#pick the colors to your hearts content

[impossible-rat-babies]

if there’s one simple thing that has improved my time in 14 a great deal, it’s color coding other players in instanced content

[gloomwitchwrites]

First of all, I 100% know this is an overused trope... but still....

What If 141 2 people 1 bed trope

Who cares that it's an overused trope? It's a classic for a reason!

I will never tire of a one bed trope. It can be steamy and sexy. It can be angsty. It can be tense. It can literally be so many things at once. It's also a wonderful canvas to play around, and I had a lot of fun with this one. I know you've waited for this one for a while. I hope you enjoy it! :)

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

Task Force 141 x TF141 Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male & female receiving), admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

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

John Price

“Fuck,” mutters Price.

You glance over your shoulder. Captain Price stands near the hotel window, the gauzy blinds closed but the thicker ones bunched to the sides, allowing in natural light. He’s staring at something happening in the parking lot.

“What it is?” you ask, starting to walk over to him.

“They might have found us.”

Dread flares hot, clenching the muscles in your stomach until it hurts. “Are you sure?”

Price nods, and then backs away from the window. “There’s no way they saw our faces during the infiltration. We wore masks. Might have tracked the stolen car.”

“We need to leave,” you say, but Price shakes his head.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re likely watching all exits on the main floor.” He sighs. “We need to play this right.”

The two of you are freshly showered, and the clothes you wore for the infiltration have already been discarded. Burned—actually, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. At the moment, the two of you look like civilians.

“They can’t search the building, John. Not without bloodshed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting across the room as his brain works something over. You fidget, picking at your nails. It’s a terrible habit. One you do when you’re nervous.

Price glances at you and your heart drops. “They look official, and that’s probably all that matters. The scrawny teenager at the front desk isn’t going to put up a fight if the credentials appear legitimate.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, striding toward the window to look for yourself.

Captain Price is right. They do look official. They also look fucking terrifying which would scare anyone into compliance if you don’t know what to look for.

“We’re on the bottom floor,” you say, stepping back.

“I know,” growls Price. He pivots, examining the entire room.

He goes for the car keys and shuts them inside the safe. The only other thing in the room is a duffle bag full of plain clothes and generic toiletries. Price pushes clothes aside and then draws out the pistol hiding beneath it all. He checks the clip and then preps the barrel.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” you ask, startled.

Price walks over to the singular bed in the room, tucking the gun beneath the pillows. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm.

“Then take off your clothes,” repeats Price, reaching behind his head with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. He pulls it over and off, tossing it aside.

“Spread it around. Make a mess,” he instructs as he goes for the belt on his jeans.

For a moment, you’re stunned, staring at Captain Price’s bare chest. While he’s muscular, it isn’t from a life in the gym. He is thick in all the right places. A solid wall with a beautiful dusting of dark hair that travels downward.

The belt is gone, and that too is tossed aside.

Without removing your gaze, you tentatively discard your shirt, but keep your bra on. It’s a barrier. A safety net. Price isn’t even glancing at you, but you do notice some color at the tops of his cheeks. A soft pink that makes your thoughts spiral outward to imagine if this gentle blush is the same color as the head of his cock.

Price’s jeans go next, already discarded before you move on to the next article of clothing. He’s only in socks and black boxer briefs. There is so much of him on display that you’re starting to forget yourself.

He glances at you, and that color in his cheeks darken. “You’re still dressed.”

You open your mouth to answer but then you hear a shout from down the hall and sharp banging on a door. They’re far too close.

This urges you on, moving with faster intention, and once you’re down to just your bra and underwear, you finally glance at Price again.

Price—who is naked. Completely bare. And you have a full view of what he’s been packing underneath all that.

Fuck.

He approaches the bed, and tugs back the sheets. The muscles in his arms and back tense as he crumples the bedding to sexed perfection—as if the two of you have been going at it for hours.

Price sits down on the edge of the bed and slides underneath, his legs parting enough that you get a glimpse of everything. This man isn’t even fully hard but from what you can see, it would be a tight fit if you actually sat on him.

Lifting a pillow, Price checks for the pistol and then sets it back, settling into the sheets. He frowns slightly when his attention returns to you.

“All of that has to go.”

“Does it?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

There’s another thunderous pounding on a nearby door followed by shouting.

“It does if we’re going to make it out of here alive.” Price shrugs, and then smirks. “Could help you.”

Sighing heavily and you reach behind your back, unclasping the bra. You hurl it at him and Price catches it out of the air. Crossing your arms over your chest, you hurry toward the bed. But you don’t make it beneath the sheets.

“Everything,” repeats Price.

Reaching out, Price snags the thin cotton fabric and pulls down, revealing you to him and the room. Instinct as you grasping for control, hands splayed over his large forearms as he gives the fabric another yank.

You cannot form a response. Words leave you as Price drags you into the bed with him.

“Sorry about this,” he grumbles, that color returning to his cheeks in full force. It’s cute actually—how sheepish he looks.

You swallow, and lick your lips. “It’s fine.”

Price leans back against the pillows, guiding you with him. “Get on top.”

Straddling his hips, you settle yourself over him. You try—and fail—to not notice the way the hard length of him nestles against your pussy. You keep one arm crossed over your breasts but all it does is hides your nipples from him. Your other hand is splayed wide and pressed against his chest.

“We’re married,” he says, staring into your eyes. “That’s the story. I’ll do the talking. You act like the scared wife when they come barging in.”

You nod, and Price releases a deep exhalation. His hands rest on your thighs. They’re a brand. Warm. All you can think about. They move upward to settle on your hips.

“Pretend you’re riding me,” he murmurs.

With a gentle hand, Price grasps your wrist, drawing your arm away from your breasts. You don’t resist, and he brings your other palm to rest against his chest.

“Pretend,” he reiterates, hands returning to your hips. Price creates the motion by dragging you back and forth, imitating a rocking motion. Though you’re stationary, your pussy still drags against the length of his cock.

You notice the tremor in his jaw as your bodies rub against each other. This is affecting him as much as it is you.

“Pretend,” you say back to him.

Price nods and then grabs for the television remote from the bedside table. He turns it on and then ups the volume. You imitate the motion he created, rocking back and forth, sliding yourself along his cock, pretending you don’t notice how wet you’ve become over the course of the last few minutes.

His hands return to your hips, and then Price sinks back completely into the pillows, his eyelids softening as he gazes up at you. It’s far too intimate of a stare, and it’s only compounded when one of his hands meander upward to slide over your stomach and then between your breasts. You gasp as his thumb traces the underside of your breast.

Head tilting back, you grind downward, finding yourself diving into the warmth that’s starting to pool low in your belly.

A sharp pounding at the door has you snapping to attention. Every muscle tenses. Seizes.

“You’re fine,” coos Price. “We’ll be fine.”

The pounding comes again and then a yell from behind it. The voice is muffled. Not only by the door but from the television.

Swallowing, you try to connect into it again, rolling your hips, imagining that Price is your husband—that you love him—and this is simply an exploration of that love.

When you roll your hips again, Price sits up slightly, his warm breath brushing against your breast. A tingle shudders through you, and Price groans before his tongue grazes over your nipple, bringing it to a point.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he says softly at the same moment the hotel door bursts open.

One second, you’re atop Price, and the next his arms are around you, turning you away from the door to hide you from sight. You’re not on your back but Price has shoved you toward the bed as he sits up, creating a barrier between you and the intruders.

The tactical-clad trio entering the room—with a hotel worker nervously trailing behind—

don’t even get a word in before Price starts going off on them.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!”

His accent is gone, replaced by an American one. It’s incredibly good, and his feigned anger even more so. The men entering faulter under Price’s tirade. They likely weren’t expecting this, and Price uses this opportunity to push the advance.

“We’re fucking busy in here. Fuck off!”

The man at the head of the trio clears his throat and holds up a hand, but Price chucks one of the water glasses at the man. The guy ducks and it shatters against the wall. The hotel worker at their back squeaks and pushes forward.

“We’re so sorry. Just a search for some prison escapees. We’re clearly in the wrong room.”

Prison escapees? You want to laugh but think better of it. Instead, you press your face against Price’s arm, feigning sheepishness.

Price’s lips turn into a snarl, and the hotel worker blanches.

“We’ll give you a complimentary stay for the inconvenience,” the man babbles before waving his arms to usher the other men out.

For a moment, you don’t think it’ll work, but they go.

You and Price don’t sigh with relief until the door shuts. His forehead presses against yours, chest heaving.

“Nice accent,” you whisper and this draws a smile from his lips.

“Like it more than this one?” he asks, his regular accent returning.

“Nope,” you say. “This one suits you fine.”

Price’s gaze draws over your exposed body and then lands on your face. It’s soft. Sensual. You’re frozen beneath it, breath catching as his fingers brush along the line of your jaw.

You’re not sure who moves first but his lips are on yours and then you’re moaning. Price rolls you onto your back, each kiss more demanding and fiercer than the last. He tastes of the mint toothpaste he used earlier and smells of soap.

Reaching between your bodies, you find him hard, and there is no other need within you but the one that craves for him to be inside. To fuck you ceaselessly.

You stroke him and Price groans into your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat. Hooking your legs behind him, you guide him to your entrance. With a light press of your heels, Price takes your meaning.

There is no gentle pretense. No soft kisses or playful coaxing. Price goes all in, and you break the kiss to gasp aloud, nails digging into his back. Price is thick and having him inside you is a deliciously painful stretch.

It is all desperate the way he moves. Price isn’t gentle. It’s skin slapping against skin. It is sweat and groans. A savage hardness that borders on hysteria.

Your hand reaches behind you to press against the headboard as Price fucks you into the bed, but even that is shaking, banging loudly against the wall. It’s clear even over the drone from the television. The people next door will know exactly what the two of you are up to.

Price is relentless. A man starved. He nips at your bottom lip. Sucks it into his mouth. And when that isn’t enough, he goes for your neck and then your breasts, making your nipples smart and throb under his teeth and tongue.

The orgasm comes sharp and hot, bursting forth like a wave. And when you squeeze around him, Price is right there with you, his cum coating your insides as he too finds his end.

The two of you are all heavy breath. Sweaty limbs.

Price nuzzles the side of your neck, placing soft kisses there until he travels up to find your lips again. These are gentle. Not desperate like before.

When there’s a moment to speak, it is you that breaks the silence.

“So much for pretending.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s the middle of the day but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

A storm is raging—the rain thick and heavy. It falls from the sky in large drops that soak clothes and slick the skin. It’s a bit cold, too. A little chilly. The kind of wet chill that hardens the nipples and brings a shiver to your bones.

“Here. You’re soaked.”

Kyle presents a towel. It’s off-white and a bit frayed. But what can you expect from a motel in the middle of nowhere? Having a towel at all is nice. At least it isn’t threadbare.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, gently dapping the rough-textured material against your face.

Kyle strides over to the heating unit. It’s dirty and barely anchored to the wall. He hits a few buttons and then the thing turns on. It’s loud. Clunky. But heat starts to seep from the slats, warming the room.

After drying your face, you begin to remove outer pieces of clothing. Kyle might be your teammate, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide but the bathroom. Knowing the state of most motels, you don’t really want to find out either.

Kyle has the same idea. He dries off with his own towel, removing soaked articles of clothing as he goes. You try not to look—to be discreet—but it’s hard not to steal a peek. Kyle is all toned muscle and firmness. There’s a light dusting of hair on his chest. It’s a bit thicker around his navel. It trails downwards, and your mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t.

You glance away but not fast enough. His gaze roams upward, finding you, and there he pauses, observing you as you did him.

Pretending is best.

You attempt to act like you don’t notice him at all, turning your back like you’re incredibly interested with the wallpaper that likely hasn’t been replaced in years.

It’s his heat that draws your attention—that steals your breath, and makes every muscle in your body tense with anticipation.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.

Kyle is so close. Close enough that his breath brushes against your bare shoulder. You’re just in your bra and underwear, the only items that aren’t completely soaked from the rain.

He inhales, and that exhalation teases your flesh again. Giving in, you close your eyes, sinking into Kyle’s presence.

When you open them again, you notice a mirror hanging on the wall. It’s great if you were trying to plan an outfit, but that isn’t what you notice.

Instead, you see yourself. And Kyle.

The backs of his knuckles lightly caress the side of your arm. His head is tipped forward and turned inward like you’ll turn around any moment to kiss him.

The urge is there. Tugging. Wanting you to do just that.

The two of you are always walking around the other, seeking comfort and closeness but never seizing it. Maybe you should. Maybe—turning around is the best thing you can do for yourself.

“Kyle,” you breathe, and his little hum in answer tightens that string.

Without hesitation, you do turn.

Kyle’s lips are right there. They’re parted slightly. Inviting.

His arm drapes across your waist, hand splaying wide against your stomach, pressing until the two of you are sandwiched together.

It’s not like you don’t want this. You do. You want Kyle. Have since the moment he introduced himself to you. But the two of you have always remained professional in every space you occupy.

And now there is no one around.

No one to see.

No one to know.

Your head tips back in answer, and Kyle leans into it, pressing his lips to yours. It is sweet. Gentle. More of an ask than anything else.

And you reply, meeting him in equal measure. The pressure on your stomach increases just as Kyle’s other hand wraps around the front of your throat, holding you still. Each kiss is a claiming, one you freely submit to.

Kyle is all sugared-warmth, and you want to rot your teeth.

Draping your arm around the back of his neck, you pull him closer. Kyle nips. Bites. Sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before soothing the burn with a few tender kisses. Heat blossoms in your core before morphing into an aching slickness.

You’ve been putting him off—brushing him aside.

Why wait any longer when Kyle is all you crave?

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans against your mouth.

Your lips part, and Kyle slides his tongue inside. His taste is everything, but you want to know him everywhere.

Your hand seeks, brushing against his hardness through his boxer briefs. When you slip your hand beneath the elastic band, Kyle’s only response to kiss you harder.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you start to stroke what you can with the little room you have. Your thumb brushes over the head of his cock and Kyle draws back.

“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he says, voice a bit rough.

Twisting in his grip, you turn to face him. “Can I show you how much I’ve wanted you, too?” you ask, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Kyle loosens his hold and you drop to your knees, taking his boxer briefs with you. His cock is gorgeous. It curves upward slightly, and a pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit.

He whispers your name, and then you have him in hand. Stroking once. Twice.

You lick off that bead. Savor his taste. Go back for more.

Kyle grabs the back of your head, drawing you to him. You open your mouth. Swallow him down. Throating him until you gag.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongating the vowel.

You work him with hand and mouth, keeping a steady rhythm that has him weak and wanton. You have all the control—until you don’t.

“Let me fuck your mouth, love. Please.”

The please is what does it. You release his cock, placing both hands on his thighs. With a pleased growl, Kyle keeps your head stationary. You anticipate the first thrust, and it is sinful. The movement goes straight to your pussy as you imagining him fucking you there like he fucks your mouth.

Fingers dig into muscled thigh. You want to touch yourself, to tease your clit while he does it. He is a god above you—Adonis.

“Can’t wait to taste your cunt, love,” rasps Kyle. “Can’t wait to make you drip for me.”

His desire fuels your own, and you urge him on, gently cupping him with one hand, thumb lightly rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh there.

Kyle’s hips stutter, and you relax your throat, humming around his cock as your lips meet the base. He holds you there, and you take it all, thighs chaffing from the friction of you rubbing them together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, and Kyle wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“My turn,” he murmurs.

You’re on your feet and then on your back in seconds. All the wind is knocked out of you, and then Kyle’s tongue is there, sliding through your slickness. Parting. Teasing the opening of your vagina before trailing upward to circle around your clit.

Gasping, your hands reach for him. Kyle grabs both wrists, keeps them planting on your stomach as he fucks you with his tongue. His shoulders dig into your thighs, keeping them wide. He’s stronger than you even as your thighs quiver, wanting to close, wanting to shut.

Kyle groans against your pussy, and then he’s on your clit, moving in such an easy, languid way that everything explodes outward. A shudder passes from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pussy clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again.

Kyle doesn’t let up. He doesn’t cease. Every stroke strikes true and then your body betrays itself, overstimulation setting in, and the urge to wiggle away is paramount.

But just as you push at him—just as your body draws back. Kyle is releasing your wrists, pushing himself up and over you, spreading those legs even wider to slide inside.

The bed creaks beneath you, and then he’s thrusting.

Your moans of pleasure become one with the rain.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Single lamp. Lone bed.

Peeling paint. Dusty corners.

“Something’s on your mind.” Your voice is the only sound in the room other than the AC unit.

Soap’s sigh is soft and small as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s the last night before the potential end. Before victory or failure. Just the two of you now with the plan to meet up with others later.

He nods, and you take a tentative step forward. “We attended the briefing. You know the details.”

“Aye.”

“Then what has you worried?” you ask, taking another step in Soap’s direction.

A warm, orange glow emits from the singular lamp on the bedside table. It’s not enough light to illuminate the cheap peeling paint or the dirt in the corners of the room. It only gives life to the bed and the side of Soap’s face.

It’s not like you have an unlimited budget. A motel room is the best the two of you could manage for some rest before moving on. The man at the desk didn’t even glance up when he asked if they only wanted a room for an hour.

You had asked for two beds. The man at the desk replied that no one who stops here asks for that.

One bed it is.

One bed.

Somehow, you’ll have to sleep beside Soap while simultaneously shoving down the urge to reach out to him.

Sighing, Soap leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts slightly as if he’s not focusing on anything in particular. Running his fingers through his short mohawk, he tugs on the ends, mussing the freshly washed strands, creating a wavy mess.

Just that one movement as you leaning forward, nostrils flaring to inhale that clean scent.

“Adaptability,” he answers. Finally.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside him, you sink to your knees, resting your arm on the bed, and your chin on your arm.

The two of you have been on missions before but never together like this.

Never alone.

Keeping your gaze downward, you notice just how close you are to him—and how Soap leans in your direction, the edge of his knee brushing against the side of your hand.

It’s a small contact, but he’s warm, and that warmth is transferring into yourself, unspooling outward. It’s a difficult thing—because all this time you’ve harbored feelings for him, and yet have never acted on them.

“You’re quick on your feet, Soap,” you murmur, one finger absently extended to brush over the curve of his knee.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can call me Johnny.”

Johnny. You’ve never called him that. Soap, sure. Sergeant MacTavish? All the time.

“I thought Ghost only had that right.”

Only Ghost calls Soap ‘Johnny.’ That’s understood by everyone.

Soap shrugs. “He did.” He glances at you, his smile widening. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

Something swirls in your stomach, twisting like a knife.

“How would you like to hear it?” you reply.

Johnny’s smile, which is so wide and teasing, softens into a sultry smirk. “I have options?”

“You do.”

Johnny’s usual playfulness emerges. “Say it like you’re angry with me.”

“Johnny,” you say, deepening your voice to sound like Ghost.

He bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach. “Oh, aye. I’ll give you that.”

“What else?” you tease. “I demand more.”

“Say it like you’re annoyed with me.”

You do just that, and Johnny sits up, turning on his side.

“Again,” you prompt.

The middle of Johnny’s brow creases and then his hand cradles the side of your face. He closes the distance, kissing you deeply—as if you are his lover and not a friend.

But you don’t pull away. You indulge yourself, kissing him back just as sweetly.

You’re not sure how much time passes, just that it does, and his small retreat after it’s done is all you have in acknowledging its passing.

The withdrawal is short. Johnny doesn’t move away. He keeps his hand on your cheek. The tip of his nose nearly brushing yours.

“Say it now,” he breathes, voice raspy.

“Johnny,” but it’s not what you intended to say.

He sighs. “Again.”

“Johnny.”

This time he groans, and then your lips are fusing, becoming one. You’re dragged off the floor and into his arms, tangling in his heat, forgetting yourself completely.

“Johnny,” you repeat, and then your shirt is gone, followed by your bra.

He nips at the curve of your breasts before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His teeth graze flesh and you say his name again until it becomes a strangled moan.

The front of your jeans is open, and his hand is there, cupping your sex, fingers dragging through your wetness.

“Johnny,” but it’s to stop him, to remind him that this cannot go on.

“Fucking hell. Love the way you say my name.”

This melts your resolve. Makes your legs spread wider. Makes you shove at your pants and create plenty of space.

Johnny knows. He understands.

He yanks them down even as he peppers your breasts with little nips and kisses. Your fingers drags through his hair as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, bringing it to perky attention.

One finger slides inside, and you groan loudly, legs falling wide as Johnny settles himself between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, claiming your mouth and pumping his finger. You whimper as he inserts a second. “Wanted you so bad.”

Your pussy flutters, squeezing around him. It is Johnny that groans this time, and it is a primal sound.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny.”

“Need a yes or no. Tell me. Do you want me? I’ve wanted you.”

You answer by finding him—guiding him to the place you need him to.

With a low growl, Johnny pins your arms above your head, slotting his pelvis against yours, the head of his cock sinking in until you’re taking all of him.

“Johnny!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he croons, starting to thrust.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I can’t tell what blood is yours and what isn’t.”

“Can fucking do it myself.”

“Ghost—”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Simon,” you snap, and he stops fidgeting.

Behind the plain balaclava, you see the fire in Lieutenant Riley’s eyes. This man is your superior. At least, right now he is. But the mission is done. It’s over. Yet the two of you are stranded, and making contact with Price is going to take time.

Not to mention that Simon is injured, and you have no fucking idea where at.

“Let me help you,” you say as soothingly as possible.

You don’t want to fight with him. All you want is to help Simon, to clean him up, and get him into bed. Rest and healing are what he needs right now. Contacting Price can wait. Base can stew for a while longer.

The two of you are in a motel room in the middle of fucking nowhere America. It’s shit overall, but it will have to do. There’s no way anyone is searching for the two of you out here. You drove until you nearly ran out of gas, and then you refilled and drove some more. Simon was in the back of the car, covered in blood.

But he was awake. Moving. Not a head injury, and not enough to get him immediate medical treatment. Not like he would have allowed you to take him to a hospital anyway. Lieutenant Riley is fucking stubborn. Sometimes infuriatingly so.

Simon stares, hard, his dark eyes intense behind the balaclava. He blinks, and then pushes up from the chair, keeping his gaze trained on you.

“Lieutenant,” you mutter, annoyed.

As Simon stands and attempts to take a step forward, his left leg wobbles, and he nearly topples forward. Your arms go out to catch him, holding him steady. He’s a big guy, and he seems to know this because he tries to prop himself up using the chair.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you snap.”

“Listen—”

“I’m not arguing with you Simon Riley.”

Using his full name shuts him up. It’ll likely earn you a reprimand later, but fuck it, you’re over this.

“Stay there.” You shove him back down into the chair and head into the bathroom.

There is a single overhead light. Flipping the switch turns it on and the fan. It’s a tight space, but thankfully the shower isn’t also a tub. That would be a nightmare getting him in. Instead, there is a sink, a toilet, and a dividing wall that cuts the room in half. It’s more like a locker shower but it’ll work.

Reaching in, you turn the handle. You jump back as cold water shoots out of the shower head. After waiting for a few seconds, steam starts to rise.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you have to do. “You got this,” you murmur, heading back into the room.

Simon leans forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Riley’s head swivels in your direction. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you reply, holding firm. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh, Simon reaches out and slides his hand into yours. It’s warm. Calloused. You squeeze it and step forward, extending your other arm to wrap around his torso. Simon stands. Wobbles. But you snake your arm around him, and then it’s a slow trek into the bathroom.

Simon is limping, but he’s showing no other signs that his injury hurts him. Might be minor, or he’s just good at covering up the pain.

Once the two of you are inside the bathroom, you realize just how small the space is. Maneuvering Simon to the shower is difficult, a weird dance to wiggle around the door and toilet to the opening of the shower.

You retreat slightly, and Simon leans against the wall, his eyelids closing as he takes a deep breath.

“You good?” you ask, concern creasing your brow.

Simon nods. “I’ll manage.” His eyelids open slowly and then he stares into the shower. “You want me in there?”

“You’ll need to remove a few things first,” you reply, gesturing toward his uniform.

Simon snorts. “Trying to get me naked?”

“You wish,” you retort, even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Need help?”

At first, Simon doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for his belt, removing it slowly with one hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you mumble, starting to turn away.

“Wait.”

You freeze, and then glance over your shoulder. “What is it?”

Simon shrugs. “What if I slip? Might need you to catch me.”

This bastard.

“Then I’ll stay,” you reply cooly, pretending that this doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It’s reshaping you, and Simon’s slow undressing isn’t helping things. He keeps his gaze on you the entire time, and you purposefully keep your eyes averted, when really you want to look. You want to know what he’s like under all that.

The belt goes. So does his tactical gear and jacket. Next is his shirt followed by his balaclava. You sneak a peek then, and Simon grins at you like he knew you’d look eventually.

“I’ll need some help with these. Getting them down that is.” Simon gestures towards his pants and you feel your face grow so hot you fear it might explode.

“Sure.”

You reach for him, silently chastising your shaking fingers. This is too much, even though you like it, and want more from it. You undo the button and zipper. Sliding your hands beneath the band, you shimmy Simon’s pants to the floor. He kicks them away and all that’s left are his boxer briefs. They’re tight and you notice the massive bulge in front.

Fuck.

“You can do the rest,” you reply, glancing away.

Simon removes them, and then he starts forward, arms outstretched to balance himself as he enters the shower.

“Fucking hell,” moans Simon as the hot water hits his body.

The groan that comes after is deep, and so sultry you feel a bolt of pleasure spike from your pussy.

“Should join me.”

“No thanks,” you say, averting your gaze away from Simon’s muscled backside.

One moment you’re facing the wall, and the next you’re under the spray of water.

“What the fuck,” you shriek, stumbling backward as Simon chuckles. Muttering under your breath, you stare down at your soaked clothing. “Goddamn it.” You start removing articles of clothing, the wet fabric peeling away from your skin.

“Fucking fine, Simon.”

You shed everything and storm under the spray, only for Simon to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him. There is no pause between then and the moment his lips find yours. It is sweet, and warm. You instantly melt, enjoying every second.

But it’s fleeting.

You draw back, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re covered in blood. Remember?”

Simon shrugs and then offers you the soap. “Clean me then.”

You do it, and when you’re done, he does the same for you. It’s far too intimate, and Simon’s gentleness is surprising. Once finished, you dry and bandage the wound on his leg. It’s not terrible—and will likely need stitches—but it’s not bleeding anymore.

The singular bed in the middle of the room is far too small. Not with Simon in at, spread out and naked under the sheets.

You slide in beside him, not knowing where you should settle. Simon is large, taking up most of the best. The only place is curled up next to his side.

Turning your resolve to steal, you settle in. You begin to turn away from Simon, but his arm shoots out, grasping your waist. You’re yanked across the bed, only to find yourself in Simon’s arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Stop pretending, love. We both know what’s going on. Don’t deny it.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Simon—”

“We’ve been making eyes at each other for fucking months. And now we’re alone. You think I don’t see the opportunity?”

Simon’s hand slides over the curve of your ass, and then dips beneath your shirt. You’re not wearing underwear, and when his fingers brush over your pussy, you gasp, pressing into him.

“You’re already wet for me,” growls Simon as he drags a finger through your folds. “So fucking wet.” He presses in, and your pussy parts for him.

“We can’t, Simon. You’re injured.”

“Not so much,” he coos. “Especially since I can do this.” On this, Simon drags the tips of his finger along the inside your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into his chest as your back arches to press you further down on him.

“It’s just my leg that’s injured.” Simon’s lips brush against your cheek and then the edge of your ear. His breath is warm against your skin. “I can still fuck you. Have you on top. Bounce you on my cock.” Simon gives the curve of your ear the faintest kiss. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“We—we—”

With his other hand, Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you against him, silencing whatever it is you’re trying to say. He seizes your mouth in a fierce kiss. You open for him, and his tongue slides inside. He tastes nice, and you want to sink into the feeling. Have him devour you completely.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips.

You push up, doing exactly as he wants you to do. You settle on his lap, his hard cock pressed up against your thigh.

With a low growl, Simon removes your shirt, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.

“Much better,” he says, cupping your breasts as you lean on his chest, lifting your hips.

His cock slides through your folds, and then you start the descent, moaning as he splits you in two. The stretch is intense—nearly sharp with pain, but laced with pleasure. Simon’s eyelids flutter slightly, and his groan is pure sin.

Simon lightly squeezes your breasts one more time before his hands find your hips. He lifts you up, and then back down, bouncing you on his cock. You cling to him, allowing him to use you, to fuck you in whatever way he wants.

Each grunt and growl from him only makes you wetter. Hungrier.

“I’m gonna come inside you.”

It’s not a question. There is no other option, and you wouldn’t take anything else even if there was.

“Please,” you whimper.

Simon’s hands tighten, his hips thrusting upward to meet every downward movement. He sits up, his mouth clamping around a nipple to nip and suck. Your orgasm roars up from nowhere, and then you’re clenching around him, milking Simon’s cock as his own end greets him.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

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@suhmie @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[ahqkas]

♯ JEALOU$Y ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! an unexpected situation catches you off guard in the heart of florence and your boyfriend reveals a side of him you’ve never seen before (based off this req.!!)

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, jealous + italian theo, translation of foreign language + lmk !

WORD COUNT! 1.3k

NOTES! he’s so fine when he’s jealous❕

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THEODORE NOTT WAS FAR FROM HAVING A SHORT TEMPER (UNLIKE HIS BEST FRIEND) BUT THAT DIDN'T MEAN HE WAS NECESSARILY CARELESS. Sometimes, jealousy wrapped around his heart like the snake representing his house, squeezing and picking at the muscle, giving it wounds for blood to shed from.

And every time he tried to push those feelings aside, they came back even stronger than before in a crashing wave full of raw emotion. He felt like a puppet on a string that was pulled tight by the cruel hands of jealousy. His actions were no longer his own.

The summer sun bathed the picturesque streets of Florence in a warm, golden glow, casting a honeyed hue over the ancient city. Cobblestone pathways, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, stretched along the bustling streets. Each turn revealed a new delight: charming cafés with wrought-iron tables spilling onto the sidewalks, historic landmarks standing as silent reminders of the past, and vibrant marketplaces bursting with life and color. The air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers, mingling with the earthy aroma of aged stone and the tantalizing whiff of fresh espresso. The fragrance was an intoxicating blend, making every breath feel like a taste of paradise. The sounds of Florence added to the sensory feast: the melodic chatter of locals and tourists, the clinking of glasses and cutlery from the outdoor restaurants, and the distant strains of street musicians playing heavenly tunes on their violins and accordions.

Florence, in the embrace of summer, was absolutely beautiful. It was a place where history and romance intertwined, where every corner held a new discovery, and every moment was a celebration of the beauty of life. The city's magic lay not just in its landmarks, but in the way it made you feel — alive, enchanted, and eternally in love with the world around you.

You walked hand in hand with Theodore, your fingers intertwined in one as you explored the enchanting city. This vacation had been his idea, a chance for the two of you to escape the pressures of Hogwarts and immerse yourselves in the beauty and romance of Italy. Theo's Italian heritage made the trip even more special; he was eager to show you the places that held a special place in his heart.

As you wandered through a bustling street, you paused to admire a street artist's breathtaking paintings. The vibrant colors and detailed brushstrokes captured the scenery of Florence in ways that made the city's beauty stand out even more, and you found yourself lost in the artwork. Theo had stepped away momentarily to get you both something to eat from a nearby stand, leaving you alone but content. The hum of the city buzzed around you, voices of people blending with the occasional strum of a guitar.

While you were engrossed in the art, a group of local boys approached, their laughter and chatter filling the air. They were handsome and confident, their flirtatious smiles and easy charm unmistakable. One of them, with dark, curly hair and a mischievous grin, stepped forward, clearly intent on catching your attention. His eyes sparkled with interest as he gestured towards you.

"Sei molto bella." ("You are very beautiful.")

You blinked, a bit taken aback. Although you had picked up a few phrases during your time with Theo, your grasp of the language was far from fluent. You understood enough to know that he was complimenting you, but the exact words of meaning escaped you.

Before you could respond, another boy joined in, his tone equally playful. "Vuoi venire a fare una passeggiata con noi?" ("Do you want to go for a walk with us?")

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, both from the unexpected attention and your inability to respond. Your eyes darted around, hoping to spot your boyfriend. You were feeling increasingly uncomfortable, unsure how to extricate yourself from the situation.

Just as you were about to attempt a polite but awkward decline, you heard Theo's voice, sharp and commanding. "Ehi, lasciatela in pace!" ("Hey, leave her alone!")

The transformation in him was startling. Theo, usually so calm and composed, had a fierce intensity in his eyes. He stepped between you and the group of boys, his posture protective, his expression a stormy mix of anger and determination. The easygoing demeanor he often sported was replaced by a fierce warning.

His broad shoulders squared, blocking the boys' view of you completely, creating a barrier that was both physical and emotional. The bright warmth of the sun seemed to dim in comparison to the fire that burned in Theo's gaze. It was as if a switch had been flipped, transforming him from the gentle, sweet boyfriend you knew into a guardian ready to defend the owner of his heart and soul.

The boys, who had moments ago been brimming with confidence, raised their hands in mock surrender, laughing nervously. "Calmati, amico. Non volevamo causare problemi," one of them said, trying to diffuse the situation. ("Calm down, friend. We didn't want to cause trouble.")

But Theo wasn't having any of it. Each word was a blade of a dagger, cutting through the casual flirtation of the boys, leaving no room for doubt about his intentions. "Non vedete che non è interessata? Andatevene prima che mi arrabbi davvero." ("Can't you see she's not interested? Walk away before I really get angry."). His voice was low and menacing as he continued in rapid Italian, his words too fast for you to catch but clearly effective in making the boys rethink their approach. They muttered a few apologies before scurrying away, casting wary glances over their shoulders.

Theo turned to you, his eyes softening instantly as he took in your bewildered expression. The fierce protector you had just witnessed melted away, replaced by your sweet boy you knew so well. "Are you okay?" His hand found yours, fingers intertwining in a comforting touch.

You nodded, still a bit shaken. "I'm fine. They were just . . . I didn't understand what they were saying," you admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Theo's lips curved into a reassuring smile. "They were trying to flirt with you," he explained. "But don't worry, they're gone now."

You managed a small laugh, the tension easing out of your body. "I figured that much," you said, your voice lightening. "Thank you, Theo."

He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. The warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart were instantly calming. "I'm sorry if I scared you," he murmured, his breath brushing against your hair. "I just couldn't stand the thought of them bothering you."

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. The fierce protectiveness in his gaze had melted into something softer, more tender. "You were amazing," you said honestly. "I've never seen you like that before."

Theo's smile widened, a hint of pride in his expression. "Well, I can't help it," he said, his tone teasing but sincere. "You bring out the best in me."

As you continued your walk through the beautiful streets of Florence, Theo kept you close, his arm securely around you. The incident with the local boys faded into the background, replaced by the joy of being together in such a magical place. The city's charm and Theo's unwavering affection made you feel like you were living in a dream.

Later that evening, as you sat together at a cozy café, sipping on rich Italian espresso, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Theo. His protective nature, his deep love for you, and his ability to make you feel safe and cherished were all things you treasured deeply. As the sun set over the Florence skyline, painting the sky in brilliant hues of pink and orange, you leaned into Theo, feeling utterly content.

In that moment, with the world bathed in the soft glow of twilight, you knew that no matter where you were, as long as you were with Theo, you were home.

[katsukistofu]

my caffeine mix-up!

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. you accidentally pick up the number two hero’s coffee so picks you up instead. | pt. ii

You take a sip of your morning coffee and almost spit it out on your dashboard.

This could not be your order. It was so… unusually sugary. Too sugary. Like someone liquified a whole candy store and shoved it into a venti cup.

Still reeling a little from the overly sweet aftertaste that lingers on your tongue, your eyes trail down to read:

Vt Crml Crnch Frap

5 Banana

Ex Caramel Drizzle

Extra Whip

Extra Ice

Ex Cinnamon

7 pumps Add Dk Crml Sauce

Ex Caramel Crunch

1 pump Honey Blend

Heavy Cream

Double Blended

What kind of pretentious asshole orders this garbage? Were their taste buds dead?

You mentally sent your condolences to the poor person that had to make this disgusting monstrosity of a drink. Please, you would’ve taken one look at the order and thrown it in the trash.

Your eyes searched the paper cup for who your local coffee shop transgressor was– catching sight of a scribble in blue marker reading “H-A.” You moved your hand a bit to reveal a “W-K-S.” A sense of dread creeps in as you numbly stare at the squiggly heart next to it.

It was like someone slipped an ice cube down the back of your shirt.

You had mistakenly picked up the wildly famous winged pro hero’s order and to make things even worse, put your mouth on where his was supposed to be.

Okay that sounded kind of dirty. But it’s not like you could drive back and return it now, what with your lip gloss already staining the lid.

Hey, um, I think I accidentally took a sip of the Hawks’s coffee? Oopsies? You guess you could pay for his order to be remade, but who’s to say he’ll even come back for it, much less accept it from some random stranger?

You were already running late to your desk job as is, and your coworkers were probably scratching their heads, wondering where you were since you always arrived at least half an hour before them. Should you just throw it away and pretend it never happened?

Oh god, would some person dig through the trash the moment you turned your back and extract your DNA from your lip gloss on the lid, thinking you were a deranged fan who stole his drink on purpose?

Or worse—that you were his secret girlfriend picking up his drink who had just wanted a little taste first before delivering it to him?

Your brain starts to wring itself dry of all the possibilities that could happen, shuddering despite each one being as unlikely as the next. An impressive mental workout for an un-caffeinated person at barely eight in the morning.

You wish you never even went to get your usual little treat today. That barista definitely looked right at you when you went to pick up your order, you swear they did.

But now that you’re thinking about it, maybe they were looking at the person standing behind you that you didn’t see as you rushed out of the shop? How do you even miss a man with wings that big?

Something gently knocks on the driver side window and you almost jump out of your seat.

As you roll it down with caution, your brain momentarily stops functioning as you’re met with a pair of striking golden eyes. Another inch of tinted glass down, a strong Grecian nose.

Forget work, the hell. You didn’t even know noses could be that pretty, and as your last bit of window disappears into the car so does your self-respect as you realize he’s abandoned his usual tan-colored jacket, standing before you in his black compression shirt with gold embossment.

Forget everything, actually.

You don't realize you’re holding your breath until he laughs at you, and you sheepishly close your slightly parted lips.

“Didn’t know coffee thieves came this cute.” Drinking in your appearance his keen eyes stray from yours, slowly trailing down to your trembling lips, a stark contrast to the growing smirk on his. “Or this nervous.”

His fingers drum absentmindedly on the side of your car door, clear amusement written across his handsome face as he waits for you to say something. You collect yourself and snap out of your thoughts, taking a deep breath.

“I’msososorryIdrankyourcoffee!” You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment as your words come out in a jumble. “I totally grabbed the wrong order and I can’t believe I didn’t see you waiting behind me, I swear I’m not a creep–”

“Hey, hey,” Hawks gently interrupts you, reassurance laced in his voice. “It’s all good, no harm done.” He taps the paper cup that somehow miraculously hasn’t slipped out of your fingers yet.

“Sooo was it good?”

You choke on air, not expecting that. “Your drink?”

“Yeah, my drink.” He shoots you a cheeky grin. That bastard. “Good or nah?” You pause, contemplating if you should lie–no. No, today you chose honesty.

“...Genuinely, I have no idea how you drink this shit.”

Hawks laughs at your bold answer. “Thanks for being my little taste tester anyways. Too sweet, huh?” The tip of his finger traces around the remnants of your lip gloss on the lid, the cup still in your now slightly shaky hand as you nod.

His touch seared against your skin, as his pretty fingers closed around yours to raise the drink up to his lips to take a slow sip, eyes never leaving your own.

With a gaze that was infuriatingly sultry as it was sweet, like a bird of prey beckoning a field mouse to be their next meal, he murmurs, “Just how I like it.”

You’re not really sure he was talking about the coffee anymore.

He hums, and your thighs involuntarily clench a bit as his soft-looking mouth closes around the opening of the lid to take another sip.

“I’d say you’re a villain that deserves their own special category.” He grins, eyes sparkling conspiratorially. “One that involves letting me take her out to dinner.”

If you weren’t sitting down you know your legs would have given out. “Like… like on a date?” You gape at him incredulously. Because there was no way. Hawks. Just asked you out.

“Now sweetheart, what else would it be?” Hawks smirks at your dazed expression, like you’re sure you misheard him. So cute. “I mean, unless you don’t want to–”

“No!” He blinks, and your hand flies to cover your mouth at your sudden outburst.

“I-I mean, I want to…” You shyly say at a much quieter volume, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. He leans closer to you with a grin, languidly resting his folded arms over the open frame of your car door.

“It’s a date then. I know this really good sushi and ramen place down the block near my agency, my treat of course.”

“If I’m a villain is this your idea of rehabilitation?” You joke dryly. “Because it’s working.”

He tips your chin up. “Oh don’t worry pretty, I’m just getting started with turning you into a good girl.” A hot flush creeps up your neck to your cheeks, and you almost melt into a puddle right then and there at your steering wheel.

“I’d love to stay but I’m actually so late for work right now.” You utter weakly, chin still resting against his finger. Hawks tilts his head at that, unfolding his vibrant crimson wings as he wordlessly opens the front door of your car.

With little effort and an impressive flex of his biceps, plus a sharp intake of breath from you, one of his arms slips under your thighs and another firmly hugs you just under your shoulder blades as he lifts you up to his firm chest.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he feels your flustered arms hastily reach up to wrap around his neck. Honeyed eyes like molten gold meet yours as he gives a gentle squeeze to your thigh through your pencil skirt, and once again you find yourself needing a reminder to breathe.

“So, where to?”

‎

‎

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‎

‎

‎

‎

“IS THAT FUCKING HAWKS OUTSIDE OUR COMPANY’S BUILDING?!”

say you can’t sleep, baby i know, that’s that me expresso~ ♪

[ineffabletargtowers]

Reading

Summary: You discover that your husband has been practicing his High Valyrian

Content: SFW, angst, fluff, insecurity, making out, neglect (Viserys), self-harm (fingernail picking), suggestive themes

Words: 1.0K

You could hear Aegon mumbling something to himself as you entered the small council chamber. “Good morrow, husband,” you said, smiling at him. To your surprise, he quickly flipped a book closed and turned it over, rising from where he had been seated at the head of the table and moving towards you. “Were you reading?” you asked, pleasantly surprised. With the exception of erotic literature, Aegon usually loathed books. 

“No,” Aegon said quickly, a blush coloring his cheeks a lovely red. “I’m not Aemond or Daeron. There are better ways for me to spend my time.” He looked at you through hooded eyes, his lips curling into a smile as he brought his hands to your waist. “For example,” he murmured, “I could have you on this table.” 

You cupped his face as you kissed him, warm streaks of arousal coursing through your body and pooling in your stomach. Even as desire threatened to cloud your mind, you found yourself wondering what he had been reading. Still, regret seared in your chest as you gently pulled your lips away from his own. “That book,” you began, your voice wavering when Aegon quickly began to leave a searing trail of kisses along the column of your neck. “What is that book?” You had initially assumed that it was an erotic text, but his aversion to discussing it led you to suspect that he deemed it too explicit to discuss offhandedly. 

Aegon gently nipped at the soft flesh at the base of your neck, drawing a whimper from your lips. “Nothing with which you need concern yourself,” he said lightly. 

You moaned quietly as his hands roamed all over your body, copping handfuls of your tits and ass. Your body screamed at you to surrender, to abandon your query and let him consume you until you knew nothing but him. After a long moment in which you very nearly gave in, you tore yourself away from your husband’s grasp and hurried over to the book he had left atop the table. Aegon followed you quickly, hopelessly attempting to snatch the leather-bound tome from your hands. You opened the text, expecting something enticing and extraordinarily explicit, and frowned at the symbols which held no meaning to you. “Is this High Valyrian?” 

Aegon fidgeted at your side, picking at the beds of his thumbnails. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” You glanced at him, watching carefully as his face flushed and he looked away. “I stole it from Aemond so I could watch the uptight twat get upset about losing it,” he blustered. 

You smiled thinly, setting the book down and gently taking Aegon’s hands in your own. He could claim whatever he wanted, but you knew your husband better than he evidently believed. “Were you reading? What is it about?” 

He slowly met your eyes, a hollow look in his gaze. “It is a dragon history. I think.” You squeezed his hands, tears burning your throat as you saw the shame on his face. He sighed, his shoulders sagging as he glanced at the book. “It took me an hour to read one page. I’m fucking hopeless.” He laughed bitterly. “I bet Aemond read the whole thing in an hour.” 

Your heart felt like it was breaking as you pulled him into your arms, holding his body flush against your own as sobs wracked his form. “Your brother spends little time on anything that isn’t reading or swinging a sword,” you said gently. “It is alright that you do not share the same interests.” 

“He honors our family,” Aegon mumbled into your neck. “He ought to be the firstborn.” 

You gently ran your fingers through his blond locks. “Yet he is not, and he accepts this, though he would be dead before admitting it. He may desire the crown, but your brother is fiercely loyal to you and will be at your side when the moment comes.” 

Aegon sighed. “What a complicated prick.” 

You laughed. “He seeks the same acceptance and recognition that you so often search for.” You slowly moved out of your husband’s embrace, smiling at him as you wiped the tears off of his cheeks. “Now, have you been working on your High Valyrian?” His eyes flickered to the tops of his boots as he nodded. “And do you wish to continue to do so?” 

Aegon considered your words carefully. “I think so,” he said after a moment. “I figured I could teach myself. That’s what Aemond did, since Viserys never bothered to even offer to help.” His lower lip quivered as he continued. “I never wanted to learn it because I was afraid that it would make me more like my father.” 

“You could never be that disgrace of a man.” You scowled. “And you should not deprive yourself on that account.”

“I suppose I will enjoy cursing out Aemond without Mother knowing,” Aegon mused. He smiled. “And I believe I am not entirely hopeless. Sunfyre seems to understand me.” 

You gently kissed his cheek. “Of course he does. Aemond may ride the largest dragon in the world, but your bond with Sunfyre is something unique and impressive.” 

“Do you really believe that?” Aegon asked quietly. 

You nodded. “With all of my heart.” 

He kissed you gently, a tender contrast to his usual intensity. When he pulled away after a long moment, he smiled in the rare way of his, his eyes bright and his cheeks lightly flushed. “I love you.” 

Your cheeks burned pleasantly as warmth bloomed in your chest. “And I love you.” 

He contemplated your words for a moment, then grinned shyly. “Avy,” he hesitated, then continued, “jorrāelan. Avy jorrāelan.” I love you.

“I suppose that I can infer what that means,” you said, taking Aegon’s hand and leading him towards the doors as you picked up the book. Before you left the room, you squeezed his hand gently. “Should you ever desire any assistance, I will do what I can for you.” 

Aegon pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Thank you, my love.” 

[lcvemiyuki]

“couple tiktok trends” | hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: haikyuu boys x reader doing tiktok trends

warnings: disgustingly cute

characters: iwaizumi, kuroo, bokuto

a/n: had this idea for a while and these were the first three i just wanted to write <3 (uppercase intended…revising other works soon)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Iwaizumi + leaving lipstick all over his face

(reference video link)

He could never say no to you. That’s why when you sent him a video of a trend going around social media, all he could do was sigh and ask, “Could I at least pick the color?”

He chose a deep wine shade, his favorite lipstick that he loved to see on you. The rich hue always brought out the warmth in your complexion, making you look even more alluring.

It took you only one take as you applied the lipstick meticulously, your eyes meeting his in the mirror. He watched, entranced, as you carefully painted your lips, the smooth motions captivating him. Then, with deliberate intent, you smeared it slightly onto your chin.

Without a word, he moved closer, the roughness of his hand a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. His fingers wrapped firmly around your chin, thumb sweeping across the smeared lipstick to erase the mistake. The touch was gentle but assertive, his eyes never leaving yours. The intimacy of the moment caused your lips to part slightly, a slight smile tugging up, as his thumb lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

Right after, the camera panned to the seemingly nonchalant Iwaizumi, but the glint in his eyes betrayed him. His focus was entirely on you. The lipstick marks scattered across his face and neck were evidence of your small pecks. He looked ridiculous, but he didn't care. He had only agreed to this because it meant he got to feel your lips on him repeatedly.

He wouldn’t hear the end of it from Oikawa once it was posted.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Kuroo + ribbon on bicep

(reference video link)

Kuroo saw it on TikTok and wanted to recreate the video. You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Let's do it," you agreed, deciding to be the one recording.

You both went to the store to buy baby pink ribbon specifically for this. To be honest, you knew he only wanted to show off how much his muscles had grown, but you found his excitement endearing.

Now, in the comfort of the bathroom, you carefully tied a pretty bow on each side of his chiseled arms. The contrast between the delicate ribbon and his defined muscles made the sight even more striking.

“You’re so cute with that look on your face,” he smirked, tilting his head to the side. He was enjoying this a little too much.

“Shut up,” you retorted playfully, your finger lightly nudging his forehead.

Standing in front of your black-haired boyfriend, you held your phone in one hand. The bathroom mirror reflected the two of you, capturing the intimate moment. As Lana Del Rey's dreamy voice filled the room, the video started recording.

Kuroo chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in the small space. With a playful glint in his eyes, he raised both arms and flexed. The ribbons snapped off easily, falling to the floor as his muscles bulged.

“Wow, you’re so strong, Kuroo,” you teased, emphasizing the word "strong" with a sarcastic tone.

“Shut up,” he shot back, mirroring your earlier words with a grin.

Before you could react, his arms reached out, gently but firmly lowering your phone. The camera caught a glimpse of his lips pressing a tender kiss to yours just before the video cut out.

In that fleeting moment, the warmth of his kiss lingered on your skin, the sweetness of his gesture making your heart flutter.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Bokuto + ‘alphabet kiss count’ prank

(reference video link)

You loved to prank your boyfriend here and there because his reactions were so cute.

One day, you decided to ask him if he wanted to film a video with you; the idea was to step out of frame if you hadn't kissed someone whose name started with the letter being called out.

“I’m literally gonna be out of frame 'til your initial pops up, babe,” he laughed, eyes crinkling with amusement.

He agreed anyway, and the two of you stood in the kitchen with your phone propped up on your paper towel roll holder. You started the timer on your phone, and Bokuto immediately leaped out of frame, his frosted tips barely peeking in view, ready to pop back in when your letter was called.

You, however, stayed in the frame with no intention of leaving. As the letters were called, Bokuto side-eyed you, suspicion brewing in his mind.

‘Bokuto starts with a B, and my last name doesn’t start with an A,’ he squinted at you harder, the gears turning in his head.

“A, B, C, D, E—”

“Y/N!” Bokuto jumped back into the frame, his face flabbergasted, eyes wide with disbelief.

“There’s an A, C, D, E, that I don’t know about?!” he interrupted, not even letting you finish the sequence. You burst out laughing at his incredulous expression.

He always got so pouty and whiny whenever you pranked him.

“Baby, I’m just kidding! Baby? Bokuto!” you called out as he walked away with his arms crossed, feigning offense.

The video was long forgotten as you chased after him, showering him with kisses and back hugs, trying to win back his affection. He pretended to be dramatically upset, but you could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing soft kisses to his neck and whispering sweet apologies. "I'm sorry, love. You know I can't resist teasing you."

He turned around, unable to keep up the act any longer, and pulled you into a tight hug. “You’re lucky you’re so—” he suddenly grabbed your arms and laid you on the bed before tickling you, “cute!”

You squealed with laughter, trying to squirm away from his relentless tickling. “Stop, stop!” you gasped between giggles, tears forming in your eyes from laughing so hard.

“Not until you admit you love pranking me because you love my reactions,” he teased, his fingers dancing along your sides.

“Okay, okay! I love your reactions!” you confessed, breathless and laughing.

And in the end, he always won, leaving you both wrapped in laughter and love.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

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[valkyriexo]

They confess in your sleep | OT8

ᑉ³pairing; Bestfriend!OT8 x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Fluff, Headcannon

ᑉ³warnings; none

Chan ╰┈➤ Watching a movie together.

"You drifted off, huh? The movie must've been too boring for you. " Chan says quietly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch tender against your skin. "Or must've been a tiring day." With careful movements, he shifts beneath you, ensuring your weight settles comfortably against him.

He remains quiet for a moment, simply watching you with a fond smile before speaking again. "You look so peaceful when you're asleep." His voice is barely above a whisper, filled with warmth and affection. "I can't help but smile seeing you like this." Chan says his heart swelling with adoration.

Slowly, he reaches for the blanket, delicately draping it over you, taking care not to disturb your peaceful slumber with any sudden movements.

"Maybe I should start picking boring movies on purpose, huh?" He teases lightly, his laughter soft and genuine. He lowers the volume of the movie, not wanting to disturb your peaceful sleep. "Your snores are kind of cute, not gonna lie." He takes a deep breath as he listens to the rhythmic sound of your breathing. "I'll resist the urge to play with your hair... for now."

As the movie continues to play in the background, Chan shifts slightly, adjusting his position until he's resting his head gently on top of yours, his heart beating in sync with yours. "I can't imagine my life without you in it, and I don't want to...I hope you're having sweet dreams."

Minho ╰┈➤ In a waiting area

"Someone's tired." Minho's voice is soft, filled with a gentle warmth as he observes you dozing off in the waiting room beside him. "Makes sense. We've been here a while," He mutters softly.

Without hesitation, he reaches out to adjust the position of the chair, making sure it's more conducive to your rest. "Waiting doesn't seem so bad when I have you beside me." He smiles slightly.

"Should I wake you or let you sleep a little longer?" His concern for your well-being shines through his actions, his priority being your comfort above all else. "They haven't called your name yet."

"Is my shoulder comfortable? I hope it's not too stiff," he asks, a faint blush coloring his cheeks at the intimacy of the moment.

"I mean, I don't want you to think I'm all... rigid or nervous or whatever," he adds quickly, his nervousness peeking through despite his attempts to appear calm.

"It's just, I care, you know? And I want you to be comfy," he admits, his gaze softening as he looks at you, the sincerity in his eyes unmistakable.

"So, uh, if it's not comfy, maybe I can adjust or something?" He pauses, almost as if waiting for your response. "I promise, I'm softer than I look... or seem."

Changbin ╰┈➤ Warming up by the fireplace

"Looks like the fire's doing its job. You're out like a light," Changbin observes with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on your peaceful form as you sleep by the fireplace, your cheeks flushed from the warmth.

"I'll keep the flames going, don't worry," he assures softly, gently tending to the fire to ensure it continues to crackle and glow, casting a cozy ambiance over the room.

"Your weight against me feels... nice," He admits with a fond smile, your presence soothing against the cold of the winter night. "You're like a little furnace, warming me up too. It feels so good against the chill," he adds, his arms wrapping protectively around you.

"I'll just stay here, holding you close," Changbin murmurs softly, his heartbeat syncing with yours as he listens to the steady rhythm of your breathing.

"Your soft breaths against my chest... it's comforting," he confesses with a gentle smile, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now."

"Sweet dreams, my dear," he murmurs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before settling back against the cushions, content to bask in the quiet serenity of the moment, with you by his side.

Hyunjin ╰┈➤ Reading together

"I didn't know you were reading '101 Ways to Fall Asleep' — Book must be a bestseller," Hyunjin remarks with a soft chuckle, gently teasing as he notices you dozing off beside him, the book still open in your hands.

"You look adorable when you're asleep," he murmurs fondly, a warm smile spreading across his lips as he watches you, the peaceful expression on your face filling him with a sense of contentment.

"I'll keep the pages turning while you rest," Hyunjin promises softly, his fingers trailing over the text of the book as he continues to read, his attention divided between the pages and the sight of you beside him, lost in slumber.

His voice hitches slightly as he hears your shallow breaths.

"Your soft breaths against my neck... who needs an audiobook?" he muses quietly, the sound of your steady breathing creating a soothing backdrop.

As Hyunjin turns another page, he can't help but steal glances at you, admiring the way your features soften in sleep.

"I've realized something," he continues, his gaze softening as he looks at you with affection. "I don't just enjoy spending time with you. I... I think I've fallen for you."

The admission hangs in the air, filled with both vulnerability and hope. "I know it's probably not the best time to say this," he adds, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. "But I couldn't keep it in any longer. I just needed you to know."

Han ╰┈➤ At the beach

Han settles in beside you, glancing around at the bright sun overhead and then back at you, considering. "Hey," he murmurs, leaning closer, "do you want me to apply sunscreen for you?" he asks softly, his concern evident in his voice. "I wouldn't want you to get sunburned."

But you don't reply, and Han realizes with a gentle smile that you're asleep. "Are you napping?" he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. "I can't blame you; the sun, the sand, it's all so soothing."

After a while, he speaks again, his tone soft and affectionate. "You know what's soothing to me? Your laugh," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on your peaceful expression.

"Just know I'm here, watching over you as you rest, waiting for those beautiful eyes to open again," he whispers, his words a tender reassurance of his presence and care for you. He settles back against the warm sand.

He takes a deep breath, gathering his courage as he continues. "I don't know what the future holds, but I do know that I want to spend it with you," he says earnestly, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're everything to me, and I hope one day you feel the same."

Felix ╰┈➤ Cuddling

"You fell asleep in my arms, and I couldn't bear to wake you," Felix whispers softly, his voice barely above a breath as he gazes down at you, nestled against him in peaceful slumber.

"It's just you and me now," he continues, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "and you're snuggled up so peacefully." With gentle care, he adjusts his position to ensure you're comfortable, his touch light as a feather against your skin.

"I'm holding you close," Felix murmurs, his arms wrapped protectively around you, "feeling the rise and fall of your chest with each breath." He savors the quiet intimacy of the moment, cherishing the warmth of your presence in his arms.

"I hope you're dreaming of something beautiful," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "And when you wake up, I'll be right here, ready to hold you even tighter." With a tender smile, Felix closes his eyes, content to remain in this embrace with you, the gentle rhythm of your breathing lulling him into a peaceful state of serenity.

Seungmin ╰┈➤ Car ride

Seungmin sits beside you in the backseat, his gaze soft as he watches you drift off into sleep. "Long day, huh?" he remarks softly, his voice carrying a gentle warmth as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face.

"The ride home is pretty quiet without you chatting away," he continues, a faint smile gracing his lips. "I hope you're dreaming of something nice."

He leans his head back against the seat, feeling a sense of calm wash over him in your presence. "I miss hearing your voice already," he admits quietly, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on the fabric of his pants.

"Would a kiss wake you up, sleeping beauty?" Seungmin teases softly, a playful glint in his eyes as he considers the idea. He leans in closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before settling back into his seat.

"I'll be sure the radio is low so we don't wake you," he murmurs.

"Just got home," Seungmin says as the car pulls into the driveway, his voice tinged with affection. "I'll carry you inside," he offers, a warm smile spreading across his face as he prepares to lift you gently into his arms, eager to keep you safe and comfortable even in your slumber.

Jeongin ╰┈➤ Studying for an exam

Jeongin glances over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he sees you dozing off amidst a pile of textbooks. "Hey, sleepyhead," he murmurs affectionately, reaching over to gently nudge your shoulder.

"Looks like those textbooks finally got the best of you," he adds with a chuckle, his tone warm and teasing. "I don't blame you, though. Studying can be exhausting."

He watches you sleep for a moment, the lines of fatigue smoothing out from your face in the embrace of slumber. "It's actually kinda cute, watching you sleep like that," he admits, a fondness evident in his gaze. "But don't make it a habit, okay? We've got exams to ace!"

Jeongin's smile grows softer as he continues to watch you sleep, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of you. "You know," he begins, his voice quieter now, filled with a sincerity that matches the affection in his eyes, "I don't think I ever told you just how much you mean to me."

"You're not just my study buddy," he confesses softly, his gaze never leaving your peaceful form. "You're my best friend, my confidante, my partner in crime."

"And... well, if I'm being completely honest," he admits, a slight blush coloring his cheeks, "you're also the person I've been hopelessly in love with for longer than I care to admit."

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[freedomfireflies]

Overdrive*

Summary: The one where it's 1969 and Harry likes to drive really, really fast.

Word Count: 5.5k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, exhibitionism, very brief daddy kink

Five.

The sound of revving engines echoes between the tall, city buildings. Loud enough to startle a nearby flock of birds on a telephone wire as they take off into the dark night to escape the lurid noise. 

Four.

The smell of burning rubber is everywhere. Tires screech against the pavement as the smoke dissipates into the warm summer air and the drivers prepare for that familiar white flag.

Three.

There’s a murmur amongst the crowd. The bets have been placed and the anticipation has set in. They pick their favorite driver, and they hope that somehow, they’ll be able to beat the unbeatable. 

Him.

Two.

You can see your little speed demon just up ahead as he waits patiently in front of the makeshift starting line. He seems relaxed. Confident. One hand is settled on the steering while the other is flipping the bird to the driver beside him. 

One.

The flag waves and the drivers take off. A streak of color flashes across the street as each of the five cars attempt to take their place ahead of the rest. But nobody can seem to get an edge on the black Lamborghini Miura already skidding around the first curve, effortlessly leaving them all behind.

You grin. It’s harder to see the cars now that they’re on the other side of the buildings, but you can hear them. You can hear his engine, specifically. You’d know the sound anywhere. After all, he spent weeks introducing you to the ins and outs of his favorite toy. Showing you exactly how to care for it, with those rough, practiced hands that also happen to care for you, too. 

You catch a glimpse of his vehicle just before it disappears past the drugstore. He shifts gears and accelerates, just before the blue Stingray to his right can gain on him. You hold your breath as both cars drift around the corner onto the next road and the crowd begins to cheer. 

Harry hasn’t lost a race in weeks. You don’t imagine he could lose if he tried. In fact, he could be blindfolded with no brake pedal and a faulty transmission and somehow, he’d still be miles ahead of the competition. 

It’s one of the things you love most about him. The way his eyes light up when he gets behind the wheel. The way the engine purrs in his hands and the way he can bend the road to his will. 

The Stingray veers to the right in order to get ahead of him, but Harry seems to anticipate this attempt. He cuts the other driver off just before he can speed up and your heart jumps into your throat. The only thing you don’t like about his racing is how careless he can be at times.

If you’re in the car, he takes the utmost care to make sure you’re safe. That you’re never put in harm’s way.

But when he’s alone, he’s in a whole other world of his making. He doesn’t consider the consequences or the repercussions. He doesn’t consider you. The way you’d feel if you lost him. 

And you trust his instincts, you do. But you can’t always say you enjoy the show. 

The Stingray slams on his brakes as Harry takes off and slides around the second to last corner. Tire marks are painted across the cement in his wake and the crowd cheers. 

Your stomach twists. He seems to be doing all right, although one of his fatal flaws is that it’s nearly imposable to tell how he’s feeling. He’s eerily stoic when he’s under pressure and perhaps that’s a good thing. 

But that doesn’t exactly help you now as he zigs and zags across the road before finally reaching the last turn that leads into the final stretch.

This is it. You hold your breath as you watch from the edge of the sidewalk, hands twisting in front of your chest as he races across the last few hundred feet. It’ll be close—the Stingray is gaining on him with each passing second—but Harry’s undeterred. He switches into a lower gear and the engine comes alive. Giving the car torque for those last few inches as he flies across the finish line. And the race is over.

The rest of the cars follow shortly after and the growing crowd of onlookers all swarm the street. They cheer and they holler, and they flock to the handsome driver now stepping out of his vehicle, desperate to congratulate him. But those soft green eyes only search for you. 

When he finally finds you squished between the horde of admirers, he grins, and begins to push his way through to you.

The moment you meet, he picks you up, hugs you to his chest, and spins you around. And you squeal giddily, happy to be back in his embrace as you wrap your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

“My little lucky clover,” he whispers proudly. “What did I tell you, hm?”

The nickname makes your insides grow warm. He’s called you his lucky clover ever since that first race when the two of you met. He claimed he only won because he saw you standing there watching and was desperate to impress you. And that every race he’s won since has been because of you and your charming presence. 

You aren’t so sure you believe him, but you have to admit it sounds pretty on his tongue.

You laugh as he puts you back down. “I know, I know,” you finally concede. “You were right.”

“Mhm.” He smirks—cocky—before he’s surging forward to kiss you. Soft and slow and with a desire that almost feels scandalous for such a public place. “I always am.”

His tongue brushes against yours while his hand splays across your lower back to tug your body to his and the crowd cheers as you giggle. But you don’t fight the way he loves you. Instead, you cling to his shirt and allow him to take what he wants.

When he finally allows you a moment to breathe, you gaze at him curiously. “How fast were you going?”

“120 on the main stretch. 80 on the curves,” he says, then chuckles at the way you frown. “M’fine, Clover. I promise.”

“You agreed nothing over 100,” you remind him.

“Yeah, but I needed to win.”

“No, you don’t need to win. You need to stay alive.”

“Well, why can’t I do both?”

Unamused, you huff, and lightly slap at his stomach. “Not funny, H.”

However, he merely laughs aagain and pulls you back between his arms. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says softly. “You know I’d never die on you. I’d miss you too much.”

“Let’s hope so.” You push up onto your toes to bring your lips to his once more. “Cause if you die on me…I’ll kill you.”

His smile is smug as he kisses you hard before he leads you back to his car. The large mass follows, anxious to ask him questions or offer their praise. And he listens to dutifully, perching himself on his hood while pulling you between his legs. 

It’s the same after every race. The other drivers try to tease him while his growing group of fans are desperate to be noticed by him. He might not be inherently famous, but he is to this crowd. They love a lot of things about him. His skill, his confidence, his looks. 

And you can’t exactly blame them.

It’s impossible to tell if you want to be him or be with him. You imagine for most people, it’s both. He has a sort of relaxed assurance that seems to make everyone else around him comfortable. And there’s a mystery about him. An intrigue to know more about the man behind the wheel. About who he is outside of these races. What he’s really like. 

He slings an arm around your shoulder and pulls you back into his chest. He talks to the driver of the Stingray and they exchange comments about the almost collision that makes your stomach turn. But when he notices, he presses a quick kiss to your temple and changes the subject. 

However, the rowdy celebration is cut rather short by the sound of sirens as two police cars come slinging around the side of a building with their lights flashing and their microphones on.

Everybody scatters, a collection of wild cheers and hollering voices as the officers step out of their vehicles in order to round up the crowd and instruct everyone to return home.

But Harry is unfazed as he pats your hip and nods his chin up. He’s rather good at his getaway now. After all, you imagine he’d have to be with all the times the police have broken up these races. 

And he’s only been caught once.

You slip inside just as he starts the engine. The radio comes alive, the sound of Jimi Hendrix enough to rival the roar of the motor as places one hand on the back of your seat in order to look behind him before he speeds away from the scene, hangs a sharp left, and takes off down the adjoining road. 

The sound of sirens follow. There’s a cop car on the next street over, attempting to chase after him as Harry weaves in and out between the scarce traffic. He’s good—incredibly good—but they haven’t given up yet. 

They cross over and skid behind him. They’re getting closer and the red and blue lights are bright in the rearview mirror. Still, Harry is calm. Simply shifting gears with ease as the car accelerates and offers a bit more distance before he takes a last-minute right in order to shake them.

The force of the turn slings you against the side of the door and you huff as Harry shoots you a cheeky grin.

“Sorry, baby,” he calls over the music. “You all right?”

With a grimace, you nod and say, “Mhm. Just great.”

He winks before he’s blowing through one red light and then another. Somehow missing the few cars currently crossing the street while the police are forced to slam on their brakes as somebody passes. And once they lose sight of him, he veers into an old, abandoned alley to hide.

Seconds pass before they finally fly by. Oblivious to his plan as they head further into town while Harry takes another right and disappears from the city.

He cheers victoriously and rolls down the windows and you laugh as you gaze at him. Entranced by the way he nods his head to the music as a gentle, summer breeze blows through his curls. 

Freedom tastes better with him. Life is better with him. His hand on your thigh, squeezing, while he sings along to Jimi Hendrix and grins at the open stretch of road ahead of him.

You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else and he seems to bask in your admiration before he finally looks over.

“What do you say, Clover?” he says with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Wanna see what a hundred feels like?”

A bit hesitant, yet wildly curious, you nod. 

He reaches for your hand in order to help you across the car, and you crawl over the console until you can settle onto his lap. Once you’re snug over his thighs, his arms slip beside your middle to keep you safe while he holds onto the steering wheel, and you scoot back into his chest for support. 

And it feels good. Comfortable. Even though the car is going faster and faster with each passing second, you feel protected. You know he’d never let anything happen to you. And there’s hardly any danger out here, along the old, backroads away from the city and traffic.  

The needle on the dash rises higher and higher. 70…80…90. Harry’s grinning against your cheek as the wind dances across your skin. The moon is bright in the sky, illuminating the road even without headlights and it’s exhilarating. Limitless.

“How’s that, hm?” he whispers. He kisses your jaw before dropping his foot against the gas. “You sure you’re ready, sweetheart?”

You nod quickly and brace yourself in his hold. “Mhm.”

The car reaches 100 and it feels like flying. You laugh, giddy, and he grins. The straight stretch of empty street might as well be a runway and the faster you go, the lighter you feel. As though the tires will simply lift off the ground and carry you into the sky. 

He shifts gears and the car jolts forward as the needle jumps to 110. You gasp and squirm excitedly over his lap before he suddenly groans. The sound is low and strained and you recognize the lustful cadence almost immediately.

Amused, you bite the inside of your cheek. “You okay, H?”

He takes one hand from the wheel and places it on your thigh. Squeezing it once. Pointedly. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t. You squirm again, settling into the feel of the hardening bulge beneath your ass and he makes another noise that goes straight to your cunt.

Your lashes flutter. The world blurs and your heart races. Perhaps you shouldn’t be doing this while you’re going so fast but Harry is calm. He trusts himself and you trust him.

The needle rises.

“Harry,” you whisper and his knuckles go white against the steering wheel. “Harry, please—”

“What?” His mouth rests against your cheek and you whine. “What, Clover? What do you need?”

He wants to make you say it. Wants to hear the words on your tongue and you swallow thickly as you intertwine your fingers with his. “H…”

“What, baby girl?” He nips at your skin with his teeth. “M’I making you nervous?”

You nod and he chuckles. A dark, sadistic sound.

“Do you want me to stop?”

There’s a quiet moment of hesitation before you eventually shake your head. Of course you don’t. How could you?

“No?” He squeezes your leg, touch slowly slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt. “Good girl.”

The car begins to go faster. 115…118…120. The same speed he reached during the race and even if you knew it was fast, this feels infinitely faster.  

You gasp and clutch his hand. Terrified and enthralled all in the same moment. And even if you shouldn’t be, you feel insanely aroused. Legs squeezing together as he subtly bucks up into you.

The music is loud and the wind is loud and the sound of your heart pulsing in your ears is loud. 

And then…the needle drops. The car slows. The speedometer goes from 120 to 50 in only a few seconds, and you blink curiously before glancing back at him.

He says nothing. His expression is firm but stoic and it’s not until he pulls off the road and into the dirt that you understand.

He turns the car off, then pats your hip. “Get out.”

You swallow again and swing the door open. Crawling off his lap before obediently trailing your way to the front of the vehicle while he follows.

“Bend over.”

You do. The hood is warm but not hot and it’s almost inviting as you place your hands against the covering to brace yourself in wait.

“Let me see.”

Your breath catches as you move your fingers to the delicate panties beneath your skirt. You pull them down your quivering thighs and the summer air makes you shiver. You feel nervous under his gaze. Under the way he owns you. But it’s thrilling. Addictive. And it leaves no room for questioning as you drop your underwear to your ankles in the middle of the open desert. 

You hear him step closer. Feel his hand on your hip as he pulls the fabric of your outfit up in order to get a proper look. But he’s quiet. Almost too quiet, and you feel a touch warm as you wait for his remark.

“Have you been this wet all night, Clover?” he finally asks.

You nod once. “…yes.”

“Mm.” Another pause while his other hand begins to trail up the back of your leg, slowly pulling it open. “And when were you planning to tell me?”

“I…I figured you already knew.”

He hums and you can only imagine his smirk. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you were waiting for, then? For me to do something about it?”

“…yes.”

The tip of his finger drags its way through your folds and the sudden sensation makes you whimper.

“Then why didn’t you ask, sweetheart?” His tone is soft but condescending and you make another noise as you attempt to glance back at him. “Uh-uh. Eyes down, Clove.”

With a huff, you drop your chin to your chest and anxiously wait for more.

“Why didn’t you ask?” he repeats. “Thought I taught you better than that.”

 When your only answer is a needy mewl, he lands his palm against your ass in a sharp smack.

“Speak,” he murmurs. “When I ask you a question, I expect you to use your words and answer me. Is that understood?”

“Yes…yes, I’m sorry.”

“So why didn’t you ask?”

“Was…nervous,” you admit, glancing off into the dark night to hide the shame in your expression. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

He steps closer and his touch becomes gentler. “You were nervous, baby girl?”

“Mm. Knew you were busy and…and didn’t wanna be greedy.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he exhales before he’s grabbing onto the cheeks of your ass to pull you open. Allowing him an even better view of the way you drip. “Can always be greedy with me, you know that? Don’t have to be nervous. All I wanna do is take care of you. My time is yours.”

You release a stuttered breath before your eyes fall shut. You love the way he touches you. The way he cares for you. The way he humiliates you, even out here where nobody can see. 

“Look at you,” he whispers and you feel yourself clench around nothing. “Look at how pretty your little hole is when it’s so empty.”

The pad of his thumb brushes through your folds and he ignores the way you gasp his name.

“Think I should fix that?” he asks. “Think I should fill you up? Make it better?”

“Yes,” you pant. “Yes, please—”

“D’you need me to stretch you open? Hm? Play with your little cunny till you’re coming all over my cock?”

The dirty words inside his gentle voice feel criminal. Your mind turns to mush and you can do nothing more than press your chest into the hood as you excitedly wiggle our ass further into his hand.

He laughs, amused by your desperation in a way that only pushes you further toward the endless edge. “Is that a yes, Clover?”

You nod quickly. Your cheek rubbing against the car until you finally—finally—hear the sound of his belt flicking undone. 

The metal clink is music to your ears and you release a deep moan at the thought of the leather against your skin. Of his cock as it brushes against your clit, mindlessly teasing you past the point of no return.

“Easy,” he says. “Give me your hands, sweetheart.”

Slowly, you pull your arms behind you until he captures them in his hand. He wraps the length of the belt around your wrists until he can securely bind them to the small of your back, and once your mobility is gone, you simper.

“There you go,” he coos. “You okay, honey?”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“Gonna tell me if it’s too much, yeah? If I hurt you?”

“Yes…”

“Know it’s a tight fit, baby, but m’gonna make it work. Promise.”

And this vow makes your heart thumb against the inside of your chest before you feel him disappear from behind you.

And then…his tongue.

He’s dropped into a crouch in order to taste you, fingers locked around your wrists to keep you still while his lips suck on your pussy. 

“H,” you inhale, already undone by his technique. “I…”

He says nothing but the noise of wet licking echoes between your ears. His other hand pushes your leg away, creating more room for his head as he mouths at you. He flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue and you steel yourself against the hood, almost as though to get away.

“Careful,” he warns again. He smacks your thigh. “M’having so much fun. Don’t ruin it.”

And you try to be good. Try to stay still so he can do with you as he pleases. But it becomes increasingly harder when he nips at your cunt like he means to feast on you. 

Your fingers wiggle about the air, desperate to grab him. To clutch onto his curls or yank on his arm. But he keeps you restrained, keeps you compliant. And you are nothing but a toy for him to play with now.

You hear the sounds of the world around you. The crickets, the owls, the flock of birds flying overhead. You’re reminded yet again that anybody could drive by, even out here in the middle of nowhere. They could find you, bent over the hood of a Lamborghini as you get tongue fucked by the handsome man on his knees.

And yet…you don’t care. In fact, you almost hope somebody does pass. Because you know Harry wouldn’t stop even if they did. He’d keep going until you were unraveling in his hands as you whimpered his name.

As if to prove this, he adds a finger in beside his devious lips. “Gotta make sure you can take me,” he says in a low grunt. “S’too tight in here, Clove. Don’t think I’ll fit.”

You whine louder and angle your ass closer. Desperate to get his finger in as far as it’ll go. “I’ll take it,” you promise. “I will. Always do.”

“Always do,” he repeats in a soft chuckle. “That’s right, you do. Treat my cock right, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Nearly purring, you allow the subtle thrust of his hand to drag you closer to that blinding pleasure. 

“Do anything I ask. Even have my babies, wouldn’t you?”

The thought nearly does you in. Your tummy all swollen and full of him. Tits leaking milk that he’d eagerly lap up. The way he’d still treat your body like a temple. A prize to behold. Because you were carrying what he gave you. He fucked you so hard and so deep that you became a vessel for him. 

And even past that, you’ve always wanted to be a mother. Always wanted to start a family with him because you know he’d be a wonderful father. He’d take them to races and hold them on his shoulders so they could watch. He’d kiss all over their little cheeks and tuck them into bed. And your kids would know nothing but love. Because they’d look up to the two of you.

It makes you smile.

“What do you say, hm?” he whispers between kitten licks to your pussy. “You wanna have my babies? Wanna make me a daddy?”

He adds a second finger and begins to scissor them almost immediately until you cry out. Loud enough to startle a bird from a nearby branch and this proves to be answer enough for him.

“Okay,” he decides. “Okay, I’ll fuck your little pussy and get it all nice and full. Give you all I’ve got. And you’ll take it, won’t you? Hold it in your little belly like a good mama.”

You cum. Suddenly and without warning as the intensity of the orgasm explodes behind your eyelids like stars in the sky. You cum and you don’t get a chance to warn him or prepare or even hold off as you feel yourself drip down his hand. 

“God, H,” you moan. You sound pitiful. Voice hoarse from the way you’ve been wailing and arms sore from the way he keeps them behind you. Still, you don’t mind. The pain is pleasure in and of itself. “I…m’so…”

“Yeah.” He stands up and tugs his pants down. “I know, baby. I am, too.”

The tip of his cock drags through your soaked and sensitive pussy before he pushes in. He’s right, it is a tight fit. Even with the way you attempt to relax your muscles and draw him in. But it’s always snug with him and truth be told, you almost prefer it this way.

“There you go,” he breathes, dipping down to kiss your shoulder before drawing back his hips. “Just like that. Fucking hell, Clove, I wish you could see. Wish you could fucking see the way you look taking me right now.”

You wish you could, too. As it is, the feeling is enough to make your eyes roll back and send sparks of electricity up the length of your spine.

He keeps your wrists in his hand as he fucks into you. Sharp thrusts that sound sloppy and uncoordinated but feel like heaven. And there’s an urgency here. A desolate need to feel you unravel. He cares for you and he uses you all with the same technique. 

He grabs your leg and forces it up onto the hood. Giving him more room and a deeper angle just to hear you moan. And you hate that you can’t see him. Because you know how pretty he looks when he’s in control. His adrenaline high and his eyes alive with the possibilities of what he could do to you.

Instead, you choose to imagine. The way a few rogue curls must be sweeping across his forehead, unable to stay constrained beneath the sticky gel he likes to put in his hair. His chest is probably heaving, offering peeks of his tattoos beneath the white shirt clinging to his sweaty torso. His thighs will be flexing with each thrust. The muscles rippling in such a way that would surely make you drool. 

You understand why every woman you pass on the street tends to fawn over him. You know they’d do anything to take him home. Cook for him, clean for him, be good for him. Anything to earn his affection.

But you also know, his affection belongs to you. You’ve seen it, time and time again. He doesn’t even glance their way. He doesn’t notice when they giggle over him or when they try to call to him with their eyes. 

Because his eyes are always on you.

“You’re beautiful,” you hear him whisper. It’s soft—restrained. Almost as though he doesn’t mean for you to hear it. But you do and you nearly sink into the car in bliss. “Fucking hell, sweetheart. You’re perfect.”

A fervent heat rushes through your body from his praise and subsequently has you clenching around him. The feeling makes him groan and you’re proud of the way you can still care for him. Even if you can’t see him. Even if he’s the one with all the power.

“This sweet little pussy takes such good care of me,” he says and reaches around your tummy in order to press his palm against the subtle bulge there. “Every…fucking…time.”

You careen forward, cheek squished into the hood, skin dewy from the way your body shakes with pleasure. It’s always this close and somehow, he keeps you there. As though reminding you not to cum until he says so.

The hand on your stomach moves down until his fingers find your sensitive clit. He rubs and he plucks and he plays with your body with the same precision and skill he uses when he drives. Because no matter how much he loves to race, he loves you more. And winning you will always be infinitely better than winning some goddamn race.

“What do you say, hm?” he mumbles from behind you, rubbing the swollen nerves while pistoning his hips to yours. Dragging you closer and closer and closer. “You gonna cum for me? Gonna let me feel it?”

You nod and when you start to waver over that edge, he chuckles.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, baby, cum.”

You do. Again. Harder this time. Louder. It’s almost cruel how easily your body breaks beneath him but before you can indulge in the feel of the way he follows…he’s pulling out. 

He guides you away from the hood and turns you both around. He sits in the spot you once were and he lets you see him. Because this is what you needed. The intimacy, the eye-contact. The beautiful look on his face.

He guides you closer with his hold on your bound wrists before pulling you onto his lap as best he can. He helps you place one leg back on the hood while his other hand moves to guide his cock between your overstimulated folds. Then, he brushes his swollen tip through, just to tease himself, before he’s pushing in.

And you can see him now. Can see the fucked-out expression on his face. The way his vision becomes hazy and his teeth grit together in ecstasy. 

You whimper, whine, cry out. You want to hold him. Want to wrap your arms around his neck and curl yourself into his beautiful, broad chest. 

But you can’t this time. In fact, he uses his grip on the belt to help roll you over his cock. A soft smile on his face as he whispers, “Just one more, sweetheart. Give me one more.”

He’s insatiable and greedy and you love it. Because you’d fuck yourself on his cock for the rest of time if you could. Even out here in the open.

“Wanna watch,” he whispers, then slips his other hand around the back of your neck to bring you down for a kiss. “Wanna watch the way I fill you all full of my babies.”

You make a rather pitiful noise against his mouth and he smirks. 

“You want that, too, don’t you, Clove?”

You nod, although you imagine it should be obvious. You’d do anything for him. 

“This little pussy was made to have my babies, wasn’t it?” he says and kisses the corner of your lips before moving down your neck. “Just made to be fucked by me. Perfect tummy to carry my kids. You’ll be so good, mama. Know you will.”

Your lashes flutter shut. The nickname breeds something new in your chest, a blossoming sort of urgency that almost makes it hard to breathe.

“Harry,” you plead. You nudge your nose against his temple. “Harry, please—”

“Shh.” His voice is soft. Still mischievous but kind. “I’ve got you. Yeah? M’right here. Just let me take care of you.”

And he does. He moves his hand from your neck to your shirt, slipping underneath until he can find your tits and give them a squeeze. 

“There you go,” he coos. “Oh, baby girl. Do anything for you, you know that? Just to keep you.”

He moves from your chest to your clit, and you know the second his fingers make contact, you’ll be gone. You squirm in anticipation, and he grins against your cheek before kissing you hard. Tongues and teeth colliding as he sucks on your lip and murmurs, “Can I cum in your pretty pussy, mama? Will you let me? Please?”

You nod so quick and so hard, your head aches. But it doesn’t matter because nothing else will ever compare to the feel of his hand on your body and his cock in your cunt. Releasing the warm, sticky offering that means infinitely more now than it did before.

He thrusts up into you a time or two, milking himself with your pussy before he drops back down and pulls you with him.

You’re both panting. Heavy, hard. Depleted of all energy as he holds you as close to his heart as he can.

Eventually, he frees you, tugging on the belt with one, easy pull as it comes loose from around your wrists. And the moment your arms are returned to you, you use them to grab onto his shoulders and bury yourself in his embrace.

He laughs. A delicate sound that makes you feel just as warm as his cock does. And you stay there for as long as you can until he finally nips at your earlobe and says, “Need to get you home, Clove. Don’t want you to get cold out here.”

“M’not cold,” you pout. “And we can’t leave until it works.”

“Until what works?”

You look down and he looks, too.

Then, he grins. A big, giddy grin that’s all teeth and dimples. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Can’t leave until you’re pregnant, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“I see.” He squeezes your hips and kisses your neck. “Gonna have to hold me in there, aren’t you? Keep me all snug?”

“Mhm.”

“All right, mama,” he says and you giggle. “We’ll stay until you’re all nice and pregnant. And then I’m gonna take you home and fuck you again. Just to make sure.”

Your stomach flips.

“S’that sound good, Clover?” he asks, and you bring your eyes to his in order to see him fully.

You smile.

“That sounds perfect, Daddy.”

For a more immersive experience, feel free to play All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix during the chase hehe

Beautiful divider by @firefly-graphics 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

[kalims]

⊹ giving them flowers

premise. no plot we are just giving them flowers cause guys deserve some too <3

content. fluff, mini scenarios, azul turns into a silly nerd (affectionate)

featuring. jamil, sebek, riddle, azul.

note. actually accidentally posted this yesterday and got a heart attack (also an actual consistent posting schedule...?)

jamil gives you a look.

he spares a long stare at the bouquet you clutch between your hands, wearing an awfully cheeky grin that's chipping off the scold in his throat. "how many times have I told you this?" he deadpans.

but from the obvious fact that you're holding it. it's not like jamil can do anything about it.

"you don't buy flowers for yourself," he says firmly. I'm supposed to be the one getting them for you. he would like to add.

"they're a waste of madol?" you tilt your head.

he answers immediately. "no, just—" jamil's eye twitches like he's trying his hardest to keep something. "don't,"

perhaps he's being a little too blunt but it makes him upset. is he really messing up in gift giving to the extent where you have to buy something for.. yourself? and jamil is pretty sure gifts are called as such for a reason.

and that they're from, or gifted to another person.

you chuckle in your fist, but he continues to ramble; "also it's hard to care for flowers when you don't know much, i don't want you to—"

"jamil hon, my baby, the apple of my eye, the love of my life, they're for you,"

you say simply, and watch in amusement when his moments stutter before they stop to a complete freeze.

a furious wave of heat crawls up on his back but he's praying frantically. now is not the time. he seethes.

... he just tripped over his words.

jamil reluctantly accepts the flowers after you've finished laughing your ass off, and the only thing in his mind is the love.

okay maybe he should pick up a book about caring for flowers. do they even survive in the harsh conditions of scarabia?

whatever he'll make it work.

you should've expected this.

despite your arm honestly starting to tremble under the stress of holding it out for about 2 minutes straight now, you still attempt a smile—although strained. wouldn't want sebek to find it an unfriendly gesture.

even though he probably already thinks that anyways.

you don't want to color sebek in a way that shows that his only personality is being suspicious to everyone, and of course. the dearest young master he adores. (seriously though it's a little concerning, and you're kinda jealous.)

sebek stares at the bouquet in your hand with scrutinizing eyes, as if to say non-verbally: 'what is this'.

you sigh when he just stares at it like it's a bomb. "it's flowers." you deadpan.

sebek pursues his lips, looks away before looking back. "I can see that!" he says like he wasn't wearing a face that made you think you had to explain. but he just crosses his arms and falls silent with a huff. "for the young master, yes?'

he pauses. "I can atleast acknowledge your gesture, human!"

was that supposed to be good? you weren't given the chance to explain because he continues again; "though I will have to make sure that these aren't anything the young master is allergic to." he nods to himself, as though proud for being so thoughtful.

your eye twitches. you're a little surprised that he didn't even imply that it could be possibly a bomb inside to try and assassinate them.. but you notice a slight tense-ness to his demeanor.

you know cause he's huffed about 5 times in the past 1 minute, he's looked away and he's very clearly sneaking peaks at your hand.

—then he huffs to himself! then it repeats.

"I will take them to the young master at once!" he announces with his loud volume, stepping forward to grab it from you but you ultimately beat him. you're just praying he doesn't find you 10x more suspicious the moment you had wrenched it back to yourself with surprising strength you didn't know you had.

even he looked surprised!

"no, sebek.." you heave. "they're not for malleus, they're for you."

he didn't have the heart to correct the way you addressed the young master before he dutifully exploded.

he's shaking away from you with a wobbling, agape mouth. he could only open and close them dumbly, not beir capable to let a word out.

you suppose he was too speechless because he didn't even say anything when you happily pushed the bouquet to his chest like nothing happened.

for someone who's most diligent in studying, you'd think riddle would be able to catch on easily on the gist of your actions.

but he just blinks when you hold out your hand. pretty gray eyes trained on the bouquet of red roses in your grasp, then onto your face with inquisitive question apparent with the raise of his brow.

"we have plenty of roses in our gardens." he says, as though like giving him... these is the most bizarre phenomenon in his life.

it seems like he feels the need to add. "we grow them."

you smile, the sweet thing awfully tight on your face. "they're for you," you explain. a little perturbed that you need to in the first place, but it's riddle so you sorta understand?

riddle squints. "why?"

you blank. "like... like a gift, for you? you know. cause I want to."

then as if the slowness of the processing going on in his brain gradually speeds up. it's obvious he's probably realized the implications of your little gift from the jolt, then widened eyes who stare in disbelief.

riddle gulps. "for, me?" he asks stupidly.

your raised brows say yes.

it's almost hilarious when he accepts them gratefully and stares at them like you just sprouted a literal white rose from the ground, wrapped it in some fancy plastic, and then handed it to him with a smile.

silence ensues again. riddle notices, screeches in his head to do something about it except he can't, cause his mind seems to be broken right now and he can't exert any words but a stammer.

and he'd really like to relearn how to speak because you're fidgeting on the spot, clearly nervous by his silence.

"sorry," you chuckle. "um.. it's just red roses, not white, or blue, or pink—"

"no!" he blurts out far too quickly. hands stretched out in the air a little as though reaching out to stop you but then stiffly staying by his side. riddle clears his throat. "I mean... this is... very important to me."

you look like you don't really believe him cause he was going off about roses in his dorm before.

he flushes, away from your gaze. "because its from you."

you can barely see azul.

or gauge out his reaction if it's supposed to be good or bad, because you can barely even see his eyes from all the sudden sheen of white over it. did all the smoke in the room just gravitate over his glasses conveniently or something?

you can spot the joints in his fingers twitching but oddly enough he remains stiff in front of you. uncharacteristically silent, which wouldn't really lead to good things.

"hello?" with your free hand, devoid of any flowers with the power of freezing a person. you wave it in front of his face which seems to have done a pretty good job with snapping him out of whatever trance he's in.

the glasses slip down the bridge of his nose but he fixes them at record speed. admittedly with clammy fingers.

azul coughs. "thank you very much." he clutches them tighter, pursuing his lips.

"I know octavinelle is not the best place for warmer places," he starts and a flash of confusion on your face is something he misses. "but I will manage it and find an accommodation for these, around 34 or 35 degrees."

your brows furrow. what.

"hmm yes... a nice vase, I'll use the most pure water there is." he rants. "then I'll fill it up with two thirds of its container and make sure it lives healthy."

that's... concerning.

"I'll have jade clean it regularly." he says and you're honestly more scared for the flowers. "I cannot trust floyd either so I'll trim it by two centimeters at the right angle occasionally when it dries."

he says all that, with a pink face.

you awkwardly stand there taking in azuls apparent plans on how to ensure the lifespan of your 'thoughtful' gift will be extended as far as he can help in to commerce your honor.

[deaconusdelirium]

ᰔᩚ Older bf!Simon indulging his kid at heart

-

Simon never really minded the fact that his childhood was stripped from him, it happened, it’s over, what can he do about it? Nothing. Best move on to more important things. He thinks about it, but it no longer effects him. He’s human, so at some point he’s going to watch a kid play to their hearts content like it was a foreign thing to him

Simon who raises a brow at every little thing you do when he finally starts to love you. Watching you stare at the toy section a little too long before picking out a coloring book and even longer at the crayon section. The basket in the crook of his elbow as he crossed his arms.

“What’s the difference, luvie? They all color the same” he huffed quietly, earning a soft glare in return. “Oh hush, they’re not the same. See? These ones are pastels, these ones have glitter, this one has forty colors-” you go on as he rolls his eyes and stares off down the aisle. His attention immediately being brought back as you all of a sudden stop. Then he seen what you were eyeing. The colored pencils. He looked at them and then at you before sighing and walking over. Grabbing them and show them to you. “What’s the deal with this one?” He asks, trying to find the difference yet again between the crayons and then pencils. You step forward and then smile almost sadly. “I’ve never really had colored pencils, always seen them but my parents told me they’d go in the trash one way or another” you replied. He didn’t even think twice before putting them in the basket

Simon who watches you later on that night color in the first page that stands out to you. Seeing you color outside the lines but never really seeming to mind. “Inside the lines, darlin” he mumbled as he laid in bed. One arm propping him up as you laughed softly, “oh hush, leave me alone. I like it” you smiled, “you like it messy?” He asked, “well… when you put it that way it sounds sloppy. But everyone always got mad that I colored outside the lines. Found being too perfect was always boring and never really fun. But I like this” you leaned back, looking at the paper as he nodded. Picking up a pencil and then gave a small scribble to the paper.

Simon who finds comfort in walking beside you down a sidewalk. At first he was confused, one second you both were walking and the next he was yanked back, “what’s wrong?” He looked around for any sign of trouble, then looked down at you, realizing you were counting your steps in the large rectangles in the concrete. “I stepped four steps in the last block, if I take another step, this one will be five” you muttered. Deciding not to question it, he picked you up, setting you in the next block and started walking along side you again. Now every time you walk together, he counts how many steps you take in each one, stopping and waiting for you if you need to jump a little or if you mess up your numbers, “you’re at three, luv”

Simon who pretty much never questions anything you do anymore, you want something? He’ll get it for you. Even if it’s a little bottle of bubbles, he’ll grab an extra bottle just so that if you ever run out, you’ll have another. He won’t admit it, but likes seeing which bubble will last the longest before popping

Simon who goes shopping with you and helps you pick out a stuffed animal, which turns into stuffed animals. “Oh- look at this one Si, this one’s a seal” you picked up a chunky looking stuffed animal. Giving a squish before holding it out to Simon, who gives a squish and then takes it into his large calloused hands. Scrunching it a few times and lays his head on it, then nods. Looking at the others, “look at this one, babe, it’s a shrimp” he chuckles, picking it up and showing you. A smile blossoming on your face as you grab it. You both going home with stuffed animals of your own, who later get turned into cuddle buddies. Sedrick the Shrimp and Samuel the Seal

Simon who will bring you your favorite lunch with a nice drink on the side to your work. Walking in pass the reception desk and into your office, seeing that you’re on a call, he holds your food so he can personally give it to you as he walks around the place. Mindlessly playing with a few little trinkets you got lying around. He puts the bag of food between his chest and arm, the drink in his hand while his other squeezes the chicken stress ball. Giving a small chuckle as its eyes pop out with every squeeze. Then he finds another little toy. A crane of sort that has a string attached to the tip that’s holding a ring at the end. A small hook on the beam as he tries to get the ring onto the hook. Giving a quiet “yes” as he finally gets it. Then hands your food over with a kiss when you’re done

Simon who stays up with you one night, not having to worry about waking up early for work. So he has you get up, telling you he’s hungry and that he wants to get something to eat. Then when you tell him you have to get ready. He protests, pulling your hand and tells you that he’s not going out to impress anyone and that he’d rather you be comfortable than walking around fully dressed with your clothes you wanted to wear tomorrow, just to get fast food. Tells you that he feels better when you feel good. Both of you don’t have to worry about the burdens of adult life that early morning

Simon who goes to the Lego section with you- well, more like he drags you to the Lego aisle. Telling you that he likes this one he seen a few days ago. Pretends to look for it when he made it up as an excuse so you two could actually look for something to build together. “Look at this one love, it’s a picture frame” he holds up a box, showing you. “I like that one, but I also like this camera one” you also hold up the box, he looks between the two. Eyes darting to the side before something catches his eye. “Baby, look. These are bracelets, you put little legos on them”. He immediately grabs the box, dropping them all into the cart, not even minding the price it’ll come out to. “We should look at the friendship bracelets” he buys you the bracelets anyways, going home and building the legos together, putting a Polaroid of you two beneath the camera one. Putting a picture in the picture frame one, and you both wearing the lego bracelets

Simon who picks out baby clothes, not boring bland pink or blue ones. No, those are too cliche, no, he wants something that will make those beautiful eyes he knows your little baby have, pop out. Even if he has to special order a few clothes and blankets, he’ll do it. Little onesies that have pictures of Sedrick and Samuel that were obviously custom made by the best and most liked shop.

Simon who signs your little one up for whatever their heart desires. They want to try soccer? He’s going to buy them a small goal and a ball so they can practice in the backyard of your home. They see an event coming into town and they want to go? He’s more than willing to take them. They want money for a book fair? He knows the teachers are assholes so he waits until they get home so he can go back with them. Helping them pick out whatever their little heart wants. Erasers, book marks, little toys, it’s all theirs. They want extra cuddles for the heck of it? He’s bringing you down with the two of them.

Simon who ends up healing his childhood through you and his kid. Even if he was a little embarrassed about it all in the beginning, he realized that he’d rather make memories than skip them being shy and hurting you and your kids’ feelings.

(He totally has his own stash of toys and his own coloring books he’s accumulated over the years he’s known you. He even has his own blankets with hero’s and stuffed animals of his own) ᰔᩚ

-

not really proof read, but you get the idea. Just had this in my head for a bit

[queers-gambit]

Mother Knows No Bounds

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.7k+

note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote

warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother. descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?

please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content: descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.

you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!

The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.

Women skinny dipped. Children ran around without their clothes. Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.

The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.

The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.

It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.

For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.

Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.

You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.

21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.

Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.

However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.

The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.

The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.

Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.

Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.

Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.

Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.

You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.

"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."

"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.

"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"

"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.

He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"I've asked you why."

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.

"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."

Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."

"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."

Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."

"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.

"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.

"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.

"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."

You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."

You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.

When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"

"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."

"Mother, it's too hot for - "

"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.

"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."

"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "

"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."

Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."

So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.

Sweat bulleted on brows. Pale cheeks flushed with heat. Legs started to shake from stress. Clothes dampened and clung to skin.

You were all of the above and then some!

The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.

Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.

Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.

Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.

This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."

"What 'bout the li'l one?"

"Pardon?" Otto blinked.

"The Queen's last son?"

"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.

Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...

"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."

"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.

"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."

"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.

"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."

Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.

The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.

"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."

"We're almost done - "

"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."

You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.

The hall was too hot.

Stifling hot. Suffocatingly hot. Stuffy sort of hot.

Overwhelmingly hot.

Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!

Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!

So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!

However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.

"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"

But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.

"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"

"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.

"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"

"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.

"What happened?" Otto demanded.

"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."

"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."

"You saw the Grand Maester?"

"We did."

"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.

"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.

When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.

When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"

"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"

"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.

"Mother didn't demand you stay?"

"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."

"He was?"

"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.

When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.

The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.

He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.

You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.

Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.

"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.

"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."

"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.

"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."

Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."

With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."

"I-It was a girl?"

"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."

"But my body - "

"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."

"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"

Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."

"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."

"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."

When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."

"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"

"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"

"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"

"How was I to know - "

"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"

"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."

"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."

"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"

"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.

"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."

It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.

Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."

Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."

"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."

"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."

"Just lay with me," you requested.

He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."

"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"

"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."

Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."

"I do not deserve a woman like you."

"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"

His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."

A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.

You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.

You didn't move, staring into the flames.

Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.

King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.

For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just Like Dad (4 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff

Word Count: 957

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Checking through his daughter’s backpack strikes up a difficult conversation.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad masterlist

Price has no idea where his daughter’s disorganization from, but it certainly isn’t him.

Opening her backpack, Price cringes at the mess. It’s all crushed papers, broken pencils, scattered crayons, and food wrappers. Sighing, Price turns the backpack zipper-side down, the contents crashing to the dining room table.

She is going to sit down tonight and organize this. No exceptions.

Frowning down at the wreckage, Price begins sorting through the papers, glancing at a few just to find some order in the chaos. He picks up a piece of paper and pauses, his gaze landing on the title.

All About Me reads the top of the page.

Price smiles as he starts to read over his daughter’s answers.

Favorite color? Blue.

Favorite animal? Dragon—all capital letters with lots of exclamation points.

Happiest memory? That one just says “ghostie tree.” Her teacher will have no idea what that means, but Price knows, and he laughs so hard he almost chokes.

Price’s daughter adores Simon, and whenever he’s around, she turns into a koala, hanging off every limb. It doesn’t matter if Simon is standing or sitting down. And how does Simon feel about it? He’ll act bored, like it hardly bothers him, but then he’ll strike, tickling her until she runs away screaming only for her to return minutes later to do it all over again.

Flipping it over, Price continues to read, pausing when he reaches information about parents and guardians. This is where he slows and observers her writing. She already filled stuff out about mom, and Price knows you’d get a laugh out of her answers, but the sections about him cool his amusement.

Her answers are idyllic versions of himself, nearly whimsical in the way she describes what he does and how proud she is that he is her father. That makes him ache, brings a tightness to his chest that pushes out all other feeling. Price is proud of his work, and of his career, but it is not a beautiful thing.

It is not sweet or kind or tender.

It is rough. It is hard.

It is heartbreaking.

He has lost so many people. So many good men and women. He’s done horrible things. Stained his palms with blood. These are difficult truths he faces every day.

But there are softer moments in his career of watching those he’s mentored be promoted, of victories and celebrations, of marriages and births, and of all those he’s worked with who have gone on to lead fulfilling, happy lives.

All of that, and this isn’t what stops him.

It’s her answer to the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I want to be like my dad.

Price sighs and sets the paper down on the table.

How does he respond to that? Should he even take the initiative? Should he approach the topic at all?

Price isn’t certain.

“Daddy.”

Price starts at his daughter’s voice. He turns. She’s standing just inside the archway to the living room. She has a perplexed look on her face as she glances between him and the mess on the kitchen.

“What’ve you done with my backpack?”

Price blinks, and then chuckles. “It’s a mess, love. We’ve taught you better.” Her face flushes slightly as she slowly walks up to the table. “You’re sitting down and going through this. No exceptions.”

She nods sheepishly.

Price picks up the questionnaire. “Want to talk about this? I have to sign off on it.”

Her flush grows deeper. “Did you read it?”

“I did.”

She looks up at him expectantly and Price waits a moment to see if she’ll say anything. She doesn’t.

“You said some nice things about me,” he says softly, and she beams. It reminds him of your smile, and that melts his heart down to his toes.

“It’s true,” she says brightly, happy that he’s mentioned anything at all.

“You want to be like me?” She nods. “And what do I do?”

She blinks. “Didn’t you read what I wrote?”

Price barks a laugh. “Yes, love. I did. But I want to hear it from you.”

She squares her shoulders and looks up at him with fierce determination. “You protect people. I want to protect people.”

True. But not entirely.

“How do you think I protect people?” He can see her brain processing the question and attempting to formulate an answer. She chews on her bottom lip, shoulders sagging slightly.

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “But I know that you do. You protect me and mom.”

“That’s because you and your mother are mine to protect.”

Protect is not the right word. While his actions and the things that he does might prevent horrible things happening at a global level, doing so often results in pain and suffering. It’s just what happens even when he tries to prevent that.

“Can I not do that?” she asks.

“You can do whatever you want when you’re older.”

But military life? No. He doesn’t wish that for her, and it’s not because she’s a girl. He’d feel the same if she has been born a son. No parent wants to see their child in potential danger. Doesn’t matter what age.

“So I can be just like you?”

He wants to say “no,” but instead diverts the question elsewhere. “You can’t be anything if you don’t organize this backpack.”

She groans and starts rummaging around in the mess.

Price kisses the top of her head. When he glances up, you’re standing in the archway, a soft smile on your face. Did you hear the whole conversation? Or just the end?

You stride forward and reach out. Price meets your outstretched hand, threading his fingers with yours.

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[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dad!Simon Riley x Fem!reader

Simon Riley: Girl Dad

From the request here ; pic screenshot from this video

“Can I come in now?” you ask, popping your head into the nursery as Simon finishes getting your 3 month old daughter Anna ready for the day. 

She wriggles in his grasp, babbling away as he mutters in a hushed tone to her about keeping still for daddy.

"Ya think this is funny yeah," he teases her, tickling her chubby tummy before trying to wrangle one of her legs in his grasp.

It’s like music to his soul the way the happy talking sounds she makes touches his heart and it only makes him want to do whatever he can so that she will keep making them for him. That’s why it always takes longer than usual to get her dressed when he does it.

You crane your neck trying to sneak a peak, but his voice stops you. “Not yet,” he says and moves his body to block your view. 

He doesn’t want you to see before he’s ready. The outfit is one he picked up the other night on a whim, the moment he saw it he knew Anna had to have it for today, and he wants to get it all on to give the full effect. He finishes straightening her up and tucks her body sitting up in the crook of his arm. She is content as can be being snuggled at the side of his chest, happily clapping her little hands together as they turn to face you. 

“Well?” he asks, brow furrowed and body slightly tense as he waits for your critique. “How'd we do?”

You match your daughter’s vibrant smile as you see the outfit Simon’s bought all on his own: a bright yellow corduroy romper with frill capped sleeves, little socks with suns on them, and a big yellow bow to match. Your heart swells full of emotion at the sight; it’s just an outfit, sure, but it really means so much more than the sum of its parts. You know just how far Simon has come in his journey with her and it truly warms your heart to see him so smitten with the little babe this way.  

When she first came home, there wasn’t a moment when Simon wasn’t on edge around her, nervous that somehow, someway, he would end up hurting her. She seemed so small to him in those first days, so incredibly delicate as she lay sleeping in her bassinet like the most perfect doll, that he was certain that someone as rough around the edges as him would never be able to be near her without breaking her and that was something he was not willing to risk.

She is his gift, his light, a treasure that came from out of all the years of heartache and hardship and he would never let anything bad ever happen to her.

It took some time and a lot of encouragement on your part, but finally Simon found his confidence and never looked back. Any chance now that he can get he is holding her, changing her, feeding her; anything and everything he can do to show her his love by his actions alone. And whether he gives himself the credit for it or not, he is doing a marvelous job.

“How did I know you'd choose something yellow?” you laugh as Simon glares at you, trying not to crack that fake tough facade. 

It is becoming a pattern for him to choose yellow things when it comes to Anna. When she came home from the hospital a few months ago in that yellow onesie, it was like a flip and been switched and that was it; that was her hue from then on. It is strange, Simon never really had a favorite color before that special day and then suddenly yellow was never the same. Now he cannot imagine his life without it.

His face breaks into a smile as he shakes his head, not ready to admit that he is becoming predictable. “Come on, did I do it right or not? Just want to be sure it looks fine on her. We got a big day and I want it ta be perfect.”

Your face brightens as you look her over again. “She looks adorable, Simon,” you reply cheerfully. “You did good, baby. I think you’re really getting the hang of this dad thing.”

Looking down at her in his grasp, he beams with a sense of accomplishment and his tense shoulders ease. Parenting is not something Simon ever thought he could be good at, he never thought he would be the one with the chance at having a family, but each day he is making strides in the right direction to becoming the dad he desperately wants to be.  

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own today?” you ask as you watch Simon place a delicate kiss to the top of Anna’s small, wispy-haired head. “Cause I can stay if you need me to. All I gotta do is make a call and let them know I can’t go.”

Simon shakes his head and reaches for you with his free arm, pulling you by the wrist until you step close enough that he can wrap his arm around your hip to pull you against him opposite your daughter. “Ya worry too damn much, sweetheart,” he says as his hand finds your cheek, his thumb stroking across the soft skin before he is leaning his face in towards yours. 

His full lips catch you in their tender embrace, a kiss that is full of emotion, and in an instant your eyes flutter closed as you relinquish yourself to him. You let all those worries fall away as the gentle touch of his lips, the heat from his breath, the passion flowing through his kiss calms your mind. He conveys so much without ever speaking a single word and in a flash you are put at ease.

Slowly he breaks away, already missing your taste the moment your lips part. Eyes still shut, he rests his forehead against yours, rocking all three of you back and forth a moment as he enjoys the feeling of having his entire life resting comfortably in his arms. You both open your eyes after a time and look down at Anna babbling away to herself, before looking back at each other. This is all still new and unchartered territory, so the both of you are working to figure it all out, but so far it has been anything except bad. 

“I promise, I got ‘er. We’re gonna be just fine,” he says quietly. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

At the sound of his voice Anna turns her face to find his and it lights up as it always does whenever her favorite person talks to her. She even employs her recently-learned skill of giggling happily to punctuate that she agrees with whatever it was she was just asked, even though she doesn’t understand a word of it.  

Simon kisses your forehead to be sure the worry is completely gone. “It’s just a couple hours on base and then we’ll be home the rest of tha day,” he says. “Besides, might be nice to show her off to the guys. She does look real pretty today.” 

“That she does,” you agree as you quickly check the clock on your phone and with a kiss to your baby and one more for Simon you are gone, leaving the pair alone.

Simon gets to work double checking everything in his backpack that he has to bring for her: extra diapers, wipes, bottles, toys, anything he could need while he is out. It’s in his nature, years of military training has come in handy as he is prepared for it all. Satisfied, he turns back to the baby at his side. “Alright princess,” he says, “ready to go see where your dad spends all his time when he ain’t at home?”

The moment he’s walking on base, black backpack filled with essentials strapped to his back, tiny baby girl dressed in bright clothes tucked in his arms, he’s drawing curious stares from everyone he passes. This is the first time she has gone to base with him, so of course people are going to be inquisitive about things. How can they not? Simon looks like… well, Simon: intense, stoic, intimidating. Even in just his black t-shirt and jeans, with his lightweight balaclava on, he is still an imposing figure. Never one to be shy per se, Simon still does not like the attention on him, but since he is with his little angel he doesn’t care. He is proud to show off the best damn thing he has ever helped to create.

The contrast between him and his daughter he knows is jarring and Simon laughs to himself at how absurd this must look for someone like him with such a coarse demeanor to be handling such a precious, sweet thing. Who would have thought that the scary skull-masked military officer would have a family of his own? It is a shock he is sure. 

“Seems we’re gonna be the talk ‘round ‘ere today, princess,” he says as he looks down at Anna, secure in his grasp as they continue on towards his office.

She is too busy looking everywhere her little head can turn to be bothered by anything. Being out and about with her father, seeing things she’s never seen before, which is pretty much everything, has her interested and engaged with the sights around her. Those small brown eyes, the ones that are a carbon copy of his, stare on as she silently takes everything in.

He makes it to his office and gets set up, grabbing everything that he needs in one tight spot as he sits Anna up in his lap with a toy for her to play with. She is content for a while as he goes through paperwork, occasionally he gives her a tickle or readjusts her on his thigh, something to show that he hasn’t forgotten she’s there with him. 

Barely an hour has passed before Anna begins to whine and fuss and Simon knows what that means: she’s hungry. He grabs the prepped bottle out of the bag and walks to the small microwave in the corner of the room, warming it and testing it on his wrist before he moves back to his desk and sits back down in his chair, cradling her in his arms against his chest as he places the nipple of the bottle in her mouth.

“There ya are, luv,” he comforts her until she settles into him, “I gotcha. Daddy didn’t forget.”

Unknown to Simon, there is an unexpected guest that has just appeared near his office door, though before the person can even knock to announce themselves, they are caught by surprise at the sight before them. Johnny, who’s come to deliver something from Price, stops right in his tracks and stares at the scene before him.

He stands there, watching as Simon tenderly holds this little infant in his arms, quietly rocking back and forth as she drinks her bottle. Every now and again he speaks to her softly, the skin around his eyes tightening to indicate there is a smile underneath the mask. There is an ease to his movements as if he knows exactly what he is doing and it genuinely shocks the young sergeant. Who could have ever guessed that this would be something Simon would be such a natural at?

As Anna is finishing the bottle, Simon looks up as he feels a pair of eyes on him to see Johnny standing there, obscured by the doorframe, silently watching. He sets the empty bottle down on his desk and moves Anna to sit upright on his thigh, leaning her against the crook of his arm so that he can pat and rub her back until she burps. 

“Can I help ya, Mactavish?” Simon’s distinct voice calls out, catching Johnny off-guard as he realizes he’s been caught staring.

“Sorry, L.T.” Johnny stutters out as he hurriedly steps inside the office, remembering why he is here in the first place, and sets some papers upon his desk. “Price sent these; says he needs ya to look ‘em over.”

Simon nods in understanding, his hand still rubbing the baby’s back. “Will do,” he agrees, thinking this will be the end of the interaction, but Johnny still lingers. “Anything else?”

“I heard ‘round base that ya had your little one here today. Had to come see if it was true fer myself,” Johnny admits with guilt. 

“Well, ya could meet ‘er if ya like, ‘stead a standin’ there just starin’.”  Simon nods his head down at the baby. “Johnny, this is Anna.”

The sergeant observes her as she begins to coo, her eyes catching the tattoos along Simon’s muscular arm, her petite fingers tapping and poking along the lines and patterns with delight as she loves to do when he holds her like this. She’s so engrossed that she hasn’t realized there is another person in the room yet.

Johnny clears his throat. “Didn’t mean ta stare, ya know. It’s just a surprise ta see she’s actually real, I guess.”

The original members of the 141 know about Anna, it wasn’t something that Simon could hide once she was about to make her way into the world, but it’s a bit jarring for the Scot to see someone that he had previously known to be so toughened by the world change so drastically. Anyone who gets close enough can see it in the lieutenant’s soft gaze: he adores the little girl and that is… interesting, to say the least.

Simon chuckles at the clear surprise in Johnny’s voice as Anna is still playing with his arm. “Bit absurd, innit Johnny?” he questions while watching her with a prideful twinkle in those brown eyes as she giggles. “Me with a kid? Doesn’t seem possible, does it?” 

“Ya seem a natural ta me,” the Scot admits in awe of how easily he makes it seem, as if he was given some secret knowledge that made him know exactly what to do and how to do it. “Then again I don’t know the first thing ‘bout babies. Wouldn’t even know where ta start.”

Simon is reminded about how when he first found out he was going to be a dad he had started reading all the books, researching all the things like a good, capable soldier would, but how all of that prep was nothing in the end as the moment she came into the world everything was turned on its head. It’s not like in the books, it’s so much better and it is days like today that make it worth all the worry and fear and anxiety he had to break through to get here.

“Easier than ya think,” Simon replies with a chuckle as he moves Anna around facing forward now. “Once ya get the hang of it.”

“Don’t tell my girl that,” Johnny laughs back. “Can’t afford one right now.”

Anna’s attention is stirred away from Simon’s tattoos and towards the other man standing in the room with them. She looks up at Johnny in awe, not having much experience with others outside of Simon and you, but Johnny shoots her his classic smile and he has her giggling again in a flash. 

“Well hey there Anna, nice ta meet ya,” he introduces himself before turning back to Simon. “I think she likes me.”

“It's your hair she's eyein’,” Simon points out, following her eye line.

Sure enough as soon as Johnny runs his hands over the mohawk cut into his hair her eyes light up. “Can she touch it?” he asks Simon and he nods in agreement.

Johnny falls to one knee in front of the little girl, leans his head down, and lets her put her hand in it. Her short, chubby fingers pull the strands as she laughs, the short, spiky pieces pricking her fingertips. She pulls away quickly before bringing her hand back in again, a sort of game that she repeats a few more times before Johnny gets back to his feet. 

“He’s a funny one, ain’t he, princess?” Simon questions his little one as he strokes his thumb around the smile that fills her tiny, round cheeks. “Ya like him, yeah?”

She coos, her little lips forming an ‘o’ so that she sounds like a dove. That’s the closest to a yes as they are going to get. 

“I sure ‘ope ya do, seein’ as I’m your dad’s best friend,” Johnny picks, looking to Simon to see his reaction. 

He rolls his eyes at the statement, but stays silent and doesn’t correct him. Instead Simon opts to end the conversation there, needing to get finished here anyway so that he can get back home. As much as Johnny’s company isn’t as grating as it first was, he is ready to spend some alone time with the baby before you get back. “Well, if ya don’t mind, I need to get back to it. Say goodbye Anna.”

Johnny agrees, though his mouth twitches like he wants to ask a question, but ultimately decides not to ask it in the end. He turns to leave, but Simon guesses at what he is wanting and calls out behind him so that he stops. 

“And ya can tell the others they can come see ‘er if they want,” Simon assures, “I know they’re probably itchin’ to get a glimpse of her too. That’s why they sent ya, yeah? See if I was up for company?”

Johnny turns around and nods his head. Fuck, they’ve been caught. “Will do, L.T.” he says. “Can ya blame us though? She’s pretty damn cute.”

And with that he turns back around. As Johnny leaves the office with the sounds of Simon and Anna at his back, he can’t help but smile to himself at seeing his friend finally have a bit of happiness; if anyone deserves it, it is Simon. Wait till the others see just how much things around here are going to change.

[risuola]

ENTRY #10 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You make my heart do things it's not supposed to do.

contents: arranged marriage!au, teeth rotting fluff, nothing else — wc. 1000

a/n: expect me to drop few entries very quickly because they are all finished in my drafts <3

series masterlist

It still flustered him.

Satoru never, not once in his 28 years of life, felt more confused, than right now. Why was his heart doing backflips in his chest? He sat there, on the wooden chair frozen and thankful for the furniture that held his weight because if suddenly it’d be taken away, he would collapse to the floor, meet the cold kitchen tiles and melt against them into a puddle of mess. He was there, stuck in time with his head empty and heart racing in his chest, rumbling against the cage of his ribs while you were going about the day without a care and attention to his pathetic state. A state you reduced him to.

It’s been few minutes already and Gojo sat there in silence, watching your back as you were washing fruit in the sink, snacking on the juicy strawberries he grabbed for you earlier that morning — a gesture foreign to his own body but he wanted, for once, to be the person who made you smile and not only experience the effect of someone else’s doing. He woke up earlier that day, before the sun even peaked above the horizon line and with his thoughts racing and stomach full of butterflies, he went on a very special mission.

It was a tiny market, way outside Tokyo but with the loveliest sellers. He found a booth he eyed once when on the job in the area, a stand full of little hand-woven baskets, each of them brimmed with fruit. The strawberries were red, some very bright and some very deep in color, glistening in the early sun with the morning dew that scattered across the surface looked as if little crystals were adorning the harvest. Satoru smiled and the old lady smiled as well.

“How can I help you, young man?” She asked, spreading her arms invitingly and Satoru could tell, by the look of her calloused hands, stained in juice and dirt, she was working hard every day to make a living.

“My wife loves strawberries,” he began, catching himself on the ease with which the word wife left his mouth, “but I don’t know much about picking the best ones. Could you help me with that?”

“You came to the right place, son!”

Just few moments later, Satoru was walking slowly towards his house, after warping back into the city. In his hand, a bag hung hooked over his fingers, full of those little baskets and their contents. He might have gone overboard with the purchase, but the joyful tears that welled in the eyes of that old woman when he paid her for fruit — definitely much more than it was worth according to the prices — he had no regrets. In result he carried the bagful of not only strawberries but also some apples, raspberries and sweet cherries — all of which he was forced to take, despite his initial plans of getting only the red ones you like so much.

“There you are, right on time,” your beautiful, melodic voice greeted him the moment he swung the doors open, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could’ve bought you flowers as well, he planned to do so, but he had to evacuate himself from the grasp of that one seller lady, because as lovely as she was, if he stayed a moment longer, she would pack him her entire harvest of that morning. “I thought you went out earlier, but I made breakfast for you anyway.”

“I went for a little walk,” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant and at ease as he could despite the rageful whirl of butterflies in his stomach. Why was he so nervous? “And I bought you these.”

A soft thud barely made itself apparent above the cacophony of clinking plates and cutlery, but it was enough to catch your attention. You looked at him, curious, and somewhat carefully reached into the bag now rested on the kitchen table. Your face brightened up, your eyes glimmered and you smiled — and Satoru could’ve sworn he’s never seen something more beautiful. You reminded him of a child that got a toy it dreamed of. Pure happiness washed over your features and he wondered if it was always that easy to bring joy to your otherwise calm self.

“Oh my god, Satoru–“ you gasped out, fishing out one of the berries and after a short rinse under the water, you popped it into your mouth and melted. He was told by the woman in the market that the type she was growing on her fields was exceptionally sweet, with the right amount of tang and a lot of juice.

“Tasty?” He asked, watching how you savored the flavor with pure pleasure.

They were tasty. He found out himself, because when your lips pressed to his own, he forgot how to breathe and the only things on his mind were the plushiness of your mouth and that sweetness. His body moved on its own, his hands found their place on your hips, pulled you in, as if it was a natural reaction for him to bring you closer.

And then, before he managed to secure his grip on you, you were gone from his proximity, leaving only the lingering taste of strawberries on his lips and a growing confusion.

I love you.

He heard that right, a gentle whisper against his mouth. You said it, this time you said it for sure, this time he was sure the words actually were spoken, not read between lines.

“Sit down, Satoru, eat your breakfast,” you sing-sang happily, as if you didn’t stop the entire globe just now. As if you didn’t just alter the universe he was in, shifting the rhythm of the muscle in his chest permanently. As if you didn’t just tell him you love him.

But he sat down, afraid to not lose his balance and absentmindedly shoved a piece of a pancake into his mouth.

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[ohbueckers]

SUIT & TIE. all pressed up in black and white, and you’re dressed in that dress i like. love is swinging in the air tonight, let me show you a few things.

ONE-SHOT! pairing, paige bueckers x reader. notes, another request i got done in ample timing because i’ve been procrastinating the last two parts of what’s my name real bad LMFAOOO enjoy! @patscorner @thaatdigitaldiary thanks baes i needed an excuse to use this picture… warnings, sexual content.

you’re standing near the grand entrance of gala, lingering behind as your parents moved effortlessly through the crowd, shaking hands and greeting guests. you’d been to many of these events for their business, and yet you always seemed to dissociate. you glance down at the dress you’re wearing—your girlfriend’s choice, of course. it fits you like a glove, the deep color standing out in a sea of black and white. paige had insisted on it, and you’d given in because the way she looks at you in it is worth every second of doubt you’d had when she first showed it to you.

but paige was late. again.

your dad walks up to you, a smug smirk on his face as he sinks his hands deeper into his pockets. “she’ll be here. follow us in,” it was like he could read your mind as he throws his head in one direction, which you figure is the main hall where the night is supposed to start. his arm extends, offering for you to take it, and after a brief pause, you do, rolling your eyes with a half-smile before threading your arm through his.

she had promised to be here after the nike event, swearing she’d make it before the night really started. you understood; between interviews, sponsorships, basketball commitments—she’s been pulled in every direction, and truthfully, you couldn’t be prouder of her. her fame had skyrocketed this past year, and it was safe to say she was booked and busy. in the world of paige bueckers, this all came with the territory.

but tonight, you need her here. it’s your parents’ night, the business gala they’ve been planning for months, and you were happy the location had aligned with her schedule. as much as you’ve gotten used to being the one waiting for paige, there’s something about this evening that’s different. maybe it’s the nerves of being around all these people, or maybe it’s the way you can’t stop checking your phone, hoping for an update.

the minutes crawl by slower than they should, your eyes flitting across the room, searching the crowd for a glimpse of white. as your fingers tap nervously against the side of your glass. the crowd blurs together—tuxedos, dresses, champagne flutes clinking—but no sign of her yet.

just as you think about actually socializing with other people, your demeanor probably giving uninterested to anyone who thought about it, the doors part, and she walks in, all legs and confidence as she shoots that smile at everyone. for a second, you think you’ve imagined her, that your mind has conjured her up to calm your nerves. but no. she’s here.

and she looks damn good.

your heart rate picks up as she clocks you from across the room, that familiar smirk pulling at her lips when she sees you staring. she knows the effect she has on you, on everyone, and she’s not shy about it.

when she finally reaches you, standing just close enough, her voice is low, intimate as she wraps her hand around your hip, and she says, “told you i’d make it, didn’t i?” paige has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. always.

you swallow, glancing at her shoes—a pair of nike’s that she’d probably worn for the shoot. of course, she’d forget to change them after the event. “you were so close to pulling this off,” you tease, nodding toward her feet. “really would’ve had me if you ditched the kicks.”

she glances down, a mock look of realization spreading across her face. “ahh, i knew i was missin’ somethin’. but honestly? i think they make the fit.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile spreading across your lips. “only you would wear sneakers to a business gala.”

she leans in, smirking smugly, her breath warm against your ear as she murmurs, “and only you could make me wanna skip this whole thing.”

your stomach flips, heat rising in your face at the way her voice drops to a dangerous level. her fingers are still gripping your waist like her life depends on it, just a subtle touch, but enough. you should be mingling, keeping up appearances for your parents, but right now? all you can think about is the way paige is looking at you, like she’s already undressing you with her eyes.

she pulls back, just enough to let her eyes trail over your dress—her dress. the one she picked out specifically because, in her words, “i know what looks good on you better than you do.”

she was right.

“you’re killin’ me, you know that?” she mutters, fingers tracing the delicate fabric of the material.

you raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your best formal composure. “i could say the same about you. what’s with the tie?” your hand moves up instinctively, fingers brushing over it. it’s tucked neatly into her white vest, and you’re well-aware of how comfortable you both look right now.

paige’s grin is slow, knowing. “you’ve never seen me like this before, huh?”

you shake your head, licking your lips as you take her in. “no. and i wasn’t prepared. when do those pics come out again?” you’re serious enough to want to commit this image to memory, knowing that the suit, the tie, the whole ensemble might be your new favorite thing.

before paige can respond, you spot movement out of the corner of your eye—your parents approaching. you practically leap out of each other’s arms, standing a little straighter as they stroll over. you felt like two kids in highschool getting caught doing something they weren’t supposed to, despite being full-grown adults.

your dad gives a pointed glance between you and paige, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “well, isn’t this a sight?” he says with an undercurrent of teasing that only a parent could manage. “glad you could make it, paige.”

paige flashes her most polite smile, but there’s a faint blush creeping up her neck, spreading to her cheeks. “wouldn’t miss it,” she says, her voice softer and less full of the usual slang she’d use. she’s met your parents plenty of times before, but something about the way they’re looking at the two of you now, has her just a little shy.

your mom steps in, her own smile warm as she subtly nudges paige’s arm. “best behavior, okay?”

you watch paige turn a shade darker, chuckling as the confidence she walked in with slipped just slightly. she clears her throat, glancing down at her shoes before looking back up, all politeness. “of course. i’m on my best behavior.” who was she convincing?

you try to stifle a laugh at the sight of her—paige bueckers, who commands attention on the court and off, suddenly looking bashful under your parents’ orders. you’re not sure you’ve ever seen her like this, and honestly, it’s a little endearing.

your dad claps a hand on her shoulder, steering you both back to the crowd. “let’s get back to mingling. it’s almost time for the toast.”

the night continues, your parents dragging you from one conversation to the next, making you play the part of the dutiful daughter while paige keeps her distance, blending in with the crowd. well, almost. on her journey to becoming a household-known name, she had been stopped for pictures a few times. you catch glimpses of her every now and then, your eyes meeting across the ballroom, and each time, she gives you that same teasing look. you were glad she was here even if you couldn’t spend most of the night together.

then comes the toast, your father standing up to say a few words while the room quiets down, champagne glasses raised high. you’re only half paying attention, focus drifting back to paige like it had been the entire night, who’s already watching you from across the room. she doesn’t need to say anything, but the look she gives you is clear as day—a tilt of her head toward the hallway, her fingers brushing against her tie, sending a message that makes you wonder what her plan is.

meet me in the bathroom.

as your dad finishes up his speech, you wait a few seconds before you excuse yourself from the room, sure not to make anything look too suspicious, although your parents knew you and paige well-enough by now.

the noise of the gala fades as you move deeper into the hallway, the plush carpet beneath your heels muffling your steps. paige is waiting for you just outside the family bathroom, her back leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, but there’s nothing casual about the way she’s eyeing you up and down when she sees you approaching.

“you lookin’ real fine right now,” paige says, her voice low, a little rougher than usual. she brings her hands up, rubbing them together as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, smiling through it. “almost didn’t recognize you for a second.”

you smirk, stepping closer, as you swat her hands down, sick of those stupid rizz hands, although it always worked.. “oh, put it down!”

paige laughs, pushing off the wall and opening the bathroom door for you. “c’mon. lemme show you something real quick.”

you step inside without hesitation, the door clicking softly behind you, and in an instant, she’s on you. her hands grip your waist, pushing you back against the door, your ass a cushion against the hard surface. and before you can react, her lips crash against yours. it’s hungry, needy, because paige can quite frankly never get enough of you.

her body presses into yours, and you whimper into her mouth, manicured nails sliding around her neck, tugging her closer. “paige,” you murmur against her lips, but that only spurs her on.

she breaks away just enough to flash you a grin, her breath hot against your skin. “what? you don’t wanna?”

you laugh, the sound breathless as she moves her lips to your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin in a way that makes your knees weak. “i didn’t think we’d be sneaking around at a gala,” you manage to say between gasps.

paige pulls back slightly again, her eyes locking onto yours, head slightly tilted down due to your height. “it’s not sneaking if they don’t catch us,” she reasons, and you suppose she’s right, but there was also no way you’d say no to her right now when she’s looking like that.

you smile, and her hands slide further around your waist. “c’mere.” she bites her lip, reaching for your wrist as she pulls you toward the sink, spinning you around so your back hits the counter. she hoists you up, and you don’t even have much time to process it before she’s on you again, lips finding yours as she slips her knee between your legs, parting them for her next move.

her hands begin gathering up the fabric of your dress, inch by inch. her fingers trail over your thighs, touch giving you goosebumps, and all you can do is breathe her in as she finally pushes it all the way up so it’s scrunched up at your hips.

she pulls away, lips pink and glossy. “you good?” she whispers.

you nod, barely able to speak as her hands explore you, fingers sliding slowly between your thighs, stroking your skin. “yeah.”

it’s all she needs, really. paige drops to her knees, maintaining eye contact as she positions herself between your legs. the sight of her down there should be framed. it has your pulse racing in all the right ways, and you can barely stand it.

she hooks her fingers around your panties, tugging them down like she’s done a million times before, because she has, and you stare at her with all the awe in the world as she pulls you to the edge of the counter. in an instant, her mouth is on you. you didn’t have much time, and the blonde didn’t plan on wasting it. the first flick of her tongue is slow, deliberate, like she’s savoring you, and one of your hands fly to the sink, gripping it for balance as a strangled gasp escapes your lips.

the other hand instinctively reaches to untuck her tie, pulling on it as the movement brings her closer. she smiles, teeth and all against your clit as she glances up, knowing how much you’re enjoying this. she brings your thighs over her shoulders, grip more rough now as she uses them as handles, having you in the exact position she’d pictured.

the sight of her there, all white suit and tie and sharp eyes, makes your breath catch in your throat. her tongue presses flat against you a few times, switching up the pleasure in a way that keeps you on your toes everytime.

you tug on her tie again, harder this time, making her groan into you, and you feel every bit of it. you can’t help it—the way she looks, the way she feels between your legs, it’s all too much. your back arches as you grind against her mouth, your thighs squeezing around her shoulders as the pleasure builds higher and higher.

“paige, please,” you breathe, your voice almost desperate. it’s a plea, but also a challenge, because you know she’s only going to push you further.

she smirks. “not going anywhere, baby. want more of me?”

she didn’t wait for an answer as she removed one of her hands from your thigh, pulling back just enough to see where her fingers were going. right into you, index and middle disappearing, the slight cold sensation of her rings at the base making your jaw drop lower, to the floor if possible.

luckily, you and paige have had sex in a few public places by now that you’d learned how to keep quiet. but right now, she wanted to hear you more than anything. needed to.

“lemme hear that mouth, too. don’t hold back.” and she meant it, head dipping between your legs once again as she got back to work, fingers moving at the same speed as her tongue.

“paige…” you breathe, practically squirming as you screw your eyes shut, unable to contain the whimper that escapes. the thrill of being caught, anyone knocking on that door, or worse, actually getting in, only heightens the sensation. “i can’t—”

“good,” she replies, the teasing lilt in her voice making you moan.

with every lick and thrust, she drives you closer to the edge, and you find yourself losing all sense of time and place, wrapped up in the moment with her. your fingers are still tugging tightly on that tie, and you’re sure this is the closest she’s ever been to your cunt, the closest she could possibly be.

you’re barely holding on, body trembling, legs wanting to close as the pleasure only builds, but paige doesn’t let up. she keeps going, curling her fingers up inside you, mouth moving faster, more insistent. your head falls against the mirror, and you can’t stop the soft, desperate sounds escaping your lips as you come undone without much warning. the sounds were enough.

paige doesn’t stop, not even when she’s sure your body has had enough, and your breath comes out in ragged gasps. she keeps her mouth on you, drawing out every last bit come until you’re spent, legs shaking around her shoulders.

when she finally pulls back, her lips are swollen, and there’s a smug, satisfied grin on her face as she runs her tongue over her top lip. she doesn’t say anything, but she stands up, pulling up your panties with her, making sure they hold every bit of the result she’d given you for the rest of the night. uncomfortable, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

and it’d give the blonde a present for when they’d get pulled down again later.

you’re still catching your breath, your fingers loosening from around her now shriveled tie. paige looks at you as if she’s just won a championship, glancing down at her chest as she tries to smooth out the tie, tucking it back in her vest. “good as new,” she mumbles.

you laugh, breathless, shaking your head as you tug her back into you, pulling her in for a kiss. “shut up,” you murmur against her lips, tasting yourself on her tongue.

but before you can say anything more, she pulls back, her grin widening as she whispers, “round two at the hotel?”

you’ll never be able to look at her in a suit the same way again.

[cinnasweetss]

Out Of Bounds (M) - sim jaeyun

PAIRINGS: jake x female reader, afab reader

SYNOPSIS: in which jake is your little brothers best friend that knows absolutely no boundaries when it comes to you.

GENRE: smut, pwp.

CONTENT: jake is super whiny, one-sided pining, reader is slightly older, overuse of the word ‘noona’, jake def has a thing for older women, mentions of drinking, masturbation (m), mentions non consensual groping, mentions of verbal threats.

jake is everything but a pleasure to be around. endless flirting, groping, threats aimed at your boyfriend, and other unspeakable things. all done where no one can hear you beg him to just leave you alone, just this once. or hear him grumble about how much he likes you, and won’t stop.

jake is like your brother too, just a little bit more annoying. although his actions can be a bit much, you know he’s a kind hearted boy deep down with pure intentions. even if his actions can be a bit much. it’s nothing you can’t handle.

your never bring this up to your brother either. never would you deny him of a friend just because he has a very insatiable desire for you. boys will be boys! your friends say their siblings friends develop little crushes on them too. but jake’s feelings and wants for you are not little.

so, it’s no surprise that he calls you late at night after a night of drinking with your younger brother. overcome by the feeling of needing to hear his best friends older sister. just to settle him. that’s it.

your phone rings next to your pillow, pulling you from your slumber. it takes a minute for you to roll over, sighing when you pick up your phone and see ‘sim jake’ written across the screen.

“hmm? what is it?”

you know he’s been drinking. that’s why you don’t hesitate to answer. “Just…thinking about my noona.” his noona. you’re always referred to that way. his voice is slow and slurred, hinting at just how much he’s drank by now. “are you drunk?”

you have to say you're flattered. extremely. to be on his mind even when he’s drunk and has likely been around plenty of drunk women says a lot. “a lil- little bit..." you hear an exhale come through the speaker, and another noise follow. "jake, how much did you drink? do you need me to come get you?" you’re sitting up out of your bed, ready to throw on clothes and leave just incase he does need you. there’s a short pause before you hear his voice again.

“Can you- fuck... can you say my name again?" he sounds out of breath, and you can faintly hear some very suspicious sounds coming from the other end. those words mark a new boundary that’s been broken. adding to the multitude of broken boundaries. "what are you doing?" his tone sounded very suggestive, and it makes you stop, pressing your phone closer to your ear. "Thinkin' about you, noona..." he responds, and this time, he moans. "Jake..." you don’t mean to feed into him. not all all. you're just utterly shocked and at a loss for words. but most of all, worried about this would affect your relationship with him. "oh, fuck.” he's shameless in the way he moans, loud and whiny, begging you to say more. "tell me, noona..." he starts, moaning directly into your ear... "y-your panties...what color are they?"

“they’re…red..”

"ahhh, shit." you can hear him struggle with himself like he's imagining you in red panties , likely doing something lewd. "today...in the kitchen. did you like it? when I touched you?" ‘touched’ is too sweet of a word to describe what he did to you. groped, manhandled, fondled, is better. overpowering you when you tried to push his hands away from your chest, beg him to stop before your brother sees. tell him he must learn how to control himself.

“you cant...touch me like that...it isn’t right.” those are words you’ve said to him a million times before. words that go through one ear and out the other without a second thought. "cant help it. fuck, fuck, i'm so close! keep talking, please noona!" you can hear him increase speed in whatever he's doing, which, sounds exactly like he's jerking off.

"you're so pretty, too pretty, noona..." he rambles on in his fit of pleasure. telling you how much he wants to kiss you, and fuck you between very loud moans. "wish I could cum in you instead...agh! I gotta have you...gotta make you mine." his words bring heat to your cheeks despite the vulgarity of it all. "Jake..." you start, the other seemingly seconds apart from coming undone. "yes? yes, yes, noona!" he pants over the phone, whining and struggling to hold himself back from cumming before you get to respond. "maybe one day." those words from you are all it takes, a "fuck i'm gonna cum! i'm cumming! fuck!" being yelled into the speaker as he releases every pent up emotion he has for you in the form of one intense orgasm.

sim jaeyun, is way Out Of Bounds.