time with a look of disbelief upon your features.

“You do not believe me, then?” He’d asked with his brow raised.

“Why would I?” You’d spat, anger causing tears to gather, burning your eyes.

His brows had knitted together. “You know the promise we once made: to never lie to one another. You believe me to have forgotten it? I lost my eye, not my senses, dear niece.”

“If you missed me so dearly then you would not have stopped replying to my letters.”

He had suddenly stilled. “You stopped replying to mine own. Too occupied with the lonely island you quickly began to call home, forgetting that which you had left behind.”

You’d shook your head. “No. I didn’t. I sent you at least a dozen letters which went unanswered.”

He’d squeezed your hand painfully then. “I never received such—”

You’d snorted. “Please, spare me, Aemond. You  may think yourself adept with your silver tongue when it comes to every other member of this court, but not me who knows every part of you. I can still yet tell when you are lying and when—”

He had suddenly leaned in toward you, causing you to arch your back, his palm holding firm to the small of it. “What fucking letters?”

You’d glanced behind him at his mother that was watching with a most displeased expression.

And then he had turned as well, eye flitting between her and his grandsire, feeling a sting of deep-seated betrayal in an instant.

He had turned back to you, quickly cupping your cheek. “You must believe me.”

You’d blinked back tears. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He’d flinched.

“It…it’s done. We’re different people now. We want different things.”

“I have only ever wanted you,” he’d hissed, fingers then tangling in the back of your hair painfully. “You belong with me. You are of my blood and I yours.”

You’d felt him tugging against something then.

“Say it. Tell me now. Yes. Say it.”

You’d tried swallowing, only to find your mouth as dry as the Red Waste. Gods. What if that was where the two of you ended up if you agreed?

“I…I need time.”

“You will consider it, then?” He’d asked, voice full of hope.

You had nodded gently.

He’d slipped the ribbon that’d been tied at the back of your hair from it then, taking it in-hand.

“Please give that—”

“I will return it to you when you return to me. Not a moment sooner,” he’d stated, tucking it into his pocket.

He’d stepped away then, walking back toward the table and you’d stood there full of nerves, worried someone may have heard. At the very least, they had all seen. The way he had touched you. And you him.

Then you resolved, thinking him right: fuck them, let them watch.

Later, when Aemond made his toast, he had started with you as he held his chalice high. “To my most beloved niece: how good it is to have you returned to me once again. For I have missed you so very dearly. I eagerly await our next reunion. I much hope it is…quite soon.”

You’d remained silent, blood rushing to your face and roaring in your ears as you drank silently from your cup in response, him staring at you with a smirk before finally addressing your brothers.

And in an instant you had felt a knife sheathing itself in your back as he inadvertently acknowledged them as bastards. How could he, in one breath, hope for a union between the two of you, while simultaneously shaming your family and you, by extension, in such a vile way?

Your mother had then gathered all of you, ordering you off to your rooms, but Aemond had made a direct line toward you, until Daemon stepped in the middle, palm resting over the pommel of his sword.

Aemond hadn’t even looked at him as he stepped from one side and then the other, attempting to get past him, so as to put his hands on you one last time, but Daemon had blocked him each way he went.

Finally, he had met his eyes, staring him down, before glancing back to you and humming, walking away.

Daemon had then turned to you and nodded toward a household guard. “Escort the Princess back to her room and assure my nephew stays away from her.”

And that night—that moment—had been the last time you’d seen him. Before his side of the family betrayed your own.

At least if you had agreed…the two of you would be far from all of this.

This utter, calamitous mess.

You wring your hands nervously, a lump forming in your throat. Should you have? Could…could you still? Writing to him, clearly, would do you no good. How would you go to him, then?

You sigh in frustration, accepting a difficult truth: you would not be happy being with him. You know, with a fair amount of certainty, that Aemond would take care of and protect you, but you fear the two of you would, in time, come to resent one another.

Him, for being forced to remove himself from court, where he now clearly thrives, to be shoved into hiding—what would he even think to do with Vhagar, anyway? And you, for being so far from your family—on another continent as a whole—and most likely being made to settle into a slave city. You don’t know that you could ever call such a place home.

And so here you sit yet again, wondering—just like always—where the Seven Hells you belong.

Your head snaps up when you hear small footsteps crunching through the snow, coming toward you, breaking you away from dark thoughts.

And you smile at the sight of a brown-haired little boy—mayhaps no more than a year old—toddling toward you with a sweet smile on his face.

You stand and close the distance between the two of you as you kneel down, smiling kindly at him. “Hello there.”

He giggles in response, showing you the small toy in his hands—a wolf made of wood, painted brown and white, with bits of gray.

You take it from him, looking it over and nodding.

“He is very beautiful.” You run a finger lightly down his soft, chubby cheek. “Just like you.”

You hand it back to him. “Where are your parents, sweetling?”

He steps closer to you then, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“Oh,” you say in surprise. But it took only a moment for you to do the same, holding him close with one palm against his back and the other cupping the back of his tiny head.

“Rickon!” Someone had called in the distance, but you did not hear as your chin wobbled, wondering if you will ever have this one day with your own child.

You pulled him closer then, praying to any Gods that were listening to please, please, let you at least be given that much: motherhood, and a little one who loves you, so you may have someone—anyone.

As Cregan rounds the corner into the Godswood, his patience has nearly reached the end of its rope, until he halts as he takes in the sight of the two of you: you holding his son closely, silent tears slipping down your cheeks as you press a soft kiss to the top of his head.

And in that moment, he knows that his desperate prayers from that morn have been answered. He’d asked the Gods to show him a sign if it is meant to be, and now they have.

And so, the hand leaves him, and he goes forth on his own, the path ahead clear, you standing at the end of it, waiting for him.

His Princess.

No. His Lady. 

His.

You look toward him, then put the pieces quickly together. “Is this your son?”

He nods, coming to you with such a sense of calmness about him. “He is. He is already fond of you, it seems.”

You gently pull back from the adorable little boy, brushing strands from his forehead.

“That makes two of us,” you say while looking at him with warmth.

You make to stand, until Rickon takes your hand in his, then Cregan’s in his other, waiting for one—either of you—to lead him back inside.

You glance to Cregan, unsure of yourself—if he is alright with this. Until he nods gently and steps forward, you following along.

And then Rickon looks at you. “Up!”

You raise a brow. Does he wants you to pick him up?

Cregan grins and motions with his shoulder that the little boy wants to swing between the two of you.

So you grip his small hand firmly and pull upward and he giggles wildly as his father does the same, the two of you swinging him for a moment, before letting him back on flat feet. And then you repeat it again and again, all three of you laughing and smiling, oblivious to anyone else.

Cregan presses his thigh to yours as he turns to look at you.

“Jace and I discussed this afternoon venturing to the Wall in two days time. Would you be interested in joining us, Princess?”

You swallow your spoonful of soup, licking your lips, which his smoldering eyes glance to before meeting your own again.

Your brows furrow then. “I thought women were not allowed?”

He slides his palm over your thigh, taking your hand in his beneath the table, his thumb brushing over your fingertips. “You will be my guest. Where I go, no one will tell you that you cannot follow. I won’t allow it.”

You smile then. “I would love to see it, Cregan.”

He raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Then it is settled.”

Once you are in your room and alone for the evening…the joy of the day quickly leaves you.

Seeing all those families in Winter Town, and Cregan with his son—you miss Harwin and Laenor both so, so dearly. So much so, that your stomach twists, your eyes burn, and your heart aches just to have either of them here, taking you into their arms and reminding you just how loved you are by them.

You wish Daemon were different. More like them. But he isn’t.

Just as you begin to feel overwhelmed—like the waves are about to take you under—you look toward the door on the right side of your room, which leads to the balcony, and calm.

You slip on the cloak Cregan gifted you and open it, cool air washing over you as you step out, wrapping your arms round yourself as you lift your head and stare up at the full silver moon in the sky, feeling closer to them.

Your eyes flutter closed for a moment as you allow the peaceful wintry night to envelop you. Snowflakes drift down, melting upon your cheeks like tears, while a soft breeze whistles through the pine trees in the distance, and a pack of wolves howl as one.

Slowly, you open them again, feeling as if you have company.

You glance over the edge of the railing and find naught but a lone man leading his horse slowly along toward the stables.

It is when you turn to your right that you find Lord Cregan leaned forward, forearms resting atop the balcony railing, watching you, his gaze unwavering.

You look at him in return, wondering how long he has been there, but don’t ask.

Instead, you each remain silent, waiting for what the other may do—refusing to be the first to speak, out of risk of ruining the intimate moment.

He then turns fully toward you, leaning back, crossing his arms. And he continues to watch. And wait.

You glance away, toward your room’s interior, feeling your body growing warm in response to his gesture of attention, then back to him, expecting him to have broken his gaze as well, but he has not.

Finally, you smile slightly, to which he nods his head gently, and you go back inside, firmly shutting the door behind you, pressing your palms and forehead against it, wondering what in Seven Hells that had been about.

You shrug off your cloak—heart beating a bit faster than normal, and your mind and body both feeling utterly awake—as you step toward the fire, even if you feel that you instead need to go back outside to cool down, despite having just come in.

You glance to the basin of water on the other side of your room, near your changing screen, and just as you go to head toward it—ready to dunk your head in it, or just dump it over yourself in general, there is a knock at the door.

You pad over to it and your heart stutters in your chest when you open it.

“May I come in?” Cregan asks in a low tone, his forearm braced against the doorframe, his other hand coming to cup your cheek.

Unable to form words, you simply step aside, bidding him entrance.

You shut the door behind you, leaning back against it as you lick your lips, looking him over. He’s dressed for bed, you deem. A black linen shirt with a plunging neckline which shows off a smattering of dark hair on his chest, and black linen breeches that hug his thighs and…elsewhere are all that clothe him.

Gods, you really should’ve dumped that water on yourself before opening the door.

He seats himself on the settee positioned before your quarter’s hearth and he turns his head slightly to the side, speaking to you over his shoulder. “Will you not sit near me then, Y/N?”

You ignore the pulse forming between your legs just as the image of him—the sound of his deep voice—as you walk silently over.

You sit down upon the plush red cushions and stare ahead at the fire, unsure what more to do with yourself.

Cregan then tugs the blanket from the back of the seat, draping it over your lap, tucking it firmly around you, before moving closer, lying his arm along the back, directly behind you, his other hand coming to tuck soft curls behind your ear.

“Are you warm enough, Princess? Should I fetch further comforts for you?”

His hand slides down your shoulder, softly gripping your upper-arm as his thumb rubs soothing circles against the bare skin.

You should’ve grabbed a shawl before sitting. Now you were only in your thin nightgown, with everything practically on display.

You shake your head then. “No. Thank you.”

He nods, his hand sliding lower until it has taken one of your own, which rests in your lap, within it.

“What were you thinking of?” He nods in the direction of your balcony. “Out there.”

You look down, sliding your other hand overtop of his own. “My…fathers.”

Those tears return once again. “When I was little, Harwin would often be away in the city, due to being Commander of the Watch. And there were times Laenor would not return to our apartments for days at a time. I just…missed them. One day, when they had both returned, I turned into a puddle of tears, begging them each not to leave again.”

You sniffle, eyes filling with tears. “Harwin kneeled down to me and gave my cheek a kiss before telling me that anytime I missed him, all I need do is look at the moon at night and he would be with me. Laenor had been there, and he had agreed. That they both would be. He also promised he would be round more—just for me if that was what I desired. That he was sorry for being busy. For giving me cause to miss him.”

Your chin wobbles. “Today…seeing those families and you…with Rickon I just,” you choke down a sob. “Oh Gods, I miss them!”

You burst into tears then, but before you can try to cover your face—try to turn yourself away—he pulls you into his chest and holds you tight. Like the moon in the arms of the sky.

You bury your face against him, sobs wracking through your body as you continue, even now—even all these years later—to grieve for them.

“I want—” You begin, but are interrupted by a sob. “I want them back. Gods, please. I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t bear it.”

He cups the back of your head, which rests against his shoulder, shooshing you, comforting you as his palm then comes to rub against your back.

You lift your head then, looking at him, into his eyes, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you grip his shirt tightly, hanging on, terrified of letting go. “I don’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage. I don’t…I don’t know if I can survive it.”

He studies you for only a moment before replying. “You won’t be. I promise.”

With that, he crushes his lips to your own.

You don’t even think to pull away. Instead, you practically crawl into his lap as you wrap your arms round his neck, tangling your fingers in the long strands of his hair as you drown yourself—instead of in tears—in him.

He, who is safety and warmth and certainty. He, who is firm and unwavering. He, who you now know desires you as you do him without a doubt.

He pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead to yours as his hands grip your waist, keeping you close. “If I ask you for a bit of time, can you grant me that?”

You nod, smiling, fresh tears spilling from your eyes. “Yes.”

He brings your lips back to his own, which taste of ale and fresh air...and a promise.

[tasteracha]

kinktober - day one

kink: breeding kink with chan

warnings: smut - MINORS DNI. talk of birth control. unprotected sex. afab!reader.

the thing is, you don’t even want kids. or at least, not right now, not in the place in life you were. you’re sure that if you ever did end up wanting kids that you would want them with chan though, the most perfect and gentle soul with the perfect balance of sweet and spicy that you would love to see passed down the genetic line. even so, it doesn’t explain why the thought of him spilling inside of you and filling you up to the brim makes you shiver in unabridged desire.

it’s a thought that you’ve kept to yourself until now. for all of his quick jokes and dirty humor, chan is pretty tame in bed - he knows what he likes, what you like, and rarely strays from it. he’s always been willing to try new things, whether it results in the best fuck of your combined lives or with the two of you giggling all over each other, but for some reason this one is different.

it’s only after he’s pulled out two orgasms from you, one with his fingers and the other with his mouth, that you let it slip out right as he’s slipping himself into you. 

“oh, fuck,” you grunt, bearing down on chan’s dick as he bottoms out. “knock me up baby, come on.”

“wait, really?” he stops moving just as he’s almost pulled out, mouth gaped open, leaving your core pulsing around nothing and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “i just mean, we haven’t talked about it, shouldn’t we get married firs-”

“no not really, i’m on birth control, dumbass,” you raise yourself up, glutes on fire as you try and fuck yourself on his cock, taking the both of your breaths away for a moment. “it’s just really hot to imagine. now fill me up with your babies, please.”

you don’t know if it’s your tone or your words, crude as they were, but his eyes harden just a bit and he slams his hips down with enough force that yours press up against the mattress again, making you see stars. 

“how can i deny you anything when you ask so nicely?” he says, punctuating every other word with a harsh thrust and you for a moment you can’t even remember what he was talking about with the way your thoughts are tangled up.

“you’d give me anything, hmm?” your voice comes out in whisps, your breath utterly taken away by him. 

he gets a bit animalistic then, like he’s trying to get into the mood, to match you on your level at his own pace - which seems to be fast, if the way he’s drilling into you like a jackhammer has anything to say about it. 

“you’re going to look so good with my baby inside of you,” he rubs at your lower belly before pushing down, stimulating you from either side as he continues fucking into you so slowly. he’s finally letting himself lean into it, the logic that he was trying to work around suddenly forgotten in lieu of ramming into you like he would die if he stopped. 

“come on,” you twist your hips a bit, letting him hit new spots within you that send your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “come in me, you can do it baby.”

you know you won’t be able to come again until you feel his release inside of you, costing your walls like a painting. you continue urging him, sweet words in his ears and whispered encouragements that make his arms tighten just a little bit more around you until he comes with a growl. his movements go slack, little aborted thrusts, and he buries his head into your neck just as you come around his length. 

it takes the two of you several moments to come down from your highs, the sound of your panting covering the entire room.

“no!” you cry out almost involuntarily when he moves to pull out, the slightest budge that causes some of the cum inside of you to slip out. your hands grasp at his hips, holding him against you and the movement drives him further inside of you than he had been all night. you shake in oversensitivity, the tiny drag of him against your walls burning so good.

he’s not entirely unaffected either, shown by the way he all but collapses on top of you. he’s covering you completely, his weight on top of you and his softening cock inside of you a comfort. 

“do you think it took?” he massages at your belly, right where his cock was. if you weren’t also as hazy as him, you might have snarked back at him about how it’s very unlikely that it did, but any comment you might have made fizzled out with one look at his dazed face. his eyes were soft, clouded over a bit and he had a small smile on his face as he looked up at you from where his head was resting on your chest. 

kinktober masterlist

[strawberrynull]

──⯎ ˙❤‍🩹 ̟ after the fight

엔하이픈 | Enhypen | ot7

──Pairing: enha ot7 x reader

──Genre: angst, fluff

──Synopsis: After you have a fight, they try their best to make things right again

──Warnings: mentions of arguing, fake violence/play fighting, cursing, kissing

──A/N: yall i literally got the idea for this from a couple tiktok my bsf sent me... o_o

masterlist

이희승 | Heeseung

Immediately after Heeseung raised his voice at you, he regretted it. He approached you slowly like you were an angry lion. Slowly, he wrapped a gentle arm around your waist. He was quickly swatted away though. A look of shock washed over his face; eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Being cocky enough to try again earned him another slap on the arm. His lips press into a straight line. He grabbed hold of your wrist to restrain you from hitting him again. Before you could resist, his other hand was on your waist, pulling you towards him. His lips crashed onto yours and you couldn't resist kissing your precious boyfriend back. Heeseung whispered against your lips about how sorry he was and how much he loved you.

박종성 | Jongseong

You turned away from Jay, tears pricking your eyes. It was typical for him to be a bit irritable after a long day but he was pretty good at not taking out his frustration on you. Today, though, he had lashed out and yelled at you. The regret hit him as soon as you turned your back to him and he could hear small sniffles from you. His legs felt like jelly as he began to walk toward you. Jay's arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he dipped his head down into the crook of your neck. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby." he whispered, muffled from nuzzling into your neck. "I'll never yell at you ever again, I promise." he said, kissing your neck in between words.

심재윤 | Jaeyun

Jake wasn't one to get easily upset and definitely no one to yell but today something in him made him more upset than usual. He was pissed off and ended up shouting at you, ending in you storming out of your apartment. Now you were in your own living room sulking about it. You heard a knock, making you groan as you slowly dragged your feet to the door. As soon as the door knob was turned, the person on the other side slammed it open. There was Jake with several snack filled shopping bags in his arms. He knew that snacks always made you feel better. "Damn it, I had a whole apology speech but you're so pretty that I forgot it already." The bags were dropped to the floor as Jake attacked you with a huge bear hug.

박성훈 | Sunghoon

You turned your back to him, folding your arms across your chest. He placed a hand on your waist, attempting to hug you from behind. "Wait, baby I'm sorry. Don't-" He was cut off by you walking away from him. His eyes widened before he began to chase after you. Sunghoon reached out to grab the back of your shirt but you shook your shoulders, releasing yourself from his grip. He tried again and again but somehow you were a pro escape artist. He resorted to grabbing your hair to stop you. You winced and turned around to try to escape. Just what he wanted you to do. He quickly pulled you toward him, placing his lips on yours. His hand was tangled in your hair as he apologized over and over again between kisses.

김선우 | Sunoo

"I'm.. I'm really sorry." Sunoo whispered with sincerity in his tone. You ignored him though. "Hey. Are you listening to me?" He asked, poking at your cheeks. He cupped your face and put his own face super close to yours. Then he scrunched his eyebrows together as his lips curled into a pout. "Ya, answer me. I said I'm sorry and I meant it." All you did was avert your eyes, causing him to grumble. "Fine. Then I'm going to be unresistably cute until you forgive me." He grabbed your face and turned it towards as his lips formed a thin smile. You couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. As soon as he saw your smile, he cheered and hugged you tightly.

양정원 | Jungwon

"Oh shit-" he gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, my love. I- I didn't mean that." Jungwons voice trembled as he reached for you, only to be met by your shocked expression. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears forming in his eyes. He was even more upset at his own actions than you were. "Angel? Will you please forgive me?" He whispered, hooking his fingers on the belt loops of your pants. He pulled you close to his body and placed a soft kiss on your lips. Then he began kissing all over your face, followed by an apology every time.

니키 | Niki

You furrowed your eyebrows after Niki had finished yelling at you. His ears turned red like they always do when he's ashamed. "Fuck, I'm sorry. You know i would never-" You cut him off by telling him to shut up. His mood changed like a switch as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. "Alright, fine." His fist clenched before he threw a punch that landed just inches from your face. But for some reason it had just missed you. Out of pure instinct, you threw a punch back, hitting him in the stomach. You gasped, putting a hand up to your mouth in shock at what you did. "Nice punch, baby. Feel better now?" Then you remembered that he had told you once to just hit him if you were upset with him. "O-oh... yeah.."

© strawberrynull, 2024. Do not copy my work. Please DM for permission before translating or reuploading. Thank You

[eddiemunsonw]

Gossip in town

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve love a good gossip. There's some joy in talking about other people's misery to distract from yourself from your own miserable dating life, right? Besides, that's what friends do. Right? 'Cause that's what you are. Friends.

CW/Disclaimer: Uhhhh some s m u t. Other than that just romance, banter, cute shit. Maybe the cute shit deserves a warning too.

Author's note: We love to say that Steve enjoys to gossip, so I figured I'd drabble something out. Turned a little longer than planned!

Words: 4983

“You need to make him stop coming in here, he’s ruining our brand!”

As you heard Romaine, your colleague, complain, a smile plays on your lips. That could only mean one person.

Steve.

Romaine glared at him from behind the table she was folding clothes at and he raised his brow with little interest. His sailor outfit was a stark contrast to the high-end fashion you sold in the store you worked at and you thought it was the funniest thing ever. The first week, Steve had been too embarrassed to even leave the ice cream parlor. By now, he couldn’t give two fucks. And knowing Romaine hated it only made him come by twice as often.

“Y/N, Y/N!”

His impatient calls made you giggle and you revealed yourself from around the corner to put yourself into his field of vision. He gave a nod of recognition and then started to approach you with big steps.

“I’m taking my break,” Romaine announced, in an attempt to keep you from going anywhere. One person always needed to be in the store, and it was just you two that day. Steve knew about this rule by now, so he rolled his eyes, grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the fitting rooms.

“Still technically in the store,” he mumbled, flashing you a grin as he took note that none of the fitting rooms were being used. With one smooth move, he pulled back a curtain, nudged you inside, followed and closed the curtain again behind him. He was a little out of breath, either from excitement or because he fucking jogged to your side of the mall. Must have been a sight for sore eyes.

“You were fucking right,” he hissed, not wasting a second as he spilled the tea. You covered your mouth to prevent a gasp and he pulled your hand away as he nodded. He needed not to tell you what, or who it was about. It had been the main topic of your latest gossip, so it was obvious he was talking about Ben Swimmer, one of his old classmates. Steve rested his palm flat on the wall behind you, kind of locking you into the corner of the fitting room.

“Yes, yes keep that mouth open, cause there’s more.”

His excitement was mixed with disgust, given by his expression. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the wall. You swallowed. Not sure if that had to do with the story at all, as you looked up at him.

“No… What is it?!” you asked impatiently. Steve smirked, loving to keep you on edge, and leaned a little closer because that’s what you do when you gossip.

“He wasn’t just cheating on Tessa with Vivian, but also with Brenda…”

“No…” you whispered, giving him a look of disbelief, mouth in fact still agape. Steve cocked his hip to the other side and nodded several times in a quick motion.

“Oh yes. He came into Scoops with her just now, in broad fucking daylight. And guess who also popped up at the mall?”

“Tessa. Of fucking course.”

Steve nodded.

“Tessa. So they’re sitting there eating their ice cream with two spoons, all gooey and sickeningly adorable if he hadn’t been a dick… when Ben sees Tessa, but she hasn’t seen him yet. So I’m watching, right, and suddenly Ben looks at me and tells me to let him go out the back with Brenda.”

“Oh now he wants to talk to you. Dick.”

Steve clapped his thigh with his free hand and made a gesture.

“Right?! So I said that was against company policy and that I unfortunately couldn’t help him. And then I walked forward and accidentally knocked a chair over,” he grinned as he replayed it in his head, “gathered a bit of attention, so weird,” his eyes widened as he spoke, “Tessa’s attention too. You should’ve seen it. I wish you could’ve seen it.”

His sigh filled the small space as he leaned his head back against the thin wall of the fitting room. He knitted his brows together and dropped his hand from the wall to your shoulder, closing his eyes momentarily as he let his brain catch up with his mouth. He seemed a little lost in thought, with his hand gently massaging your shoulder and his chin tipped up towards the ceiling. He didn’t move his head as he looked down at you and you wondered if he had any idea what he looked like right now. Somehow all the adorable-ness his outfit gave him was taken away and replaced for something else by just that one glance along the bridge of his nose.

“Was she mad?” you asked.

“Oh, she was seething. Shouted all sorts of shit at him. I had a lot of cleaning to do after she threw her milkshake in his face, but it was worth it. According to Ben I’m dead by the way. So now you know who to name as a prime suspect, should I ever disappear.”

“He better not.”

Steve shrugged.

“Would be worth it.”

—

The bell above the door of Family Video clanged as you rushed in. Robin lifted her head but was clearly still counting some tapes in her head as she gave you a vague greeting and immediately focused back on her task at hand. Steve on the other hand, immediately poked his head above an aisle and approached you even before you could reach the counter.

“Jake’s gonna ask Trisha to marry him after graduation.”

You gasped and immediately punched his chest, causing him to “oomph” and giving you a look of disbelief. Before he could ask why you punched him, you gave him the answer.

“I came all the way here to tell you that! How’d you even find out?!”

Steve grinned and grabbed the hand you punched him with as he noticed you were subconsciously rubbing your fingers over your knuckles.

“Overheard Brenda and Kate talk about it here earlier,” he said with a nod towards the romcom aisle.

“Ugh,” you groaned, “for once I thought I would have something good to tell you…”

Your pout deepened as you crossed your arms, shaking off his touch. Steve simply replaced it by putting his hand on top of your folded arms, his fingers walking a path from your elbow towards your wrist.

“You did! I just knew it already,” Steve said with a chuckle. He watched you pout for a little longer as his fingers played with the hair tie on your wrist absentmindedly. You were too focused to keep up the play that you didn’t notice his hesitation.

“Hey, wanna watch a movie tonight?”

Just then, as if on cue, Robin poked her head above the horror aisle.

“Yes!”

Steve glanced backwards and smiled softly at Robin, though as he nodded his expression looked a little off. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek until he saw you nod and released some of the tension he was subconsciously holding.

“Yeah let’s. Which movie?”

Steve shrugged. He hadn’t really thought of that. By now he had watched too many to count and there were only so many times you could watch the same movie in a week. He picked up the hair tie between his fingers and let it snap back on your wrist as he bit back a smile. You glared at him playfully, looking for something you could do in return. For a moment, he watched you in stunned silence as you brought your hand up to his neck, trailing your fingers through until you reached the back and yanked at it. Steve gasped and grabbed your hand, twisting you around until he had both your hands behind your back, his chin tucked into your shoulder.

“Caught you.”

As you relaxed in his arms, his breath tickled your neck. Somehow, neither of you had noticed Robin rounding the aisle and as she stopped in front of you, an impatient huff left her lips.

“Well? What movie, guys?” Steve froze around you for a moment and you slowly felt his grip loosening until he stepped aside to check out some of the movies they had.

“Uh…”

You held onto your own arms, realizing your cheeks were heating up and you took a quick few steps towards the door.

“I’ll let it be a surprise, see you tonight! Your place, I assume?” you asked Steve without looking at him.

“Yeah, sure.”

You left and Steve busied himself browsing through the movies with his fingers without remembering any of them.

“You seemed disappointed when I joined movie night.”

Steve gave her a harmless glare.

“Huh? No I wasn’t.”

Robin gave him an empathic smile.

“If you say so.”

Steve shook his head with a laugh.

“We’re just friends, Rob. It’s not like that.”

—

3 years later

It was a Saturday night and you sat on the couch in Steve’s apartment, where you spent so much time you should honestly start paying rent. Not to mention all the products that you had in his bathroom, and the spare set of clothes in his closet. It was a little much, but your home was cramped, and it had been hard to find a place of your own that you could actually afford.

Steve had found a part time job as a basketball coach and filled the rest of his time either with you, Robin, the kids or his failed dates.

But mostly you.

“Do we really have to watch this romantic piece of bullshit?” Steve groaned, flipping over the tape in his hand. It looked small when he held it, somehow.

“Hey now,” you shushed him, “just because Jillian didn’t let you get into her pants doesn’t mean romance is a no go now. Besides, it’s my day to pick.”

You got up to put the tape in and when you sat back, his arm was already waiting for you. His blunt fingernails teased your shoulder as you settled against him.

“She would’ve let me, I was so sure of it. But after she came back from the bathroom she suddenly acted so fucking weird…” Steve mumbled as he thought back on it.

“Maybe she suddenly got her period?” you opted. That surely was something that could make you want to flee out of nowhere. Steve rolled his eyes.

“So? There are pads and tampons,” Steve sighed. They were yours, or so Steve had said when you had asked why there were pads and tampons in a little basket in his bathroom. So you didn’t have to bring your own all the time, had been his reasoning. It was sweet.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know.” “Or maybe she thought you had a girlfriend you were cheating on,” you offered gently. Steve groaned and leaned his head all the way back on the headrest.

“Robin said the same. But if I had had a female roommate no one would bat an eye, so what’s the big deal you’ve got some of your stuff in here?”

“Well, because you don’t have a roommate, I guess?” you suggested with a shrug. His fingers lay flat on your shoulder now, giving it a light squeeze on occasion as he was thinking.

“Whatever. I don’t want a girl that can’t communicate anyway. Like, remember that whole ordeal with Nigel and Yessica? All that drama when it could’ve been solved if they had just asked each other rather than leaving it up to the town’s gossip?”

“Yeah, well… at least it gives us something to discuss.”

Steve nodded, but it seemed that he already was too lost in his own thoughts.

“I want someone who’s straight forward. Honest but kind. Funny. Warm. Also witty, sarcastic… just someone I can spend all day with without being bored. Where I can fully be myself without worrying about anything,” Steve mumbled.

“They’re out there, Steve, I’m sure of it.”

He glanced at you, face a little too close for comfort.

“What about you, then? When was the last time you dated?”

“Uh… Rick.”

Steve scowled.

“Rick.”

“He was fine.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Oh please. If you told me he had bodies buried in his garden I’d believe you.”

This time you rolled your eyes, sitting up a little so he had to remove his arm.

“Yeah, of course you would, because you hated him for no fucking reason.”

Steve’s lips thinned a little but he gave you your space. Leaned back a little, though he kept his thigh against yours.

“I had many valid reasons. For one: He sucks.”

You laughed dryly and shook your head.

“That’s an opinion, not a reason. You basically chased him away.”

“For the better! You know I’m right.”

“If it were up to you, none of the guys are a good fit for me.”

Steve watched as you got up from the couch to grab a beer and wordlessly asked for one too. You sat down on the far end of the couch, away from Steve. He took a sip without removing his gaze from you and lifted one leg on the couch so he could turn to face you.

“Because they’re not.”

“So it’s me.”

Steve frowned and shook his head. Somehow he had shifted closer on the couch without you noticing. His knee touched your thigh.

“What? No. It’s all of them.”

“My standards are just too high, I guess.”

Steve shook his head, his hand finding your knee.

“Shut up, they’re not. You deserve someone who actually appreciates you. All of you.”

A silent implication there, considering he knew all about your dating life. After Rick, you hadn’t even bothered. You dated them only to numb the pain of listening to Steve’s date stories. And since for some reason Robin refused to listen to them, you were the designated person to tell.

Thanks, Robin.

“Yeah, well, so do you.”

He gazed into your eyes, his face so much closer than you had anticipated when his finger lifted your chin gently.

“I appreciate all of you,” he said softly. You watched him silently as you connected the dots of his earlier spoken words to his current ones. His thumb caressed your cheek as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re… we’re friends,” you said softly, too scared to trust what his words implied.

“Can’t we be more?” Steve asked, his voice soft as silk.

“Can we?” you whispered.

Steve nodded, his gaze dropping to your lips as he leaned in closer.

“Yeah.”

He cupped your jaw a little stronger as he kissed you, as if he was scared you’d slip from his fingers the moment his lips brushed yours. You leaned forward, his hand resting on his chest. He let out a sweet sound when your fingers happened to brush his nipple and you used that leverage to swing your leg over his lap. His hands found your waist easily as he teared away his lips from yours to explore your neck.

“Ah, Steve,” you whispered, encouraging him to continue. You let your hands roam over his chest until that wasn’t enough and you let them dip under the hem of his shirt. He broke his attack on your neck to look at you hungrily as he lifted his arms above his head to take off his shirt, followed by a hesitant brush of his fingers along yours. With a nod, you gave him the permission to take it off and the look of appreciation at the sight made you feel warm inside. His hands found your waist again as he buried his face in your chest, licking the crevice of your boobs all the way up to your neck.

You felt how hard he was when you shifted your lips and a groan left him.

“Steve… when you said, more, what did you mean?” you asked softly.

Steve leaned back to look at you, eyes searching your face with urgency.

“I— Like, everything? Sorry— Did I… is it too much? Am I too much?” he rambled, a sudden nervosity taking over his system as his hands dropped from your body.

“No! No, Steve, you’re never too much, silly,” you told him quickly, smoothing out the frown in his forehead with your thumb. “I just wanted to make sure this isn’t like a… friends with benefits thing, for you,” you grunted out, cheeks heating up.

Steve let out a relieved sigh and his hands found your waist again, gently digging into your pliant skin.

“I’ve been your friend with benefits for all I can remember. Your kindness, sarcasm, wit, humor, honesty… all of that and more I have benefitted from for the longest time. I just… I’d want, like, to be your boyfriend with benefits. To have it all but to have all of you as well. Want you to be mine, Y/N. Mine only,” he told you sincerely. His eyes slowly turned a little mischievous as your smile relaxed and he moved his hands up to squeeze your boobs as he bit down on his bottom lip with a smile.

“And if that means I also get to, kiss you and stuff, all the better,” he said with a cheeky grin.

“And stuff, huh?” you mumbled affectionately, your thumbs finding his nipples to rub slow circles. Steve’s eyes rolled back and he nodded as he bit back a groan.

“Uh-huh,” he sighed, “god, keep doing that.” A beat. “Please.”

You smirked and rolled your hips slowly against his.

“So polite,” you murmured as your lips found his neck.

“I - ah - would like to say I was raised that way but I guess I’ve just always had it in me,” he said with a chuckle while his hands toyed with the sweatpants resting on your hips still. You laughed softly and hummed in agreement.

“It’s a little too hot for these sweats, don’t you agree?” he asked then, a finger teasing along the waistband.

“Yours too.”

“Can I keep my socks on?”

You leaned back and gave him a glare as he burst out laughing.

“See?! Rick was not fine at all.”

“Shut up. What about Layla with her “call them mommy milkers” spiel?”

Steve bit his lip with a smile.

“That never happened, actually. Tried to make you jealous and failed.”

“You thought that would make me jealous? It just made me reconsider my crush on you.”

“Ouch?”

“Just not big on the whole mommy thing.”

“Yeah, well, me neither.”

Steve kissed your collar bone and let his hands slide down your back to grab two handfuls of your ass. You let out a sweet noise, edging him on.

“Back to point one…”

“Back to Rick with his Star Wars socks during sex…”

He pushed you against him, rolling his hips just in time. Not even Rick with his socks on could ruin this feeling for you. Steve moaned softly into your neck as he found just the right angle for the best amount of friction.

“He came within a minute.”

“Assumed as much. Could tell you were lying your tits off when you said it was somewhere between two and five minutes. As if anyone times that.”

“You said you could last fifteen.”

“Cause I can!”

“So you timed it,” you told him dryly.

Steve rolled his eyes and pushed down your sweats, making you get up to take them off so he could do the same.

“I can last as long as you need,” he promised you, “and look, my socks are off.”

“Still wearing too much clothes,” you mumbled as you snapped the waistband of his boxers. Steve laughed and turned you around so your back was facing the couch. His lips traveled down your chest as he unclasped your bra with one hand, not wasting a second to circle his tongue around one of your nipples as his fingers squeezed the other not too gently, eliciting a yelp from you. You yanked at his hair and he laughed breathily around your nipple.

“Like it when you do that,” he admitted. “Nearly had me chub up when you did it that one time.”

He didn’t need to tell you which time. It had been the one and only time you both had let it come a little too close for comfort. At least, too close to keep up the pretense that you weren’t into each other.

“Could tell. Your cheeks turned pink.”

Steve’s lips explored your stomach while his hands squeezed and fondled your curves. He hooked his fingers around your underwear and easily pulled them down while his lips followed the fabric until there was nothing covering your pussy. He barely let you step out of them before he pushed you down on the couch and lifted your legs over his shoulders. He took his sweet time kissing up your thighs, though you could feel through the tremble of his fingers that he was as impatient and nervous as you were. You had been watching him worship your thighs with his eyes closed, but the moment his lips wrapped around your clit he gazed up at you through his lashes.

“Steve…”

He grinned against your skin and slowly licked a stripe along your swollen lips, gathering juices to slicken up your clit with. Your hand was back in his hair before you knew it, his head bobbing as he started to eat you out hungrily. Noisily. Hands digging into the plush of your thighs as he opened them wider for better access. That fucker knew he was good at this.

Your hips bucked up to grind against him in tune with your moans and he strengthened his grip to keep in control of the pace, which he then brutally slowed down. You were about to complain when suddenly he went to town on you at full speed, his nose hitting your clit just right. The grip on his hair was none too gentle and you felt his warm moans vibrating against you. His tongue lapped at you impatiently, eyes focused on your flushed expression. He relished in the feeling of your thighs tightening around his face when you came all over his tongue.

He bullied your clit a little longer, smirking against your thigh before kissing it as you pinched his cheek to stop him. When he got back on his feet, you noticed his boxers had disappeared without you noticing. His cock was hard, the head slick from precome.

Wordlessly, you shifted on the couch and grasped his thighs to pull him close. He cupped your cheek, unable to hold back a moan as you wrapped your lips around the head and sucked none too gently. Soon enough, his hand was holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail despite letting you decide on the pace. You loved taking control. When you looked up as you bobbed your head noisily, he threw his head back with a groan. He needed to look away if he wanted this to last longer than a goddamn minute. You smirked around his cock and picked up the pace, relentlessly taking more and more of his length until your nose brushed the coarse hair above his base.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N…”

He couldn’t help himself, his grip tightened on your hair and you felt him quickly thrust his hips. You let him and absently realized this was the first time you enjoyed the salty taste of his come in the back of your throat. He broke it off halfway, giving your cheek a sweet caress before turning around to grab a condom that he apparently stored in the drawer of the coffee table. You impatiently slapped his ass, making him yelp and accidentally tearing the first condom.

“Menace, that was a perfectly fine condom,” he complained with his back to you, and you could tell he was smiling. You shrugged and leaned forward giving the spot you slapped a kiss instead. And then a nibble.

“Your ass looks biteable, y’know that?” you mumbled, kneading his ass with a longing sigh as you remembered all the times his ass had looked so good in his jeans.

Steve laughed.

“Yeah, well, so does yours.”

He turned around, condom wrapped and ready, though Steve seemed to hesitate.

“Second thoughts?” you asked, unable to filter your worries.

Steve scoffed and shook his head.

“Of course not, silly. I just— Come on.”

He grabbed your hand to pull you up and started guiding you to the bedroom.

“Want you to be comfortable,” he explained, and if that didn’t make you melt…

He propped up some pillows just perfectly and made sure you were comfortable before he positioned himself above you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss the part of your body that covered the heart that carried so much love for him. His hand slipped between you two, playing with you some more so he was certain you’d feel good once he’d go inside. He kissed you deeply, slowly, really taking his time compared to your first kiss. You both loved kissing. It was one of the many things you had shared complaints about when your dates weren’t into it as much. You had lost count how many times you had mentioned you could kiss for hours, secretly thinking of the other person.

Steve gazed into your eyes as he pushed inside slowly, his breath hitching as the sensations overtook his body. He moved without a rush, relishing being able to watch your expression as he fucked into you. His moans escaped from his lips whenever your lips weren’t against his to silence them. His tongue darted out to lick your ear and a gasp left you as he moved down and bit your neck. Your nails scratched his back as his thrusts became harder, your moans no longer contained by the press of your lips. You wrapped your legs around his hips, allowing him to fuck deeper. Sweat dripped from his forehead, mixing with yours as droplets found a way into your hairline.

“Y/N… baby, fuck…”

Slow, hard thrusts helped him ride out his orgasm while his hand flicking over your clit got you clenching around his cock until you knocked over the edge. The muscles in his arms were shaking as he kept himself from collapsing on top of you, so you poked his side to make him collapse anyway.

“Oof,” you groaned, followed by a laugh.

“I was trying not to crush you,” Steve mumbled into your neck, humming pleasantly as he inhaled your shampoo.

“Maybe I wanted you to crush me. Needed some pain to know if this was all real.”

“Sure hope it’s real. Never came this hard.”

You snorted.

“It didn’t take fifteen minutes, though,” you told him, even though you had no idea.

“I told you I’d last as long as you needed me and uh, by the way you tried to clench my dick off I think I did just fine,” he responded cockily through a giggle.

“Touché,” you mumbled.

“Mmmm.”

Steve gave you a kiss, slowly, sweetly. He rested his head next to yours, slowly moving his body off of you in favor to pull your leg over his waist as he cuddled you close.

“Would it be too soon to tell you that I love you?” Steve asked, looking at you with what you could only describe as love in his eyes.

“Normally that’s a definite red flag, even you said so,” you said teasingly as you combed your fingers through his damp chest hair. “But if I said I love you too, then that would make two red flags, and two negatives is a positive, right?”

Steve shrugged, a smile spreading on his face.

“I’m sure there’s an argument against that, but I was never good at math anyway.”

“Me neither.”

Steve smiled and put his hand on top of yours.

“I love you.”

You leaned in for a soft kiss.

“I love you too.”

He watched you quietly, content and happy. At least, until a frown formed on his forehead and he cursed softly.

“What is it?”

“I lost the bet.”

You pushed lightly against his chest.

“This better not be one of those movie plots where you pretend to fall in love with someone for a bet and then supposedly actually fall for them and shit,” you tell him with narrowed eyes, although you knew Steve would never do that.

Steve laughed and shook his head.

“Nah, Robin bet me that I’d sleep with you the moment we’d confess our feelings to each other, and yes I say each other because she was convinced you liked me too and I did not believe her. So I said bet, because I thought this,” he said as he gestured between you both, “was never gonna happen. So… yeah. Well. No regrets, though, obviously,” he mumbled, stealing another kiss.

“What did you bet for?”

“Taking her shift every Saturday, even if that means a double shift for me,” Steve groaned, “and you know what she said? She said: ‘It will be for the better, because I know you two. I don’t wanna be around when you fuck like rabbits in the adult section.’ as if we’d ever—”

You gave him a look.

“Okay, she was probably right but still! Ruthless, that one.”

“She’s gonna be soooo smug…” you mumbled.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be hell.”

“I’ll just ravish you on a random Tuesday to torment her,” you shrugged and Steve laughed.

“I like the sound of that.”

“Thought you would.”

His hand wandered over your thigh and he smirked slowly.

“Wanna take a shower? There’s a girl who left basically all her toiletries here so I’m sure there’s something you can use.”

“How convenient.”

“Very.”

Steve’s gaze was absolutely smitten, and you were pretty sure your expression matched his perfectly.

FIN

If you enjoyed reading this, please know that comments and reblogs are highly appreciated :) Likes are lovely but sadly do nothing to spread the fics around! Help your favorite writers (not saying me - in general) out like that so you can continue to enjoy consuming the free work they put out, it's a win-win.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 19] || [Chapter 21]

Rating: E Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost x Soap || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 2.1K~ cw: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, protected sex, ejaculation, voyeurism (in person and digital). Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: he's their (under)boss for a reason.

My dumbass was in such a hurry I forgot to tag my lovely @mothymunson who encouraged me to write this when I was lost where to fit it + gave me extra ideas for the dynamic! 🫶

Chapter 20: Control

It’s been two weeks since that lazy Sunday you spent with Johnny. He had to leave in a hurry, departing on a mission, unable to tell you where he’d be going or when he’d be back…

Simon and Kyle were already on a mission of their own by Sunday so… You’ve spent these last two weeks alone.

It’s been quiet without them… And frankly… a bit lonely.

You used to like having time to yourself after the break-up… But now?

You’ve been with Leah and Mia for dinner a couple times… And although you love your girlfriends, and enjoyed yourself greatly while gossiping with them (and my, my, did you gossip) you find yourself missing Simon, Kyle and Johnny.

It’s 5:30 P.M. on Wednesday and you’re in your kitchen, making something quick for dinner, when there’s a knock on your door.

Eyes squinting in surprise at the lack of expected guests, you immediately think the worst. It’s Ethan. It’s Ethan and he’s pissed that Johnny and Simon fucked him up and he’s here for revenge and you’re alone and-

“Sweetheart, it’s me.” Simon’s voice from the other side of the door relaxes you and you rush across the sitting room and pull open the door.

“Bloody hell, you spooked me!” You say softly as you look up at him. He’s still in full gear and slightly out of breath, as if he ran over to your house the moment he landed on base.

“Hi!” You greet as he pulls off his mask and wraps his arms around you. He steps inside, making you step back with him as he spins you and kisses you, closing the door behind him.

You feel him guide you over to the living room couch and lower you onto it, making you squeal and giggle in surprise. “Simon!” You’re able to murmur as he lowers himself atop of you.

“Missed you… missed you…” He grumbles as he kisses you again, one of his hands on your hip, the other supporting his weight on the throw pillows by your head.

“Missed you too…” You admit, causing him to groan under his breath. His fingers find the straps that hold his vest in place and he quickly undoes them and takes it off, dropping it haphazardly on the floor next to you.

“Simon…” You whisper before he captures your mouth with his again, his tongue finding yours and making you moan. Oh, how you’ve missed him… Your hands trail down his chest and arms, unzipping his fleece jacket and he allows you to take it off him, leaving him in a black t-shirt underneath.

Your hands trail down lower, finding the utility belt at his waist. Your fingers just barely graze the thick, hard bulge in his cargo pants as you try to undo his belt, but one of his hand sharply stops you by gripping your wrist with three fingers.

You pull back from the kiss, the two of you out of breath. Your eyebrows are lowered in concern and your eyes softened. “What?” You asked him softly.

“I’m not-” He trailed off for a moment and huffed before burying his face in your neck. “Not ready for that.” He told you softly. “My body isn’t… I don’t want you to…”

“Oh…” You said, a bit surprised. You had noticed his reaction had been the same he used to have whenever you touched his mask in the past… And if back then you didn’t probe, you certainly wouldn’t now. “Okay.” You told him.

“Can we just…” He trailed off and slowly grabbed your waist with his hand, grinding his crotch lightly against yours. It jostled you a bit and you bit your lip. 

“Yeah… we can dry-hump, Simon…” You told him in a reassuring tone, which only made him groan again and hump against you once more. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulder and neck as he fixed his grip on you and rubbed his bulge against your body in the thin lounge pants you had changed into after work.

Just as you’re just starting to kiss again, with Simon murmuring more sweet nothings of how much he missed you, there’s a new knocking on the door. Simon groaned in complaint and buried his face in your neck again.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell… He’s fast.” Simon grumbled and pushed up to his feet, sliding off you and helping you sit up.

“Who…?” You asked, a bit light-headed from the intense make-out session.

“Kyle.” He complained as he fixed his bulge in his pants with his hand, while waddling his way over to the door and throwing it open.

“You sneaky bastard.” Kyle said to Simon and pointed a finger at him while coming into the flat.

“Hi, Kyle…” You said softly, receiving a ‘Hi, lovie’ in response as he took off his shoes.

Kyle’s also out of breath but, unlike Simon, he’s changed clothes. “Guess what, Simon here waited until I got in the shower before he ran off to come see you. Left me stranded back at base!”

You can’t help but giggle as Simon’s scarred mouth morphs into a smug, proud-of-himself smirk. “Oops.” He said.

Kyle gave the two of a you a once over. “Ah… I see. Someone was… eager, huh?” He teases and uses his chin to point at the obvious bulge in Simon’s pants.

The younger man moves over to the couch and stands behind it before kissing you on the lips just as hard as Simon did, taking your breath away and making your shoulders sag as you sigh in delight at the feeling of his warm mouth on yours.

Pulling back, Kyle licks his lips and winks at you. “Good thing I got here when I did, hm?” He teases and looks at Simon before returning his gaze to you. “Now we can really get the party started…” He adds.

-

“Oh… Oh, fuck…” You whine at the top of your lungs, your eyes rolling back with each thrust inside of you.

Kyle’s lying on the bed under you, his thighs spread as he has you in a full nelson. His hands hold you behind your neck, fingers intertwined, your knees hooked up on his forearms to keep you spread open.

Kyle’s big. Really big. More than you expected. Considering the only points of comparison you’ve got are John and Ethan… It’s not like either of them was exactly small, but Kyle’s constantly bottoming out inside you without having to throw his whole weight into it. He’s also perfect shaved, not an inch of hair on him… anywhere. Other than his face, of course.

Your bodies are slick with sweat and your moans and his grunts and groans echo in the bedroom. You can barely keep your eyes open and if it weren’t the fact Simon in your field of view, you’d have given up altogether.

Simon’s sitting across from you and Kyle, having cleared your clothes’ chair and taken a seat in it, watching you and Kyle with keen eyes… His large, rough hand is wrapped around his own cock, a long one, the tip red and angry. He strokes it slowly, almost lazily, as he watches you get properly fucked by Kyle.

Unlike John (and Johnny, as you found out during your bath), Simon and Kyle are both cut… And Simon has something that you didn’t expect. Piercings. A Jacob’s ladder, you’re pretty sure it’s called. Four barbells stacked on the underside of his shaft, which he only leaves visible for a few seconds every time his fingers uncover it.

Considering Kyle’s stayed quiet about it, you’re pretty sure he hasn’t spotted them, either from having his own eyes closed, or because you’re in the way. Either way, you don’t mind it, at all, that you get the view all to yourself, even for just a second.

The sight of Simon sat there, legs spread, his cock on display, his big hands and strong arms moving slowly as he watches you and Kyle is an amazing one… And hearing Kyle losing his mind behind you, too into the moment to succeed at any amount of dirty talk or at saying anything coherent just makes it better.

“Fuck… Yeah… Fuck… You feel… Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell…” Kyle grunts behind you as he keeps rocking his hips against your ass, making sure to plunge hard and deep inside you, not giving you time to breath before he’s bottoming out again, the pace unforgivingly fast.

You watch closely as Simon stops for a moment and shifts around on the chair he’s sitting on before pulling out his phone. He lets out a chuckle as he looks at the screen, then, he fidgets around with it for a moment, texting someone.

It’s barely a minute later when you hear the signature sound of a FaceTime call blasting from the phone’s speakers. Simon accepts it and aims the back camera at you and Kyle.

“Say hi to Johnny, sweetheart.” Simon demands, his tone surprisingly bossy, as he goes back to stroking his large cock.

“H-Hi, Johnny…!” You whine aloud, just barely able to speak without melting, your mind slowly emptying of all thoughts beside the feeling of Kyle inside you and Simon masturbating across from you.

Your breath is ragged as Kyle speeds up his thrusts even more, his grip on the back of your neck tightening and tensing up, his hips moving so erratically that it makes you squeal louder. “Kyle! OH FUCK!” You whine, eyes rolling back and your face wincing lightly from desperation.

“Slow down, Kyle.” Simon demands. “Slow and deep.” He adds. You hear Kyle grunt and he murmurs something incomprehensible in response as he does what he’s told. His motions slow and become more paced and calm as Kyle himself tenses up underneath you.

You notice how Kyle’s thighs tense up, his veins bulging and throbbing as he controls himself not to squirm, clearly trying his best not to lose it and to obey what Simon says.

“Mmm… that’s it… That’s it…” Simon praises, his eyes going back and forth between the sight of you and Kyle, and Johnny on his phone. “Nice and slow, Kyle…” He continues saying.

Kyle quakes underneath you, his breath getting a bit more ragged and you swear you hear him gulp down as he tries to be good for Simon and for you.

“Johnny’s enjoying it, aren’t you, Johnny?” He speaks to the phone. You can’t hear the reply from the Scot, but considering how Simon’s chuckling, the answer seems to be a yes.

“Simon… Fuck…” Kyle grunts. “This is… t-torture!” He’s able to get out, his thighs twitching and his arms tightening their hold on the back of your legs. “I’m going to- Fuck!” He grunts.

“Go on, pretty boy.” Simon teases. Something about the look in his eye, the little mischievous smirk on his lips… God, for someone who’s afraid of being touched, he sure knows what the fuck he’s doing… It’s almost intoxicating, the way he’s exerting control on everyone in the room and even Johnny over the phone.

You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening more and more as you experience all these feelings at once, your mind steadily clearing of any thoughts other than the prickling of stars in the corner of your eyes and the heat increasing more and more.

“Aaah-” Kyle hisses as he keeps moving slowly and deeply, gritting his teeth behind your back and huffing through his nose with barely restricted euphoria. “Fuck… Fuck…” He grunts. 

“F-FUCK!”  His voice shouting as he loses his composure and buries himself to the hilt inside you with a sharp motion of his hips… and another… and another… Completely disregarding Simon’s commands to go slow… And it makes your eyes roll as your orgasm hits, causing you to shudder and twitch… 

But, instead of moaning his name, you find yourself moaning Simon’s, your head unable to dip back due to Kyle’s grip on it, and forcing you to stare right at Simon as you fall over the edge of your climax.

Behind you, Kyle is losing his own mind, spilling his come in the confines of the condom… And you watch through a lidded, barely-aware gaze, as after a few more strokes, Simon’s cock throbs and twitches… before a few ropes of cum shoot in quick succession all over his lower stomach, which he had the presence of mind to lift his t-shirt out of.

The bedroom falls into complete silence as Kyle pulls out and slowly lets go of you, carefully helping get you out of the strained position that’ll likely leave your legs and joints sore the next few days.

“Good job...” Simon breaks the silence as he tries to catch his breath, his head dipped back against the wall behind him, his eyes lazily trailing the sight of you and Kyle on the bed, and then back to Johnny on the phone.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell…” You can finally hear Johnny speak through the speakers now that the room is silent. “You lot better repeat that when I’m not overseas and can join in…!” He quips, drawing laughter out of all of you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

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[zephyrchama]

(A bit of OM! Mammon comforting MC. TW: Lots of crying? Depressive episode? No specific cause is mentioned, the reader is free to use their own scenario, but anyone who is uncomfortable with scenes of crying and being really upset might not like this one.)

The loud rustling of a plastic bag falling to the floor, its contents shifting noisily as they dropped, drew your attention. Mammon stood there dumbfounded.

He knew you were probably upset that he ate your ramen. He expected some harsh words, maybe a light berating and a slap on the wrist. That’s why he preemptively went and bought replacements. The spicy kind that he liked, some fancy new steak flavor that seemed cool, and a bunch of the tried and true classics. That way you’d have nothing to complain about.

He expected a cold shoulder. Playful teasing. A punishment, like having to eat one bowl with ten ultra spicy flavor packets. He never expected to find you curled up in tears. Eyes red and swollen. Your face looked pale with visible streaks trailing from your eyes and nose. Your expression remained a quivering frown when you weakly looked up, and it didn’t change as you buried it back into your knees.

How long had you been at this? he wondered. Was all this over a cheap pack of noodles?

Deep down somewhere, Mammon knew this wasn’t about the ramen. But he didn’t know what this was about, and it scared him.

You needed a tissue, or a glass of water, or a big hug. Mammon had no idea which to get first. He hadn’t even shrugged off his outdoor jacket yet. It slid down his shoulder as he scampered towards the kitchen for a glass, then stopped. He couldn’t leave you alone like this. His hands rooted around in his pockets which held only receipts and some loose change. No tissues or anything suitable for nose-blowing.

Up close, your shoulders shook. Your back heaved with every fresh sob. It tore his heart to little pieces. Your sleeves and the front of your top were soaking wet, no doubt from attempts to curb the crying. Mammon had a difficult time approaching you, unsure what to do or if he could even take being rejected when you obviously needed him.

Overthinking things was not his strong suit. Mammon didn't like the feeling of being stuck, of not having a plan. He was the kind of man with a goal in mind who always gets results. The goal right now was to see you smile, to eat some ramen and joke around. Most importantly, it was to get your mind off of whatever was currently happening. He wasn't going to change that by standing around like a fool.

"Hey." This wasn't his usual boisterous voice. It was a hushed tone filled with concern. You hardly acknowledged him, you had enough going on inside your head already and anything outside just felt like an afterthought. Mammon lowered himself next to you and fidgeted awkwardly with his jacket zipper. "What can I do?"

You weren't in a state to respond, that much was clear. Your answer was to shudder and hug your legs tight against your face.

Your knees were as soaked as your top. Seeing that was Mammon's last straw. He didn't want to be rough, but he was a man of action. He tried to coil an arm around your shaking shoulders, resolution only growing stronger when it caused you to cry harder.

"Knock that off, c'mere." Tough words never sounded gentler. You had no energy to move, but luckily, Mammon had plenty to spare as he brought you in to lean against his side and draped the edge of his jacket over you. You blindly cried against the first surface you could press your face against - his shirt. It smelled of deodorant.

"Don't forget, you're my responsibility, aight? When stuff like this happens, ya gotta come straight to me."

The silence wasn't as awful with Mammon around. It didn't feel suffocating. It took time, but the heartache began to fade. Your sobs became more infrequent. Mammon patiently waited the entire time, occasionally tugging you closer. Occasionally murmuring things like, "you're gonna have to use me as a tissue. I don't have any." Or, "just say the word, I'm gonna beat that sadness into a pulp. Gonna show it I'm the boss around here."

He may not be most eloquent of speakers, but he's got the right spirit.

Even after calming down, Mammon didn't budge and you remained locked against his side. Perhaps you still didn't have the strength to move yet, but you could manage to whisper out a grateful "thanks." A word that finally eased the pain tugging at Mammon's conscience.

He ruffled your hair and leaned down, placing his head against the top of yours. "I always tell ya, I'm the best. Call for me if this happens, ok?"

[gloomwitchwrites]

Remember that time I said last one? Oops...

What If 141...trying for baby. Rawr.

I remember when you said it would be your last one. And no "oops"! You know what you've done. And trying for baby? Are you trying to activate my breeding kink?

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings: swearing, established relationship, oral sex (male & female receiving), fertility treatment, dirty talk, breeding, creampie, arranged marriage, Viking AU, Post-Apocalyptic AU, dubcon (Ghost only), rough kissing, desk sex

Word Count: 4.6k

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick: needs help obtaining a "sample" for fertility treatment. John "Soap" MacTavish: an arranged marriage Viking AU. Simon "Ghost" Riley: given to Ghost for "breeding" purposes, Post-Apocalypse AU (dubcon). John Price: ovulation leads to surprise sex at work.

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Your foot tap tap taps against the linoleum floor.

Kyle is in another room—a private room. The reproductive endocrinologist you’re working with already ran your tests. Now it’s Kyle’s turn. They want a sample, but he’s been gone too long.

You’re no stranger to Kyle’s masturbation sessions. Rarely does he do it alone. He likes when you watch. But he never takes this long.

A buzzing comes from your purse. Retrieving your phone, you check the message.

It’s from Kyle.

I can’t do it.

Frowning, you stare at the text, confusing creeping in. Gripping the phone in your fist, you push up from your chair, and exit the small exam room.

“Excuse me,” you say, approaching the nurses station. “Can you tell me what room my husband is in. He’s collecting a…sample.”

The two nurses exchange a knowing look.

“All the way down the hall. Last door on the left,” one of them directs, pointing.

“Thank you.”

You try not to rush, but your feet carry you swiftly and with purpose. Following the nurse’s direction, you come to a stop right outside the correct door.

“Kyle?” you call out, knocking.

There’s a brief pause, but then the door opens, and your husband stands there, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Sorry, love,” shrugs Kyle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can I come in?”

He glances back into the room and then steps aside, holding the door open.

You step into the small space. It’s clinical and cold. There is one window on the opposite side of the room with the blinds down. Next to the window is a lounge chair that looks completely uncomfortable. Next to it is a table of magazines with partially-nude women on the front. Beside that is a row of video selections if the magazines don’t seem to do the trick.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. Kyle slumps into the chair, clearly defeated. You place your purse on the hook and then kneel beside him. “Talk to me.”

Kyle shakes his head. “I—can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

He nods toward his groin. “Doesn’t seem all that interested.”

Oh. Oh.

You glance around the room, and then turn back to him. “Let me help.”

The confusion on his face is entirely too funny. “Help me?”

Shifting on your knees, you settle between his legs. The confusion melts away, and Kyle leans back in the chair, his hips flexing slightly as he makes himself comfortable.

The front of his jeans is already loose, and it’s not difficult to ease them down a bit more. Your hand slips beneath the band of his boxer briefs. The moment your fingers wrap around him, Kyle softly groans, eyelids fluttering as you start to stroke him.

“Is the door locked?” he asks, voice already turning husky.

“Does that matter?” you counter. “Do you care that someone might walk in? That they’ll see me pleasuring my husband?”

His softened cock begins to harden, and your words only spur him on. With another few strokes, Kyle is rock hard and throbbing. Adjusting your position, you release his cock, and then grab hold of his boxer brief, yanking them down until he’s free of it.

Kyle’s heavy lids open at the same moment your mouth suctions around the head. Tongue swirling around the crown, you take a bit more of him into your mouth. Retreating, you hollow your cheeks, suctioning until you come off him with a wet pop.

“How’s this?” you ask.

“Much better,” he replies, reaching for you.

Kyle’s hand finds the back of your head, and you grin as he urges you back.

Taking him into your mouth again, your throat him completely, bobbing up and down his cock with intention. You need him to come. Not in your mouth, but in the goddamn sample cup. If that means you need to suck him off to do it, you’ll happily do so.

While you’d love to give into to pleasing him utterly, you still have to focus on why you’re doing this. The cup is on the table beside him. The seal is unbroken. The lid still on.

Hollowing your cheeks again, you suck—hard—and then release him.

His breathing is heavy, and his thighs are tense. Kyle is close, and you’re not going to ruin this by having him come down your throat.

“The cup, Kyle.”

Kyle runs his hand over the top of his head, the lust-tinged haze retreating slightly as he reaches for it. He twists the lid, breaking the seal, and sets it aside, holding the plastic cup in a vice grip.

Returning to him, you throat him again, bringing your hand into the mix.

“Fuck,” whispers Kyle. Then, louder, “fuck.”

Saliva pools in your mouth and slips past your lips, dripping onto your hand as you continue your ministrations.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “Back, love. Back off.”

You immediately release him, retreating.

Kyle grips his cock and aims it, bringing the cup in close. He strokes once. Twice. And then his entire body shakes as he explodes, emptying his release into the cup.

Wiping the back of your hand over your mouth, you push up to standing using the armrest of the chair. Kyle is smiling—almost smug.

“Did I help?” you tease, and his grin only widens.

John Price

"What's wrong?" John's voice is laced with concern. You rarely come to see him at work. "Everything okay? The guard at the front gate paged me. Said you were here.”

Whenever you’re around him, John’s entire demeanor changes. It doesn’t matter that he’s at work. You’re here, and that takes priority.

As he approaches, John reaches out with both hands. They seek, grabbing hold of your upper arms just above the elbow. He draws you close, his head tilting forward slightly as his gaze intensifies, focusing on you.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” you ask, briefly glancing over his shoulder.

There are members of his team lingering in the background. Though they talk quietly with each other, they keep glancing this way.

“Of course,” murmurs John. Placing one arm over your shoulders, he turns back to the rest of his team. “Give me a few minutes,” he says to them, before leading you away.

The entire walk to his office, John keeps one hand on you at all times. He doesn’t say much, only stopping to briefly address others that pass.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks again once the door is shut.

“Is it locked?”

John blinks. “Is what locked?”

You reach past him and fiddle with the handle. Frowning, John gently grasps your wrist and locks the door. “What—”

But the question never comes. You wrap your arms around his neck and bring him to your lips, claiming his mouth in desperation. John groans softly, returning your kisses with equal enthusiasm. His hands fall upon your hips, squeezing, drawing you closer.

“You didn’t come just to kiss me,” murmurs John, retreating just enough to allow a sliver of space.

“No,” you breathe. “I’m ovulating.”

“Is that what your app says?" he teases.

You hum an agreement and John pushes in, guiding you backward toward his desk. You don't feel the wood until he lifts, and places you atop it. Leaning back, you spread your legs and present yourself.

“Open your present,” you tease, nodding toward the length of your body.

You came prepared. The large coat is made to go down to your knees, hiding everything when buttoned and tied. John reaches out. Tugging, he releases the band, and then he goes for the buttons, popping them open one by one.

He pushes the coat wide, and a growl escapes him. “You’ve been walking around base in nothing but a bloody coat?”

“And boots,” you add, kicking your feet.

Grabbing your thighs, John drags you to the edge of the desk. You greedily shimmy the coat off your shoulders.

His fingers explore, trailing over inner thigh to exposed pussy. One finger parts you, and then sinks in easily.

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans as he inserts another finger. “Already so wet for me.”

“Couldn’t wait,” you moan as John’s thumb rubs softly against your clit.

Another pump and then his fingers are gone. Through the haze, you watch as John undoes the front of his pants. He pushes them down just enough for his thick cock to spring free. Reaching for him, you stroke his cock, only for John to drag you close and align himself.

With one sharp thrust, John enters to the hilt. Keeping one hand on your right thigh, and the other planted firmly on the desk, John begins to thrust. It’s not a soft, gentle rhythm, but sharp and heavy. Every time your pelvis makes contact with his abdomen, the desk squeaks loudly.

“So fucking wet,” mutters John, his eyelids closing slightly as he gives in to the pleasure. “When I come home tonight, you better be naked. On your back. And in our bed.”

With your elbows propping you up, your head falls back in ecstasy as John returns his attention to your clit, circling it in soft strokes that send ripples of pleasure outward.

"I needed you," you groan.

"Greedy thing," purrs John, slipping an arm behind your back and lifting.

Your arms drape over his shoulders, one hand grasping his neck as John adjusts you into a new position. At this angle, you're held tightly against him. John firmly squeezes your ass with both hands.

He drives into you, the legs of the desk scraping against the carpet. A curling, buzzing sensation bubbles up, twisting low in your belly. The orgasm creeps up quickly, surging forward. Your nails dig into John's neck, and a throat moan escapes you.

John silences you with a kiss, swallowing that sound for himself, his hands gripping you so tightly you're sure he'll leave bruises behind.

With a low grunt, John holds you to him, sealing your bodies together. A warmth floods your pussy, his cum coating your insides.

"Think we made a baby?" teases John, nipping at your bottom lip.

"Not sure."

"Better try again then." He rocks his hips, and you whimper.

"You told your team you'd only be a few minutes."

He shrugs. "They can wait."

John "Soap" MacTavish

The youth of maidenhood is shed.

Your kransen is delicately wrapped in cloth and tucked away for a future daughter. The bridal crown you wore during the ceremony is still on your head. A delicate thing made of interwoven bands of silver; its shine slightly eclipsed by flakes of dried goat blood upon the metal. The droplets that landed on your face are long gone, cleaned by cold water and cloth.

Belly full from feasting, and skin buzzing with the consumption of mead, there is nothing left of the evening but the small dark of your new home, of the bedroom you will now share with your husband.

Anticipation is like a hidden viper. The women of your family told you all that would happen after, explained it in detail so that you would understand. You are eager to experience the good, but also know that your new husband might be completely inept.

You don't believe that to be the case though. During the ceremony he appeared calm and kind. He led but was not overbearing, and during the feast, he made sure your plate and glass were full before he even thought of himself. If that is how the marriage starts, then that must be what it is to come.

You hear your name, and you turn.

Your husband stands in the doorway, still in his wedding attire. He softly shuts the door behind him and finds the nearest chair, sinking down into it to remove his boots. Once off, he groans softly, standing again, removing the fur cape and draping it over the back of the chair.

He removes a few other articles of clothing until he's in nothing but his tunic and trousers. He saunters over, fingers lightly brushing against the hemline of your dressing gown.

"There is still blood on your face," you observe. "Let me wash it away."

"No," he says. "Reminds me of a good fight. I can imagine that you’re my war prize."

You laugh, and he smiles. In a way, you are a war prize. Your two clans have been feuding for years. This marriage is a way to make peace.

"Is being your wife not enough?" you tease.

"It is."

His fingers catch on the neckline, pulling the loose fabric over one shoulder. Leaning forward, he places a kiss between neck and shoulder. You shiver, one hand reaching out for him.

"We don't,” he begins but you shake your head.

"It's fine. I... want to."

He cradles your cheek in his palm. It is warm. Comforting. You sigh and lean into it.

The kiss is soft and delicate. There is nothing demanding in it. It is simple and pure. Even in this, he is not pushing. You follow his lead, giving a little more each time until you're reaching for him, hands pressing firmly against his chest.

He sighs, and then the gentle softness recedes, and the kisses deepen. Both of his hands hold your face. You are trapped but it feels wonderful. You give in, pressing your bodies together beside the fire, only understanding and learning these things about one another.

He removes the crown from your head, gently placing it aside.

The dress falls away and you are left bare. His gaze observers but it's brief. John's hands rest on your hips. They squeeze gently, guiding you backward. The soft furs brush that backs of your legs, and then John guides you down onto the bed, relishing every touch and kiss until you're breathless.

Is this how it's supposed to be? Will it always be like this?

John gives you one last kiss before pulling away, standing at full height, towering over you. He removes the last of his garment, his gaze never leaving your prone form. And you are unable to look away either, everything about him an enticing offer you don't wish to walk away from.

All muscle. All strength.

You reach out, grasping the one thing that now belongs to you. John groans softly as you make contact, wrapping your fingers around it. This is new to you, and you're not sure what you're supposed to do with it.

You gently stroke, thumb gracing the underside. John makes another small sound and you know you're on the right path. You sit up a bit, questioning whether you should taste him. The urge is too strong. You lean in, the tip of your tongue swirling over the head.

"No," he growls, grasping the back of your neck. "I won't last if you do that."

He guides you back and then starts to kneel, covering your body with his. You're on your back and he drapes himself across, hands roaming, exploring. His mouth descends, and then it is you making little sounds of pleasure.

"You can know me that way," he murmurs. "But first." His mouth descends and licks between your thighs, teasing and tasting until you're undone with pleasure, hips bucking off the bed and pressing against his mouth.

His hand glides over your stomach. "But first," he repeats. "We have a son to make."

He slides between your legs, guiding your legs wide. The head of him enters, and then there is a quiet sting that shudders through you.

"Breathe," he murmurs. "Relax."

You sigh, follow his instruction. The sting evaporates, and he retreats a bit before adding more. The stretch is tight but no longer painful. Each gentle thrusts gives you more before he's fully seated inside.

Your hands start at his waist and then explore to his back, down to just above his buttocks to ascend at his shoulders. John's forearms rest on either side of your head, his forehead coming to rest against your own. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, lips nearly touching as he rolls his hips, thrusting lightly.

"How long will it take?" he asks, rocking against, this time with a little more force. "If I keep you here, beneath me, full of my cock. How long?"

He thrusts again, and your whole body clings to him, the friction unbearably good. Your only response is a whimper.

His lips lightly brush over yours and then your chin.

"Should I tie you to this bed? Use the leathers that hold my armor together." He nips at your shoulder. "I can pretend you are my war prize."

"I am your war prize," you breathe, as he thrusts in earnest.

"Aye. You are. Separate clans. A marriage for peace. An enemy no longer."

Your arms tighten around him. You are pinned beneath him, unable to move, and yet completely willing in satiating both your desires.

You are lost to his movements, of the fullness, of the growing pleasure that is seconds from exploding outward. He rocks his hips forward, his pelvis pressing against that tender flesh.

You clench down, drowning in a wave that consumes.

You hear his inhalation, feel his muscles bunching under your hands, and then he's grinding forward, keeping still as he floods your womb with warmth.

But he does not pull out. Does not retreat. Instead, he kisses you softly, hips rocking before you feel that fullness blooming again.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The world is fractured. Broken.

And you have been thrust right into the thick of it. Taken by people unknown, signed off and given to a stranger.

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

Your new...what? Husband? Minder?

He stands before you, arms at his sides, observing but not speaking. As if pulled directly from duty, he's still in his all-black fatigues. The weapons are gone. They rest on the small table in the kitchen area of the tiny apartment.

But you smell blood on him. Musk. The dirt and grime of the brutality that is now home to the last remaining humans.

"What?" you snap, his gaze unnerving.

The defensiveness is just an illusion—a coping mechanism.

Simon wears a black balaclava, and all you can make out about him are his eyes. They are deep pools of dark brown that reflect the light like whiskey in a clear bottle. He is tall too and solid muscle.

The idea of him pinning you to the bed, of his weight keeping you in place as he has his way with you, makes your pussy clench involuntarily. You shouldn’t feel that way—to think of him as anything but your captor.

"You understand what's happened?" he asks.

Yes.

"I'm to be your whore."

You notice the slight twitch at the corner of Simon's eye at the word.

"Neither of us wanted this," he replies slowly, his gaze just as languid as it surveys your body.

"Winning me over with your charm," you mutter.

Simon grunts, and then brushes past you into the bathroom. He shuts the door and seconds later you hear the shower running.

Making a run for it isn't an option. The moment you leave, they'll be after you. Would they take you away from Simon? Give you to someone else? Or would they just think you're too much trouble and a bullet would be a mercy.

Your thoughts race, and when Simon emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a towel, you're momentarily stunned into silence. It is not just his body that is hard but everything about him. And now, you have a clear view of his face. He is handsome. Pleasing to the eye even with the scars.

Maybe it won't be all bad.

"It's all yours." He nods toward the bathroom where steam slowly rolls out through the crack in the door.

You follow suit, washing away the stress of the day.

Emerging is the hard part. There are no clothes for you to change in to, but that's the point. You are to remain in this apartment, stay in his bed, and allow Simon to breed you until there's no doubt you carry his child.

All the lights are off except for one. The bedroom isn't a separate room but an area sectioned off by a large curtain. From behind the curtain is a dim glow. You head for it, towel wrapped around body like armor. You push it back only to find Simon reclining, the top sheet covering his lower-half as he reads from a folder.

The rings on the curtain clink and he glances up. Simon closes the folder and tosses it off to the side.

That needy feeling returns. You shouldn’t indulge it or yourself, but it is there, lingering beneath the surface.

For a time, there is only silence, the two of you simply staring at each other.

"Are you joining me?" Simon finally asks.

You sigh. "I have to."

"You do," he agrees. You don't move closer. "I won't hurt you."

"Very reassuring,” you mutter, clutching the towel tighter.

Simon runs his hand through his hair. “Either we do this or you’re given to someone else. Did they tell you that?”

“I know the expectation.”

Simon leans forward into a more seated position. “Then you know I can keep you safe.”

It’s not untrue. You are his now.

You gaze narrows. “You don’t even know me.”

"I know you're going to carry my son or daughter. And that bloody well fucking matters to me."

"Will I?"

"You will."

You clutch the towel to you tighter, unable to part with it. Simon’s gaze remains unmoved. It is an intensity that worms its way inside, slithering beneath your skin to curl around your ribs. Every bit of him is on full display. Your mind drifts—imagining what might be underneath the sheet.

It’s not what you want for yourself, but there are worse men in this compound. There are worse fates. He’s not particularly happy about the arrangement either, something the two of you have in common. But he’s not ugly, and hasn’t been brutish.

Simon sighs, and it sounds like defeat.

He reaches across himself, turning off the small light next to the bed, plunging the two of into darkness.

“Better?”

You grumble but drop the towel. In the dark, your nakedness feels less isolating. As you step up to the bed, you glimpse Simon’s shadow as he draws the bedding back to give you space to slip in.

The bedsheets are cold, and as your grab them to cover yourself and create space, Simon’s hand comes down on your waist, dragging you close to him.

Your hand darts out, pressing against his chest.

Simon gently grasps your wrist and guides your hand away from his chest. "Said I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know," you murmur.

He smells clean and fresh, not like the dirt and blood from earlier. And yet, he feels dangerous, his hold an intense grip that teases surrender and tells you to give in.

What will he do with you?

Will he simply put you on your back?

Will you just have to take it?

Simon lightly squeezes, and then his hand descends, exploring. It lingers on your upper thigh, and then travels upward, learning the curve of your hip and angles of your arm. Simon cups one breast, thumb brushing over the nipple.

A little shudder follows that stroke. A sigh passes your lips and Simon shifts closer.

"I won't hurt you," he murmurs.

Simons’ teeth graze the hardening peak, as you groan loudly, surprised at how your body reacts to him. Answering with a groan of his own, Simon’s other hand delves between your thighs.

Exploring your sex, Simon’s fingers part your pussy, navigating and learning as much as he can. One finger plays with your clit as another teases your entrance, swirling the slickness around that blooms there with each stroke.

“But I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

With that one admission, Simon rolls you onto your back. When he spreads your legs, he does not settle between. He drapes a leg over each of his shoulders, and then his mouth is on your pussy, licking ravenously. His large hands slide up your stomach to tenderly grasp and tease both breasts.

His mouth and hands are full of you, and there is only pleasure.

Simon is right.

He does not harm, but he is not gentle.

Each swirl and tease of his tongue is harsh, sending you quickly to your end. The orgasm is bright and bursting—consuming. Yet, Simon remains steadfast, tasting until the first becomes a second and your thighs shake against the sides of his head.

“They assigned you to me,” he growls, shifting position, settling his hips between your spread thighs. “Made it an order.” The head of his cock presses in, and in one movement, Simon slides home. “And I’ll follow that order.”

His breathing is ragged. Even in the dark, you notice the gentle swell of his chest as he takes in air. “But fuck,” he groans, testing with a steady roll of his hips. “I’m gonna make sure we both enjoy ourselves.”

Simon casts his full weight over you, and there is nothing left for you to do but cling to him. Your feet rest against the back of his calves, and your fingers dig into his lower back as Simon thrusts without mercy.

He is brutal in this—but it does not hurt. It’s only rough, and within you, some primal piece is fracturing, feeding into what he’s giving.

Simon’s hands descend to squeeze your ass. He holds firm, lifting your pelvis upward at the same moment he holds himself tightly to your body. Growling against your throat, he shudders, and you feel his release flood your pussy.

This one deed seals it.

You are forever his.

Even if you try to leave, he’s never letting you go.

Simon’s lips pause at the pulse in your throat. He lingers there and then lightly kisses the spot. It’s a tender, nearly intimate touch. He ascends to the line of your jaw, and then his lips are on yours in a gentle caress.

You part for him, and his tongue slides inside. With a low groan, Simon lightly thrusts, his hardness returning with each stroke. The kisses deepen, and Simon eases you back to the bed, his cock sliding out of your pussy.

“Simon,” you murmur, one hand stroking over his chest.

His hand goes around your throat while the other dips between your legs. He finds your pussy, two fingers pushing into the mess.

“Give me one more, love. Tonight. One more.”

Simon withdraws, and with one quick movement, he rolls you onto your stomach.

“Open,” he commands, and you do so.

His two fingers that were just in your pussy slide into your mouth. Guiding your legs wide, Simon enters you again. The stretch is perfect, and his thrusts only push your mouth further down his fingers.

His hand slips between your body and the bed, seeking until he finds what he's after. With a few quick swirls of Simon's fingers against your clit, you scream around the ones in your mouth.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Come for me."

Your pussy squeezes around him and Simon moans his pleasure.

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