#they got allen wrenches

[five-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

sure, you may be going to college. but me? im going imma going imma going to the going to the hardware going really going imma going imma going to the hard oh yes im going to the hardwareee storeeeeeee

[ryuseitai]

whatever shall i do with the rest of my day today

[dilfsuzanneyk]

i just woke up from a short nap and i dreamt i got stuck in a church of some kind and the priest wouldn't let me out unless i recited the entire fast part in hardware store

[postmanlinksbootyshorts]

my sewing machine is not timed correctly so i haven't been able to test it out yet ://// on the plus side im a pro @ threading it tho

[llycaons]

the reason I rolled a stupidly large and heavy package for 15-20 minutes on uncertain terrain with a shopping cart im flummoxed is still holding together was because my stinginess rears its head for the most random things and I categorically refuse to pay someone to drive me less than a mile even if it would make my life much much easier

[rejectpile]

aaaaaaaaaaAaaaaabcddddddddeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeefgghhhhhhhhhIiikllllllllmmmmmmMmmnnnnoooooooooooopprrrrrrRrrrSsssssssssttTttttttttuuuuuvwyyy’’?:,;

POEM by IKEA

[bookshelf-dust]

promise to take care of my heart

carmy berzatto x fem!reader

gif by @emziess

word count: 1,830

warnings: nothing? a little swearing, but this is pure fluff and that’s all

synopsis: carmy wants to cuddle with you for the first time.

a/n: hi! new character, i know. but i’ve become rather attached to carm in the past few months and i had a cute idea for him and here we are. he’s bringing me so much comfort right now and now i’m gonna share that with you <333

————

“Why don’t you pick out a movie or somethin,’ bub?” 

“If I could find your damn remote, Carm, I would.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes on his hands where they sit deep in the dishwater below. Good luck, he thinks. 

You scan the coffee table, the rug below the shabby couch. It’s not like there’s any use checking the tv stand because it’s still a fucking table tray. You know he doesn’t even own the full set of four table trays? He’s just got the one? That knowledge keeps you up at night. Just like how he doesn’t have a ceiling fan pull and has to get tweezers to change the speed.

You find the remote nestled in a stack of freshly organized books. You helped Carmen assemble a very simple bookshelf so that his stash of cookbooks wouldn’t have to live on the floor anymore. 

Just getting to help him turn his apartment into something other than a place to sleep brought you a contagious giddiness. Carmen’s chest aches with how much he’s laughed since he met you. 

Look at all my muscles, Carm. I’m practically ready for my dick now, don’t you think? 

Where’d you even get these? He’d looked down at the little allen wrench in your hand and said I don’t know, they were just here one day. 

Now you have a bookshelf, Bear. What a grown up. 

Carmen wouldn’t let you help him with the dishes after he cooked you dinner. He’d just kissed your shoulder and said, “Let me take care of it, alright?” with that little raise of his brows and quirk of his lips telling you not to argue because you’d never win. 

And when Carmen tells you to let him take care of something, well…you listen. 

You haven’t been dating very long, but it’s been enough that you’ve both developed this rhythm, this way of moving around and with each other and you just…work. 

He doesn’t understand how you can dial his shyness, his hesitance, so quickly, how you can make him feel like a human again so easily. But you do. 

You settle against the back of the couch, flipping through the tv guide (because Carm has never subscribed to any streaming services) until you find something worth listening to. It’s already a few minutes in, but you’ve seen the movie enough times that it doesn’t really matter. 

The overhead light in the kitchen switches off and Carmen pads out to the living room, socked feet dragging on the hardwoods. Your biggest pet peeve is people who don’t pick up their feet, but somehow it’s more tolerable when it’s him. 

He sits down on the edge of the couch. Just sits. On the edge. That means he wants to say something. You give him the time to psych himself up. 

Carmy chews on his thumb nail and rubs his nose before he turns to you, placing his hand on the couch. His blue eyes burn into yours, and the intensity of his gaze, trained on you, makes you feel like the most important person in the world. 

“H-hey, um…can we—could we snuggle, maybe?” He flushes at the fact that he just used the world snuggle. Richie would have his ass so quick if he’d heard him say that. 

Your grin is brilliant. You’ve never cuddled properly with Carmen before. Maybe a head on a shoulder or a leg tossed across another, but never a real cuddle session. “Fuck yeah, we can, Carm.” You giggle and the sound softens that bubble of fear in his chest. 

He bites the inside of his cheek, letting out the barest laugh. 

“How did you want t-to lay, Bear?” You blink at him. “Were you just gonna—” 

He starts to nod. “I was just gonna lay on your chest, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that works.”

“Y-yeah.”

You snort. “Lemme’ stretch out for you and then you can be a teddy bear.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Carmen shakes his head at you. He lets you pull that shit because he likes it. Secretly.

When you have a pillow under your neck and are laid out on your back, Carm slips beside you against the back of the couch and clumsily settles on top of you. He doesn’t want to crush you or anything, so he settles between your legs, only allowing the weight of his torso to envelop you. 

One arm wraps around your back, the other cradling your hip, his curls brushing your chin. He turns his head to face the tv and lets out a satisfied sigh. 

On instinct your hand threads through his tangled hair, scratching at his scalp gently and sorting through any piece that feels knotted. 

“What is this?” Carmy asks, nodding in the direction of the screen. 

“The Wedding Planner. It has Jlo and Matthew McConaughey in it.” 

“Chick flick?”

You hum in agreeance. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t hate it. Jlo’s character is like you but if the restaurant was a wedding planning business and you were, you know, a chick.”

He laughs lightly against your stomach and you can feel the puff of air over your shirt. 

The weight of Carmen’s body on top of yours is easily the most calming feeling you’ve ever experienced. You can’t get enough of him. 

“This okay?” you ask, scratching his scalp a little more for emphasis. This is a new way of showing affection. Uncharted territory. 

“Hm?” He looks up at you briefly, blue eyes fluttering closed. “Oh yeah, feels nice. I like it.”

You grin and continue to play with his hair. He’s right. It does feel nice. It is. 

The next few minutes go by without any conversation, just silence. But it’s so comfortable. Carmen’s tired gaze is on the tv. You can feel him breathing, feel the way he scratches over your back absently. You don’t know if he’s aware he does it, but he nuzzles his nose against the soft of your stomach every now and then like it’s keeping him safe. 

“You know I thought about being a wedding planner?”

Carmy pushes up onto his elbows, looking at you with the smallest smirk playing on his lips. “Really?”

You playfully bat at his shoulder and he moves to lay back down, but not before pressing a kiss to your sternum over your shirt. “Mhm. Still think about it sometimes.” You pause, but Carm doesn’t say anything yet because he knows you aren’t finished with that thought. 

“I guess I just thought it’d be nice to help put things like that together? The organization would make me feel…complete, I guess. And you know I don’t like to help people in such an extroverted way? I like to be behind the scenes.” You laugh, a little self-deprecatingly. “Does that make sense?”

Carmen squeezes your side. “‘Course it does. And then you could come home and tell me stories about all the family drama you eavesdrop on.”

You giggle, and Carmy loves that he can feel it where he lays on your chest. He can feel your joy, and that’s fucking cool. “That I could.”

He rubs your back in small, gentle circles. “And you know, I happen to have some friends who make pretty good food and would be happy to help if you ever needed.”

“Oh, do you? Well, that’s very helpful, Mr. Berzatto. You’ll have to give me their number.”

Carmy laughs into your chest. A pure, genuine laugh. It’s such a beautiful sound, and you truly think you’d have it tattooed all over your body if that was even remotely possible. His glee makes you laugh, and then you’re both snickering like you’re teenagers doing something that’ll get you in big trouble. 

You reach for his hand, the one that’s resting on your hip now, and he lets you lift it towards your face. He bites his cheek, fighting the smile that rises when you press your warm and chapstick covered lips to his knuckles. 

“You have such pretty hands, Carmy.”

He pinches your back. “I still don’t get why you’re so fascinated by them.”

“Because they’re pretty. And, look—” You hold yours up to his. “—they’re so much bigger than mine. And I like your tattoos, obviously. I like that I know how talented you are with your hands and how capable. I’m very lucky to hold such capable hands, Bear.”

“Capable, huh?” He gives you a look, one that makes you want to both tackle him and smack him on the arm. Instead you roll your eyes and he raises up to kiss you. 

“Capable of being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.”

Carmy laughs. It’s that little chuckle, light and airy and like he can’t believe what he’s hearing but he wants to hear more anyway. He flops back down on your chest, making you let out a rather loud oomph. 

You take Carmen’s hand in yours again, rubbing over the dry patches on his knuckles, the scabs on the insides of his fingers, the scar on his palm. His whole life is written in these hands. 

You start massaging the pads of his fingers without even thinking about it. No one’s ever been that gentle with him—definitely not with his hands—and a little part of him melts at the feeling. 

You kiss the tattoo on the back of his hand and just look at his skin. You’re determined to memorize each line and freckle and fucked up cuticle he’s got. 

“At least your nails don’t look like Richie’s, Carm.”

His chest moves with the giggle that travels throughout his body. 

“Trust me, they didn’t look like that when he was still with Tiff.”

You grin, your eyes falling back on the television. Maybe Carm would be open to setting it on the bookshelf? That table tray has put in a lot of work. It deserves a break. 

Carmen can see why you’re so fond of this movie. It’s one of those that doesn’t require much thought, that has humor and feels more human than most. He knows he shouldn’t think it, but you having said what you said before makes him wonder if you’ll plan your own wedding…with him. 

Shut the fuck up, he tells himself. But maybe we’ll get there. 

You catch him smiling when they fuck up the statue in the garden and pretend not to notice. You both keep quiet now, but Carm reaches up and puts your hand back on his head.

Your fingers thread through his curls again, scratching at his scalp gently. Your other hand does the same thing to his back. You know it’s going to lull him to sleep. 

When you say it, he’s already dozed off. But you are so happy that you get to make him feel safe. That he’s comfortable enough to sleep on you like this. Lucky is an understatement. 

“Thank you for letting me in, Bear. I don’t think my life has ever been this beautiful.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[accidentcache]

Building ikea furniture with touya??? Something I have gots to see. And maybe hawks in the background giving out “advice” and commenting a on the progress.

this could either be so silly or rage inducing

"touya," you palm is flat as you hand it out towards him, holding two pieces of the desk you were currently building together with the other hand, "give me that piece."

touya is currently trying to piece together micellaneous parts together, sitting just off to the side of you. almost like a child being given a toy to keep him occupied while you get the main meat of the work done yourself. after the shelf incident, you were releuctant to let him help you but he wanted to help so bad.

bonding time babe.

i need to work on the mobility in my hands, remember?

you can't keep doing everything for me, i've gotta learn to do some stuff on my own!

well, when you let him build the shelf by himself-- it fell apart the second you tried to put something on it. he kept telling you he really tried, but you weren't convinced.

so you had him hand you the pieces you needed while you put together the desk purchased for his 'office' at home. and quickly you realize that he and keigo had picked out the most difficult desk available at the ikea closest to where the three of you live. you've been cursing in your head for the past twenty minutes to never let those two go furniture shopping without you ever again.

you let go of the two pieces in your hand once you realize they aren't fitting where you think they're going to. they clatter to the floor and touya watches them, barely flinching before his eyes meet yours. "i don't think those go there," he offers, not helping in the slightest.

your eyes narrow. even though he looks cute right now-- his hair has gotten longer since leaving rehab so it hangs in his eyes and he finally let you tie it up in a little pony tail on the top of his head-- you continue to glare at him. "thank you," you say through gritted teeth.

touya smiles-- infuriatingly cute and smug at the same time-- and you turn your head away before he can win you over.

the door to the front of the house opens, keigo kicks the snow off his shoes at the mat by the door before he calls out. the door opening brings a small chill to the rest of the room for a brief moment before it dissipates-- an added warmth of a particular blonde spreading throughout the living room when he leans against the doorway.

a murmur of interest leaves keigo's lips at the sight of you two. touya sits cross legged, fiddling with small screws and nuts, swinging an allen wrench around his fingers with a small smirk spread onto his lips. you look frustrated.

a small grin spread onto his lips. "babe, those pieces don't go together."

your eyes roll back with an agitated growl. "i know!" you can't help but snap at him.

but keigo eggs you on further. he moves more into the room, kneeling to grab a slab of the wood, holding it to the barely put together mess of a desk that is just barely put together in front of you. "this goes here, dove," he teases. "and that piece," he drags a finger along the slab that you had just recently gotten attached, "is on wrong."

you scowl and toss the instructions at him. "you put it together then!"

keigo cackles and touya can't help but chuckle. both of them can't help the way their faces fall however when you stand from your spot however, huffing and muttering to yourself. suddenly they realize you're not going to help put the desk together anymore-- and that's when they both chase after you with apologies and pleas and sweet talk.

does it work? yes. it always does.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

[megamindsecretlair]

Hiii so ik Halloween is coming up! So I wanna know if you could do another jack the reacher fic! (Love that man) Basically y/n spend every single day with your bf except for Halloween. Y/n has been with him for 2 years now and it’s kinda getting old. So ofc this year like always he tells y/n to stay away from him on Halloween. He’ll suggest visiting your parents or hanging with friends at party just something to keep her busy until his little spell is over. Though what y/n doesn’t know is every Halloween he turns into a werewolf, demon, orc…. (Anything you want! Your choice of monster!) He definitely doesn’t want his precious gf to see that! He just can’t control anything while he’s in that mode and he definitely doesn’t want to be near y/n while this happens. He doesn’t wanna hurt or. ….break her. Buttttt y/n doesn’t listen and goes to see him anyways, she acts like she’s leaving when in reality we stayed just to see what goes on. At first the speculation was cheating…ofc our loving bf wouldn’t do that to us right..?? So the reader sneakily finally finds out what her boyfriend is hiding and BOY IS SHE IN FOR QUITE THE RIDE! *I have a cnc kink and manhandling kink, and I would love for the reader to just be bratty in general! Cause as you can see we don’t listen! 🤭 He should definitely put reader in a full nelson….sigh me and my delusions

Ps. Can the reader be black! And plus size thank you!

General Note: I do not, have not, and will never write non-con.

Pairing: Werewolf!Jack Reacher x Black!Fem!reader/plus size reader

Warnings: 18+ only. MINORS DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. PWP, PIV, Cursing, SMUT, oral (fem receiving), nipple play, cum play, primal play, bratty reader, Sorry if I missed others. No spoilers for the show.

Summary: See Ask. With the exception of non-con. Halloween happened to be your favorite holiday and you wanted nothing more than to spend it with your sweet boyfriend, Reacher. However, Reacher had other plans that didn’t involve you. Upset with your plans ruined, you decided to disobey his strict order to stay at your parents’ house. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, you only knew that you wanted answers. Patience was never your strong suit.

AO3 Link

Word count: 5,847k

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive!! LOL.I have no excuses for myself other than WHEW!!! This broke me. I need to go hose myself down. Happy Halloween-Eve everyone! Enjoy! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Something was wrong with your boyfriend. 

You eyed him as he grew more antsy during the week leading up to Halloween, only your favorite time of the year. You loved the costumes, the makeup, the scares, and thrills. It spoke to your soul in a way no other holiday did.

Similar to last year, Reacher grew more agitated. Little things pissed him off. When he wasn’t working a case for the Army’s Military Police, he walked around like a bear with a thorn in his paw. 

He was never mean to you. Never snapped. Never treated you as anything other than his adorable girlfriend. Even now, on the actual holiday, he was putting together a bookshelf for you because your old one broke from all of the books you had. 

You sat on the floor beside him, handing him different screws and allen wrenches whenever he asked. You loved days like these. Loved seeing him domesticated. 

“I was thinking you might go with your parents again today,” Reacher said, unprompted. 

You blinked your eyes at him and tilted your head. “For…Halloween? Again?” You asked. 

“Yeah. You said you had fun last year so…” he said, letting the sentence dangle while he studied the instructions once more. He made it sound innocent, but your warning bells went off instantly.

Your mind trailed to the slutty nurse outfit in the back of your closet. You had…plans. You had an entire night planned of passing out candy to the kids until it got too late. Then you were going to take him to your room and give him some tender love and care. 

All of that flew out of the window…again. Last year, he made the excuse that he was in the middle of an important case and wasn’t able to spend the holiday with you. You knew dating someone in the military would have its ups and downs but you figured that living close to the base meant that he’d be around more. 

This year, however, you made sure that he hadn’t taken on any new cases. You gently steered him to take the time to rest. Not that the big brute knew the meaning of the word. He was like a machine, always moving forward. Never settling. You never wanted to dim his wanderlust but…didn’t you deserve to spend your favorite holiday with your boyfriend?

You could deal with everything else. You could deal with the missed nights, the long cases, the confidentiality. You trusted him. Yet…was he cheating? Was that it? Why this specific night? 

“Reacher, I’d kind of like to spend the holiday with you. I had a few surprises planned actually,” you said.

Reacher looked up from screwing in a shelf and looked at you. He was always so severe. Mouth pressed into a thin line and eyebrows raised like he wasn’t in the mood for any lip talk. He smoothed out his eyebrows and his mouth drooped into a smirk.

“I’m sorry. I know how much this holiday means to you. I have something important to do,” he said. 

“Like? Is there a reason I have to leave my own home for this?” You asked. He held out his hand for the next screw and you handed it to him. His palm was hot to the touch, hotter than normal. 

You looked back at him and really looked him over this time. Your boyfriend always ran hot but he was scorching. He was sweating a bit too even though the temperature outside was below sixty and dropping by the hour. 

“Are you feeling okay?” You asked. You leaned up onto your knees, letting your fluffy skirt settle around your thighs, as you placed the back of your hand to his forehead. You snatched your hand back with a hiss and rubbed it.

“You’re burning up! Do you need to go to the hospital?” You asked.

“I don’t get sick,” he said, his mouth lifting into a smirk. 

You huffed. “Everyone gets sick, Reacher. Even you,” you said. Though, come to think of it…you’d never seen him so much as sneeze. 

“I don’t get sick,” he said, leaning over to peck your lips. His lips were warm too but you welcomed the kiss and wished he’d ditch the bookshelf and come play with you. Ever the stickler for accomplishing his honey-do list, he leaned away from you and went back to assembling the bookcase. 

“I’d feel better if you were with your parents where your father can look after you,” he said. 

You sat back on your knees and huffed. “I don’t need a big strong man to look after me, Reacher,” you said. The last thing you wanted was to spend the best holiday of the year around your boring ass family. 

Your father had also been in the military and his hard ass didn’t understand anything he couldn’t see. Trying to carve out time for spooky shenanigans in a cold house full of rules and expectations was hard enough growing up. You always felt like a toddler retreating to your parents’ house, where your larger than life father treated you like his baby girl. 

And Reacher knew that. He stopped working and looked at you. “I just want you safe when I can’t look after you myself,” he said.

“Because…?” You asked. You needed a reason. He had to give you a valid reason. Because if this became an every year type of situation, you’d have to sit and talk with him about it. You didn’t ask for much. Reacher rarely denied you. So what was the problem? 

Reacher smiled and wiped his brow. He could claim he wasn’t sick all he wanted but he sure looked like it. Since when he did he sweat like this, inside the house, wearing nothing but a black T-shirt and sweats? 

“You know I can’t tell you,” he said.

You pouted and turned doe eyes on him. Reacher sighed and chuckled, looking away from you finally. “Please?” You asked. You scooted closer, sidling up to his big, thick body and placed your head on his shoulder. 

“Don’t,” he said.

“Pretty please?” You asked, biting your bottom lip. You dialed up the cuteness, making your eyes as wide as they would go. 

“It’s not going to work,” he said. But you already heard the resolve in his voice weaken. He tried to work with you on his shoulder but you rubbed your cheek against his bare arm. He sighed and pulled you into him, kissing your forehead. 

“You know being a brat doesn’t work on me. Come on, help me put this up before it’s too late,” he said.

“Too late? Got a hot date somewhere?” You asked, leaning away from him. You were only half joking. You wouldn’t seriously be with someone if you thought they had the capacity to cheat. Reacher was loyal through and through, almost doggedly so. 

“Smart ass. No. I want to get you to your parents before it gets too dark outside,” he said.

He was really adamant about that. You deflated, sinking onto the floor and handing him the next screw. Reacher glanced at you and sighed. “Please don’t hate me. I’m only looking out for you,” he said.

“I know, Reacher,” you said. You would just have to…make do. You’d leave the bowl of candy outside and let the kids take whatever they wanted. You could watch kids on the ring camera and scare them when they least expected. It wouldn’t be the same but at least you’d get to see some kind of excitement tonight. Too bad it wouldn’t be by riding your boyfriend until the morning light. 

You continued to help him with the bookshelf but your heart was no longer in it. You handed him screw after screw, letting the whir of the fan be the only sound in the room. 

Reacher thrived in silence so you didn’t expect him to fill it with useless conversation. Now you just felt stupid sitting in your costume. If he knew that he wanted you to go to your parents’ house, couldn’t he have said so before you dressed up? 

Sure, you had hours to go before nightfall. Before the kids and adults began walking around the neighborhood in their cute, creative outfits and bags or bowls of candy. But…this sucked. 

You pouted as he finished the bookshelf. You kissed him to thank him but swiftly retreated to your room to get ready. You already knew the drill. You removed your costume and threw on your own pair of joggers and one of Reacher’s shirts. It fit you like a dress but it was comfy and smelled like him.

Reacher got dressed in record time, damn near whistling now that you agreed to go to your parents’ house. You watched him move stiffly, like he was in pain but would never admit it. Things just weren't adding up. Your intuition was screaming at you, warning you that something wasn’t right here. 

You watched him carefully as he continued to wipe his brow or sniffle. If he were sick, he would tell you, right? He swiftly locked up the house, practically kicking you out of the house. He opened the car door for you, ushered you inside, and then hopped into the truck himself.

You still eyed him as he flew through traffic, making it to your parents’ house in twenty minutes flat. 

“You’re being weird,” you said when he parked in the driveway. Your parents’ house was in the middle of a cul-de-sac. The perfect environment for trick or treaters. Yet, this was the most geriatric neighborhood with only one young couple living at the end of the block and they didn’t have kids. 

You’d be lucky if anyone stopped down this street tonight. It was usually dark, lacking decorations, and no one turned on their porch lights. It was the opposite of your place. This place was dull and void of anything resembling fun. 

“I know. And I’m sorry,” he said. He reached out to take your hand, his hand burning to the touch. You held on anyway and turned to him. Turned to the man you were madly, wildly in love with. 

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” You asked. 

“I promise nothing’s wrong. After tonight, I’ll work on a healthier work-life balance,” he said. 

He kissed the back of your hand and you turned to his soft eyes. He still looked the same when he looked at you. Still radiated the same amount of love that was likely reflected in your own eyes. You were going to talk about this. There were no ifs or buts about it. You were going to talk and he was going to listen. 

“I’ll hold you to it,” you said. 

Reacher kissed your hand one more time before exiting the truck and walking around to open your door. He helped you climb out of his massive truck and then walked with you to your front door, head on a swivel as if you were being watched. He sniffed the air and you found yourself looking around as well. 

You used your keys to enter your parents’ house, calling out to them. Your mother rounded the corner immediately, opening her arms and drawing you into a hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you had plans?” Your mother asked.

“Plans changed,” you said before Reacher could start in with that bullshit line. ‘Duty calls’, your ass. You had half a mind to follow him wherever he tried to go tonight. 

Your mother stepped away and then hugged Reacher, looking incredibly tiny compared to how big Reacher was. The idea took root in your mind as they spoke about you and how this was your favorite holiday. Your mother droned on about how you were as a child, trying to draw vampires and werewolves on pieces of paper for decorations. What she didn’t say was that your father tore them down and promptly turned off the lights, not wanting to give the wrong impression. And save money to boot. 

Your mind formulated the plan quicker than you could keep up with. You could wait until night time, keeping an eye on the ring camera, and then take your mother’s car back to your place. You’d get to the bottom of why Reacher absolutely needed the house to himself for this one special night a year. Once was a fluke. Twice was intentional. 

Your father lumbered into the room, eyes squinting at the intrusive noises. He looked Reacher up and down before breaking into a wide grin. “Reacher,” your father said.

“Sir,” he said back, grabbing and shaking your father’s hand. You eyed them both coolly, wondering how you ended up with two pig-headed men. Done with the niceties, Reacher pecked you respectfully on the cheek. 

“I’ll call you when I get home. And then I’ll make it up to you, promise,” he said. You saw the twinge of heat in his eyes. The sparkle of mischief that let you know that he absolutely would make it up to you. It would probably involve intense oral and your pussy throbbed just thinking of him sitting between your legs until you begged for mercy. 

You waved goodbye to him and watched him walk out of the door, already turning to your mother with a sweet smile. “Can I borrow your car later?” 

Night time fell in waves, turning the sky from dusty blue to purplish black. Few stars twinkled overhead as you drove your mother’s car to your place. There were more cars out and you kept getting distracted by everybody in their amazing costumes. 

However, you kept your phone on while looking at the video of your front door. You had a back door as well but Reacher rarely used it. Since coming home earlier, he hadn’t shown any sign that he left. 

You were being paranoid. You knew this. You knew that he told you to stay away from the house and you were supposed to be at your parents’, trapped in your little tower, but you had a gnawing pit in your stomach.

What if he was sick? What if he was lying on the floor of your bedroom, delirious and out of his mind? This was just a wellness check. That was what you told yourself to justify disobeying his precious orders. In reality, your curiosity ate at you. You wouldn’t be satisfied until you knew for certain that Reacher was okay. That he was just poring over disturbing case files. Or whatever the hell he did on base.

You parked a few houses down from your place and then carefully made your way down the street. You smiled at kids in their costumes, remarked on how creative they were, and then sidled up to your house.

Little did your Reacher know, there were a few blindspots in the cameras. The camera angles couldn’t cover everything. There was one narrow slip down the side of the house that none of the cameras caught. 

Your heart pounded in your chest and your legs wobbled but you were here now. Had to see it through. 

You walked to the backyard, careful to avoid the back camera. You’d have to hope he wasn’t looking at his phone when you were ready to enter. Your boots crunched on dead leaves underfoot, sounding as loud as bone crunching. Your heart beat rapidly, creating a booming drum in your chest. 

A stiff wind blew across your skin and you shivered as you hovered at the side of the house. This was nuts. You were a grown woman sneaking around your own home. Reacher was active military and was not expecting you. If he thought you were an intruder and shot you, you wouldn’t know what to tell Jesus.

“Sorry, Lord, I thought he was cheating on me.” What a stupid way to meet your end. Rationale kicked in with the dropping temperature. You shivered, pulling your phone out of your pocket and scrolling to Reacher’s number.

His thumbnail was a rare picture you managed to snap after you smeared ice cream on his nose during a mini vacation. He had his eyes closed but a clear, goofy grin on his face. It was your favorite. He didn’t deserve this. None of this. 

Rattling chains tore your attention from your phone to the back of your house. Chains? What the fuck? 

The chains rattled again followed by a low whine. It sounded like a wounded animal. Your fingers shook while holding your phone. You were frozen to the spot. Should you investigate? That was some grade A white people shit, but again, what if Reacher was sick? What if he was in trouble at this very moment? 

You knew how to shoot thanks to Reacher’s careful instruction and need to keep you safe at all times. The only problem was, his guns were all locked up in the basement. You took a deep breath. You could be strong for Reacher.

The camera be damned, you jogged up to the back of the house and used your keys to get inside. The house was dark, lights off and no movement in the house. You wanted to call out, but you still didn’t know where the rattling chain sound was coming from. 

You carefully picked your way through the house, turning on your flashlight. Even if a thief saw you, you just didn’t want Reacher to shoot your ass. You walked down the hallway, scanning the phone’s beam over every inch of space before you.

You definitely saw Reacher come inside and never leave. So where the fuck was he? Did he know about the blindspots too?

A high-pitched, animal-like whine tore through the house and turned your insides liquid with fear. 

What. The. Fuck. 

The beam of light shook, creating wavy shadows on the walls. You took a deep breath and decided to brave it. If there was a big ass animal stuck in your basement somehow, you needed to know. If Reacher was into some demon sacrifice shit, you absolutely needed to know right this second. 

Your sexy bear was more than capable of handling himself. He had been nothing but sweet when it came to you. But you never truly knew a person. And if that motherfucker was summoning shit in your basement, you were going to scream bloody murder. Assuming you escaped from him. 

You shook your head, stepping closer to the basement door underneath your stairs. The rattling and whines began to mix, creating a disharmonious screech against your eardrums. Enough to make them itch.

You opened the door and peered down the rickety stairs. You hated the basement. Hated going down the wooden slats that felt like it could give at any moment. The light was on down there with a large shadow moving to and fro. 

You were going to be sick. What were you about to find? “Momma ain’t raise no bitch,” you muttered, clutching your phone to your chest. It was a small weapon, but it’d do. 

You took the first step and then another, curiosity making your steps quicker. Like ripping off the band-aid, you just needed to see. Needed to know. If you were harboring a freak or a psycho killer this whole time, you were going to be sick. Not knowing was killing you. 

With each step gained, more and more of the basement was revealed. You stepped low enough to peer under the ceiling and gasped, hand flying to your mouth. 

A man-like figure stood with its paw on the cement wall, other hand thrusting furiously on its…dick. Its throbbing, dripping dick. The keening whines you heard were the excited moans of the figure, stroking its dick. 

The figure was hairy all over, clearly naked, with pale skin poking beneath gray patches. The arms had muscle stacked on muscle and it had to be at least seven feet tall. Just barely missing the top of the ceiling. It stood on haunched legs, claws extended and scraped the cement flooring. 

The snout was slightly elongated but somehow human with protruding canines poking from thin lips. “Fuuuuuck,” the beast growled. 

You gasped, growing more aroused by the second. This was sick. This was hot. You watched as it bent its head towards a pillow with a long shirt draped over. It stepped closer to the pillow, chains rattling around its hind legs. You glanced at the long shirt. It kind of looked like…

Was that your shirt? Was the beast jerking itself off to your shirt? How long had this creature been here? Where did it come from? And where the hell was Reacher? 

The beast tipped its head back, fingering the tip of its dick. Gathered up beads of pre-cum and then stroked itself again. Your name pushed from its lips sounding suspiciously like …

“Reacher?” You asked.

The beast turned its head completely to you. It was hard to tell but…those eyes. He couldn’t change those eyes. 

He called your name, spreading his arms and looking like a deer in headlights. Maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut. You wanted to see him cum. 

“Leave!” He growled, his voice impossibly deep and animalistic. He stepped forward but the chains prevented him from getting too close to the stairs. You looked him over. You didn’t know how to deal with this. 

Should you run? Should you call for help? Should you help him finish? You stepped down the rest of the stairs and Reacher held out his hand, urging you to stop. You did, one step from the ground. 

Reacher paced, sniffing the air and whining. “Go away before I hurt you,” he said, his eyes glowing with fury. You heard the warning bells in your head but you were too full of lust to pay attention. This was an impossible dream come true. An entire fantasy brought to life. How many monster fucker books did you have on your brand new bookshelf thanks to Reacher? 

“You won’t hurt me,” you said. 

You had a million questions. How? How did he become this? How long had monsters been walking the planet and no one knew? No one had pictures. No one had proof. How? 

Reacher pawed at his ear as if he were ready to burst from his skin. He continued to sniff the air, whines escaping from him as if he couldn’t help it. He was still fully erect, thick bead of pre-cum leaking down his tip and dropping to the floor. His dick was twice its normal size and stuffed. Your pussy clenched looking at it. 

“Go away,” he growled. He was clearly a true mix of man and beast. It should scare you. It should be the last thing you entertained. But your eyes kept dropping to his dick. 

“Reacher…”

“GET OUT!” He yelled, pulling at the chains against his legs. The hook pulled from the wall and if he weren’t careful, he would break it altogether. 

A tiny bit of self preservation told you to leave. To turn and close the door and leave him to…whatever the fuck was going on. You stepped backwards as he continued to whine and pull at the chains hooked into the wall. 

The one holding his left foot down escaped from the wall entirely. He stopped whining and looked down at it. He slowly raised his furry face and tilted his head at you. His eyes narrowed and then he sniffed the air, getting closer to the ground until he was on all fours. 

You backed away, keeping your eye on him. This was too new. You didn’t know what to do here. Should you run? Would he just catch you? You backed up the stairs and Reacher’s eyes followed you until he couldn’t any more.

You turned and ran just as the other chain came loose and then his booming steps were following close behind you. You swore you already felt hot breath on your neck as you exited the basement and ran towards the front door. 

Reacher snarled, hot on your heels. Teeth snapping, howls splitting the air. You didn’t have the presence of mind to scream. Or yell for help. You passed by the living room just as Reacher’s massive body pushed you to the ground.

You fell forward with a thud and grunted, knees smarting from hitting the hard flooring. Reacher sniffed your hair and your body, excitable whines leaving him. Or were those moans? 

He licked your cheek, long tongue lolling out of his mouth. He sniffed you more, hands searching your body but you didn’t know for what. 

“What do you need?” You asked. You tried looking behind you. The room was pretty dark but enough light from the porch shone through your windows and illuminated parts of his face and body. His body hair was soft, snuggly, and you kept yourself still as he continued to paw at you. What was he looking for?

“You. You. You. You.” Reacher was out of his mind. He couldn’t stop chanting that word as he pawed and ripped at your clothes. He stopped and growled low in your ear. A moan escaped you anyway. 

Fuck, you were turned on. Turned on to the max. Your panties were soaked with your essence as Reacher sniffed your neck, your back, and trailed down to your joggers. He growled as he caught your scent and then leaned down harder on you.

“Trying. To. Fight. Must. Go.” 

“Why? What do you need? What do you need from me?” You asked.

“Can’t. Control.” He growled, grinding his pelvis against your legs and onto the floor. 

“Sex? You need sex?” You asked. This was what he had been hiding from you? Did he not trust you with this? 

“Don’t. Want. Hurt. You.” He grinded his hips again, a low, deep whine escaping him. 

“You won’t hurt me. It’s okay,” you said. Hell, if it was sex he needed then you were more than game. You slid sideways and he growled, pressing his claw against your back to hold you down. 

“It’s okay,” you said. You slowly flipped over, letting him know that you weren’t trying to escape. Once on your back, Reacher sniffed and pawed at you once more. 

“Leave.” His eyes were full of anguish and despair. But he drooled and licked his chops. His teeth were large, sharp enough to cut through glass you bet. 

Your hands moved to your joggers, peeling it off of your sweat-slick body. Your body thrummed with anticipation and adrenaline, the earlier chase only turning you on more. You kept your eyes on his as you shimmied out of your panties and pants. 

He sniffed at your tummy, moving lower to your pussy. He groaned, a distinctly human sound, as he ground his hips into the floor. “Smell me. I want you. I want this. You won’t hurt me,” you said. 

You lifted the hem of your shirt and took that off as well. Cold air hit your nipples but with the overbearing heat radiating off of him, it was manageable. Reacher sniffed at your exposed skin, licking your nipples. You moaned and arched your back. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, that felt amazing. 

His long tongue captured your entire titty in one lick, leaving a neat trail of saliva on your skin. You shivered as he did it over and over, licking around your nipples. He went back and forth, alternating between them both. His nails clicked on the hardened floor as he braced himself, climbing up your body. He licked your neck and whined, adding in a moan that made your pussy flutter.

As if he heard it or possibly smelled the fresh slick between your thighs, he leaned back on his knees and then spread your legs. “Oh fuck,” you moaned. He was so..unhinged. He operated on instinct, spreading your legs as far as it would go. 

“Sure?” Reacher asked. “Don’t. Hurt.” 

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” you moaned. 

Reacher reached down and used that wonderful tongue to lap at your aching pussy. You moaned and tried to close your legs to the onslaught of pleasure. Hell, you didn’t think you could go back to getting eaten out the regular way. 

His tongue was beautiful and nasty as he latched onto your clit. His sharp canines grazed your pussy lips but never punctured skin. You writhed on the ground, pulling at his hair. He growled and increased his licking and sucking. 

You were falling head first into a powerful, sinful orgasm that robbed you of sight and breath. Your hearing went out of one ear as you convulsed on his mouth, shivering and twitching. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” You cried. One orgasm led to another, making your entire body buck off of the ground. Reacher held you down with his paws, made you take his tongue between your thighs. He pushed his tongue into your dripping hole and your eyes rolled back into your head.

“Fuck, just like that. Just like that,” you moaned, yanking at his hair. If it hurt him, you didn’t hear. You dug your nails into his scalp as he pulled another orgasm from you. Your thighs shook, the heels of your feet digging into the hardwood flooring. 

Reacher lifted his head finally, licking his lips. Your essence dripped from his mouth and you licked your lips. Your hearing slowly returned as he grabbed your hips and flipped you over. 

“Floor too hard,” you moaned. Fuck. He was about to take you doggy style. You couldn’t help arching your back and wiggling your ass. Reacher growled and then jumped to his feet with inhuman speed. As if he had extra muscles in this form that allowed him to move more smoothly.

He picked you up and then placed you onto the powder blue rug in your living room. Much better. He dropped to his knees and roughly grabbed your hips. He pulled until your back was arched once more, ass high in the air. 

His claws dug into your ass cheeks as his dick poked and prodded at your entrance. You were dripping with slick, pussy clenching and unclenching at the back to back orgasms. But fuck, you wanted more. “Take what you need,” you moaned. “You won’t hurt me.” Even if he was rough, you’d accept it. 

Reacher pushed in, met resistance, and kept going. You cried out, fingers clawing at the carpet. The stretch burned. He was far bigger than his normal size and you struggled to take him then. It took a lot of prep time to have sex with Reacher. It was beyond needed now. But you didn’t have time. 

You were driven out of your mind with lust. The darkened room, the grunts and moans coming from his raspy throat, and your moans created a sweet symphony. You were drunk on it. Intoxicated by it. You tried to wiggle and push down on his dick.

Reacher howled as he sank further and deeper inside you, pushing beyond your limits. Stretching you out completely. You were completely stuffed and he still had more to go. “I can take you, baby. Keep going,” you gasped and moaned.

You shut your eyes to the sheer pleasure coursing through your body. His dick hit a deep spot inside you and you collapsed onto the floor as the orgasm tore through your body. You felt like you were split in half on his thrusting, throbbing dick. 

“So good. So good. Needed.” Reacher moaned in between howls. 

“Oh fuck. I can’t, I can’t,” you moaned. You drooled onto the carpet, body limp and weak. Reacher gripped your hips tighter, holding you, impaling you on his dick. He thrust a handful more times before he finally unloaded, stuffing you to the brim with his cum.

You were filled up like a pastry. He thrust harder, pushing it deeper inside of you. It was so much cum, it dripped out of you despite his dick keeping it inside like a plug. His cum leaked down the sides of your pussy lips, around your clit, and dropped onto the floor. 

“One more,” Reacher said, sounding more like himself than before. 

“I can’t, baby,” you whispered, voice completely gone from all the screaming and moaning you were doing. 

“One more,” he said again. He pulled all the way out of you and then thrust back in. He did that over and over, wet smacks filling the air. Your pussy ached and throbbed but you continued to accept him into your body. You made room for him. Made room for his still hardened dick spearing you. 

He whined, claws still digging into your hips. You were going to have bruises like a motherfucker in the morning. But it was so worth it. You clenched around his dick and Reacher moaned, faltering with his steady rhythm and sliding in much deeper than before. His tip kissed your G-spot and you came instantly, flooding his dick with your essence. 

You screamed out, cries echoing and bouncing around the darkened room. Reacher finally pulled out and your pussy squelched. 

You moaned and shivered as more of his cum leaked out of you. You gently fell to the side as Reacher cuddled up next to you on the floor. You petted his thick fur, mind blissfully quiet and empty.

You were nearly asleep when the doorbell rang. Reacher growled, clutching you to him. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you said. 

You petted him until he calmed back down, settling down with a contented sigh. You grabbed the nearest throw blanket and wrapped it around yourself. “Who is it?” You called out.

“Police, ma’am,” a deep voice said.

You looked out of the peephole to see two officers in uniform standing outside your door. You threw a nervous glance towards Reacher who was still fast asleep. You cracked open the door and peeked out.

“Yes?” You asked.

“We got a few calls about strange noises coming from this address,” one of the police officers said. 

“Sorry. Me and my boyfriend were going a little crazy with the whole Halloween theme,” you said. 

The officer looked towards his partner and then glanced back at you. “Are you safe, ma’am?” He asked quietly.

You smiled and nodded your head. “I assure you, we’re good. More than good,” you said with a sleepy giggle. It was a miracle you were still on your feet. The officer gave you one last look and then tried to look behind you. But the door was only open a crack and there was nothing for him to see.

“If you need help, here’s my card,” he said. He handed you a card and you waved. You slammed the door in his face and locked it behind you. 

You leaned against it with a bone weary sigh and rejoined your werewolf boyfriend on the floor. You were going to regret sleeping on the floor in the morning but for now, you couldn’t give a single damn. 

Thank you for all the love for my first Reacher fic! The Secret Jack Reacher Files

Taglist:

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @00aijia00 @amethyst09 @ciaqui

@we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @kiwi-jelly-mochi @liyaah02

@thabiddie23 @melanated-writersblock @iwudbutnah @keyaho @cardierreh15

@titty-teetee @westside-rot

[unnonexistence]

friendship ended with phillips-head screw. now robertson-head screw is my best friend.

really fun to be able to put "drill holes in wall" on your to do list sincerely

[melody-sy]

i said, "you got any allen wrenches?"

he said "NOOO we're out of allen wrenches!"

[kckt88]

Scorched Hearts XX

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

Aemond begins training Valaena with the sword, and Jaehaerys descends further into his obsession.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Violence, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, P in V, Public Sex, Crush, Obsession.

Other warning under the cut!!

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 9445

A.N - Sorry for the long word count but I couldn't split the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx

T.W - Non Con, Sexual Assualt.

The quiet corridor echoed with the soft patter of footsteps as Aemond paced back and forth, his arms cradling the small, squirming form of his son, Vhalarr.

The babe’s face was scrunched in distress, his tiny fists flailing as he released sharp, heart-wrenching wails.

“Shh, shh, ziry iksos sȳz, ñuha byka zaldrītsos” Aemond murmured softly, his voice a low, steady hum of warmth and patience (It’s all right, my little dragon).

His silver hair, usually so pristine, hung loose around his shoulders, tangled and wild. His shirt was untucked from his breeches, the fabric rumpled and creased from hours of sleeplessness.

What a sight he must have made—as a pacing, sleep-deprived father lovingly rocking his son in his arms.

He gently patted Vhalarr’s back in slow, rhythmic taps, his touch light as a feather. His brow furrowed in concentration; his lone violet eye focused entirely on the babe.

Vhalarr’s cries softened into hiccupped whimpers, and Aemond allowed himself a quiet breath of relief.

He stroked the downy fluff of dark hair on his son’s head, fingers threading slowly through it.

“Finally,” Aemond muttered under his breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening ever so slightly.

But peace was fleeting.

“Brother!” Aegon’s loud, brash voice echoed like a clap of thunder down the corridor.

Vhalarr flinched in his father's arms, his face crumpling as his tiny mouth opened wide.

The wail that followed was as sharp as a dragon's screech, and Aemond's entire body tensed with frustration.

His eye snapped toward Aegon, cold fury burning in his gaze.

“Aegon, you fool!” Aemond snarled, turning so quickly his silver hair whipped over his shoulder. “I’d just got him settled, and now look what you’ve done!”

Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning as he strolled closer. He was wine-flushed and loose-limbed, his grin infuriatingly smug.

"You do know there are maids for that sort of thing, brother,” Aegon drawled, tilting his head. “Hand him off. Let them deal with it. Makes things easier.”

"I do not wish to offhand my son to someone else to make it easy” Aemond hissed, his tone as sharp as a dagger’s edge. “I like to be involved in the care and upbringing of my children. Perhaps that's a foreign concept to you, brother.”

Aegon laughed loudly, the sound obnoxious and grating. He glanced up and down at Aemond's dishevelled state and snorted. "The rider of the mighty Vhagar, reduced to a nanny. How the mighty have fallen."

Aemond’s lips curled into a snarl, his single violet eye blazing with fury. “You’re lucky I’m holding my son-” he said through gritted teeth. “Otherwise, I’d smack you straight in your smug, ugly mug”

Aegon grinned wider, clearly enjoying his brother’s irritation. “Always so quick to violence, brother”

“Get out of my face,” Aemond growled, swaying side to side to soothe Vhalarr’s cries. “I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with you right now.”

"Where's Valaena?" Aegon asked, leaning casually against the wall.

"Sleeping," Aemond replied curtly, his eye flicking back to his son, his fingers rubbing gentle circles on the babe’s back. "She was up all last night with Vhalarr. We're taking turns caring for him."

Aegon raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should speak to the Grand Maester. Babes don’t cry like that for no reason”

“No shit-" Aemond snapped, his tone icy. "Of course he’s unsettled for a reason.”

“Don’t snap at me just because your whelp won’t stop screaming,” Aegon drawled, folding his arms across his chest, his grin as obnoxious as ever.

Aemond's nostrils flared, his fingers curling protectively around Vhalarr’s back.

He closed his eye, took a deep, measured breath, and slowly exhaled.

His voice was chillingly calm when he spoke next. “If you don’t get away from me in the next ten seconds, I swear they’ll never find your body.”

Aegon’s laughter echoed through the corridor as he turned on his heel, hands raised in mock surrender. “Oh, calm down, brother,” he called over his shoulder. “No need to get so prickly.”

Aemond didn’t watch him leave. He didn’t care. His focus entirely on his son.

“Don’t mind your uncle, zaldrītsos,” Aemond murmured to Vhalarr, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “He’s a complete idiot” (Little dragon).

Vhalarr sniffled a few more times, his tiny body still shuddering with the aftershocks of his crying fit.

Aemond sighed, letting his forehead rest lightly against his son's head. "You’re all right, little one. Just me and you now”.

But fate was not done with him.

Buuuuurrrp.

A thick, wet sound followed, and Aemond felt the sudden warmth spread across his chest. His body went still as stone.

He tilted his head down, slowly, and saw it — a large, sticky mess of milky sick soaking his rumpled shirt.

“Seven Hells,” he muttered in disbelief, his face frozen in shock.

Vhalarr, now blissfully calm, blinked up at him with wide, mismatched eyes.

His face was innocent as could be, his tiny lips curved into a soft 'o,' as if he were as surprised as his father.

Aemond blinked down at his son. "Did you really just—"

Vhalarr yawned, his eyes drooping closed, his face perfectly at peace for the first time all night.

Aemond stared for a heartbeat longer before releasing a slow, quiet chuckle. "I see how it is, hmm? Unleash all your fury and chaos on me, and then drift off to sleep like an angel.”

He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re lucky you’re my son, you little terror."

Gently, he lifted Vhalarr onto his shoulder, feeling the weight of him settle warmly against his neck.

His son's breathing was soft now, the rise and fall of his tiny chest steady as the tide.

Aemond rubbed his back in small, firm circles, letting his cheek rest against the downy softness of Vhalarr's hair.

"Upset tummy, hmmm? Should have known,” Aemond muttered, feeling the pull of exhaustion settle into his bones.

Shifting his weight, he turned and began walking slowly back to his chambers.

The cold stone floor felt rough beneath his feet, and his ruined shirt clung uncomfortably to his chest.

But he didn't care. His son was quiet now, content in his father's arms, and that was all that mattered.

This is what it means to be a father, Aemond thought as he walked the long corridor back to his chambers.

Not just the pride and glory. It’s the nights like these, the sleepless hours, the endless patience.

He glanced down at Vhalarr, his eye softening.

“You’ll know me, zaldrītsos,” he whispered, voice full of quiet promise. “I’ll never be a stranger to you. You’ll know me, always” (Little dragon).

With those words, he pressed a kiss to his son's head and kept walking.

The door to Aemond's chambers creaked softly as he pushed it open, mindful of the stillness within.

The room was dim, lit only by the low glow of the hearth. Shadows danced lazily on the stone walls, the warmth of the fire casting a soft, golden hue over everything.

His eye moved to the large bed at the centre of the room. Valaena lay nestled beneath the covers, her face turned toward him, her features serene in sleep.

Her long, dark hair spilled over the pillow like a river of ink, wild curls framing her face. Her breathing was slow and even, her chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. Her exhaustion was well-earned.

Just beside the bed, the small wooden cot stood in the firelight. Vaelarra lay on her back, tiny arms splayed to either side, her silver hair a soft halo around her head.

Her lips were pursed in that peaceful, dreamlike pout unique to babes. She stirred for a moment as the door clicked shut behind Aemond, but she did not wake.

Aemond approached quietly, his steps slow and deliberate, his boots making the faintest scuff against the stone floor.

In his arms, Vhalarr was finally still, his head resting heavily on Aemond’s shoulder.

The warmth of his small body still pressed firmly against Aemond's chest, a sensation that lingered even as he knelt before the cot.

Carefully, with the practiced patience of a man who had done this many times before, he leaned forward and lowered Vhalarr into the cot beside his twin sister.

The babe stirred, his face scrunching for a brief moment, lips parting as though he might cry. Aemond held his breath, his hand hovering just above Vhalarr’s chest, ready to soothe him again.

But Vhalarr only sighed, his tiny body going slack as sleep reclaimed him. His head rolled to the side, his cheek pressing into the soft blanket beneath him.

Vaelarra shifted at the movement, her tiny fingers twitching, but she remained fast asleep. The two babes now lay side by side, nestled close, their small hands nearly brushing.

Aemond’s shoulders sagged with relief.

"Rest well, my little dragons," he murmured softly, his voice barely a whisper. He lingered a moment longer, his eye tracing over them both — Vhalarr with his dark hair and mismatched eyes, Vaelarra with her silver hair and serene little face.

His heart swelled with a fierce, wordless love that rooted him to the spot. He wanted to stay there, watching them, guarding them from every shadow in the world.

But exhaustion was a relentless enemy.

He rose slowly, stretching his back with a low grunt, his muscles stiff from all the pacing.

His gaze moved to his chest, where a large wet stain from Vhalarr's earlier mishap had dried into a foul-smelling mess.

The sick had soaked through his shirt, clinging to his skin. He pulled a face of mild disgust, pinching the fabric between his fingers before he tugged the shirt over his head and cast it aside with little care for where it landed.

His eye was heavy, his limbs weighed down with the kind of exhaustion that no amount of battle or training could prepare him for.

Parenthood was a war of a different kind. No blades. No armour. No dragons. Just patience, love, and an unyielding will.

He pulled off his boots, one after the other, letting them clatter softly by the side of the bed.

Then, finally, finally, he approached the bed, his gaze falling on Valaena once more.

Her face was so peaceful, her lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, her lips parted ever so slightly. She was beautiful like this — not that she wasn't always — but there was something divine in the way she looked when she was at rest.

No weight of duty, no sharp retorts on her tongue. Just peace.

Aemond climbed into bed carefully, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. He moved slowly, his every movement precise, as though afraid to disturb her.

Once he settled onto his side, he reached for her. His long arm slid around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

She murmured something too soft to hear, her body instinctively curling into him as though she belonged there.

And she did.

She always would.

Her hair, wild and untamed, tickled his face as he leaned in, pressing his nose into the thick mass of it.

The familiar scent of lavender hit him all at once — that sweet, soothing fragrance that was so wholly her. He inhaled deeply, letting it fill his lungs, letting it anchor him.

It was the scent of home. His home.

"Jorrāelagon," he muttered softly against her hair (love).

His eyelid fluttered shut, and he allowed himself to sink into the warmth of her. His breath came slower now, matching the rise and fall of hers.

The sounds of the night faded away. No more wailing cries. No more echoes of his pacing footsteps. No more jeering words from Aegon.

Only this. Only her.

Her warmth seeped into him, and his body relaxed fully for the first time that night. His mind began to drift, his thoughts muddled and heavy with the pull of sleep.

This is what it means to be at peace, he thought, his mind half-dreaming. This is what it means to be whole.

He breathed in the lavender once more and, at long last, sleep claimed him.

The clang of wooden swords echoed sharply through the training yard, punctuated by the rhythmic scuff of boots on stone.

Sunlight beamed down, warm but not oppressive, casting long shadows of their figures as they circled each other like predators locked in a dance of dominance.

Aemond’s breathing was even, his movements sharp and precise, his gaze locked on Valaena.

Her breaths were quicker, harsher, her chest heaving from exertion, but she did not stop. Sweat beaded on her brow, her face flushed from effort.

Stray tendrils of dark hair had slipped from her braid, sticking to her damp skin. Her eyes were wild with focus, narrowed on him as if she meant to burn a hole straight through his chest.

Aemond's lips twitched, his amusement growing. "You do realize most Queens would be content to sit in the solar stitching flowers into cloth," he said, his tone teasing, though his gaze softened as he regarded her.

Valaena snorted. "Do I strike you as a woman content with embroidery, husband?" She arched a dark brow, challenging him to say otherwise.

He let out a low chuckle, stepping closer to her. "No, you do not." His gaze lingered on her face, his smile small but warm. "I’ve known since we were children that you were-far more than that"

Her eyes flickered, pleased by his words, but she did not let it show for long. "A Queen should be able to defend her people, not hide behind men when danger comes knocking," she declared. Her voice was firm, her tone absolute. “What kind of Queen will I be if I’m not willing to risk my life to fight for them?”

She lunged. It was reckless, but not without spirit. Her feet hit the ground with force, her arms swinging the practice sword with a hard, downward strike aimed for his side.

"Too slow," Aemond growled, easily side-stepping her attack. His own wooden sword came down with a sharp crack across the back of her legs. "Footwork, Valaena”

Valaena hissed through her teeth, stumbling to her knees. She winced but didn't complain, her hands pressing into the dirt.

For a moment, she was still, breathing hard. Aemond thought she might yield.

But of course, she didn’t.

She planted one foot down, her eyes lifting to meet his, fierce as dragon fire. With a grunt, she surged to her feet, grip tightening on her sword.

No words of defiance left her lips, only action. She came at him again, faster this time, her feet lighter, her strike more controlled.

Better, he thought as he blocked her attack, their swords clashing with a satisfying crack of wood. He parried, his arm shifting fluidly to deflect her next swing.

When they had first began training, her strikes were wild at first, often born from frustration.

But after a few weeks they were improving.

Each blow came with a little more precision, her wrists beginning to angle just right.

"Good," he said, his voice sharp as a blade’s edge. "Now again."

They moved together in a flurry of motion. Her sword clashed with his, again and again, until her arms trembled with the strain.

She bit back a cry as he deflected her with a twist of his wrist, his sword catching hers and sending it flying from her hand.

It spun in the air before clattering to the ground.

"Pick it up," Aemond ordered. His voice was firm but not unkind. "You think your enemy will wait for you to catch your breath? Move, Valaena."

Her jaw tightened, but she obeyed, stepping quickly to retrieve the sword. Her fingers curled around the hilt, and she spun back to face him, eyes alight with defiance.

"Don’t think I’m going to coddle you," he warned, circling her like a dragon stalking its prey. His long silver hair clung to his back, and his leather jerkin swayed with each movement. His gaze never left hers. "If you want to learn, then you will learn properly."

“I don’t need coddling,” snapped Valaena, lifting her sword into position. “And I don’t need you telling me what I already know.”

Aemond’s mouth twitched, barely holding back a grin. "Prove it, then," he challenged, his eye narrowing as he raised his sword.

She lunged again, her strike quicker this time, and he felt a small swell of pride as he raised his sword to block it.

Her form was improving, her steps were more deliberate. She’s learning.

But learning wasn’t enough. Not yet.

He swept her leg out from under her, and she hit the ground with a grunt. Dust clung to the sweat on her cheeks, her eyes blazing with raw frustration.

She punched the ground before she faced him again, shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“Getting angry won’t help you,” said Aemond, his voice low but steady. “Anger is a tool, not a master. Use it, don’t let it use you.”

Valaena’s nostrils flared, but she nodded, gripping her sword tighter. He could see it in her eyes — she had taken his words to heart.

No arguing, no prideful refusal. She was listening. Good. That is how you survive.

They sparred again. Strike, block, strike, counter. Over and over, she pressed him, but he was unyielding. She would improve, but not if he treated her like glass.

 No, he would make her strong, as strong as she needed to be to face any threat that dared approach her lest she ever found herself without Silverwing.

And gods help anyone who did.

Minutes turned into an hour, and by then, Valaena was drenched in sweat, her breaths shallow, her face red.

Her braid had come half undone, strands of hair hanging loose and wild around her face. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her muscles strained and sore.

“Enough for today,” Aemond said, lowering his sword. He watched her, his gaze lingering. Her eyes lifted to him, and she glared at him like she might charge him again.

"Not yet," she said, panting between breaths. "One more round."

He tilted his head, eyeing her with that sharp, assessing gaze he always wore. Her body was spent, her muscles on the verge of giving out, but her spirit — her spirit burned hotter than ever.

"Stubborn woman, you have not long birthed twin babes" he muttered, unable to help the crooked grin that pulled at his lips.

"I am sufficiently healed from birthing our babes-as you well know" she shot back, and despite her exhaustion, her smirk was as sharp as her blade.

Aemond felt a surge of warmth in his chest. His eye swept over her dishevelled form — her hair a wild mess, her skin flushed, her eyes fierce as ever, his blood burned hot at the sight of her.

Her tunic clung to her frame, damp with sweat, the shape of her body more apparent than it should have been.

Her flushed cheeks, the way she wiped her brow with her forearm, the defiance in her eyes — it all sent a spark of something wicked coursing through him.

Aemond’s throat went dry, and he forced himself to look away, though his mind lingered on her all the same.

Gods help me, he thought, his pulse beating faster. Now is not the time to get a cock stand.

"Very well," he relented, his voice rougher than he intended. He stepped forward, standing close enough to see every strand of hair stuck to her temple. "One more round”

Valaena’s arms ached with every swing of the practice sword. Her breaths came in sharp pants, her muscles trembling from the effort, but she refused to yield.

Aemond moved like a shadow — swift, precise, and unyielding. Every attack she made, he deflected with an ease that grated on her pride. His gaze was cool and calculating, watching her every move as if he already knew her next step.

But this time, she changed the rhythm. She feigned a swing to the right, and when he shifted to block, she twisted on her heel and struck left.

Her wooden sword struck his ribs with a solid thwack. The satisfying impact echoed through the yard, and she couldn’t help but grin, wild with triumph.

“Ha!” she barked, a triumphant grin splitting her face. She took a step back, raising her sword in mock salute. “Got you, husband.”

But her celebration was short-lived.

Before she could even lower her guard, Aemond’s foot swept under her legs with brutal precision, and her world spun.

She hit the ground hard, the stone unforgiving beneath her as all the air was driven from her lungs. She landed face down, cheek pressed against the dirt, her sword slipping from her grasp.

“Never turn your back on a man still standing,” Aemond growled above her, his shadow falling long over her prone form. “You boast too soon, Valaena. Victory is never certain until your enemy is broken.”

Her breathing was heavy, her face pressed to the floor. She was exhausted, muscles burning from the hours of relentless training.

Her body screamed at her to stay down, to yield, but her pride — her pride was far louder.

Her fingers twitched against the ground, curling into fists. Slowly, she dragged herself to her knees, her head bowed, breath heaving in and out.

Sweat dripped down her brow, a line of it trailing her jaw. Her hair had long since fallen from its braid, wild strands plastered to her face and neck.

"You're right," she muttered, her voice hoarse from exertion. "Lesson learned."

Her arms trembled as she tried to push herself to her feet. But her legs felt like lead. Her knees buckled, and she knelt once more, her body refusing to rise.

Her breath hitched with frustration, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to show weakness.

Aemond’s eyes softened, though his face remained stern. He extended a hand toward her, his voice low but firm.

“Enough for today,” he said, his tone not unkind. “Come. You’ve done well”

Valaena glanced at his hand, her eyes narrowing like a predator watching prey. Slowly, her fingers wrapped around his.

And then she pulled.

With a sharp tug, she yanked him off balance, his single eye widening in surprise. He toppled forward with a grunt, his knee slamming into the ground as she swung herself over him in one fluid motion.

Before he could react, she was straddling his lap, her weight pressing him down.

Her thighs clamped firmly around his hips, and her wild, untamed hair hung like a curtain around her face.

Her chest heaved with every breath, her body slick with sweat.

In her hand, her sword had found its way back into her grip, and its dull wooden edge pressed firmly against his throat.

“Learn your own lesson, husband,” she breathed, her voice low and dangerous. Her eyes burned with triumph, her face only inches from his. "Never underestimate your enemy."

Aemond’s gaze never wavered. His breathing was slow, steady, but every inhale pulled in the scent of her — sweat, salt, and lavender, all mingled into something uniquely hers.

His heart pounded in his chest, and his eye drank her in as if she were a sight meant for him alone. Her weight on him, the feel of her thighs caging him in.

He could feel it deep in his bones, a fire that had nothing to do with the sun. His hands, once still, slowly came to life.

His fingers moved with purpose, sliding up the curve of her thighs to her hips. His grip tightened, his fingers pressing into her flesh.

Her eyes flickered with recognition, sharp and knowing. Her grin faltered for half a breath, her lips parting in surprise.

But he wasn’t going to give her time to think.

With a sudden, forceful pull, he yanked her down toward him. She let out a short gasp of surprise, her balance shifting as she fell forward. Her hands shot out to steady herself, but before she could recover, Aemond surged upward.

Their mouths met in a collision of need and hunger. His lips claimed hers with a ferocity that bordered on desperation.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she was still — stunned by the sudden shift. But then, she leaned into him with just as much fire.

Her hand fisted the front of his tunic, twisting the fabric in her grip as she kissed him back with a feral intensity that matched his own.

Their lips moved against each other, tasting, devouring, taking and giving in equal measure.

Her hands shifted from his chest to his face, her fingers sliding into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss in pleasure.

His growl rumbled low in his chest, his hands dragging up her back, one sliding up to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in the damp strands of her unbound hair.

Her thighs squeezed tighter around his hips as she pressed her weight into him, her breath mingling with his as she pulled back for only a heartbeat before capturing his lips again.

There was nothing soft about it. This was raw and unyielding.

Aemond tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers, claiming every inch of her he could reach.

When she pulled away, her lips red and swollen, her breath was shallow and ragged.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” she murmured, her voice a breathless mix of reason and temptation.

Aemond’s eye flickered with defiance, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk. “No,” he agreed softly, his voice low and rasping.

They rose to their feet, but restraint was short-lived. No sooner had Valaena taken a step than Aemond’s hand shot out, seizing her wrist.

In one swift motion, he pulled her to him, their bodies colliding with a shared urgency. His lips crashed down on hers, rough and unyielding, devouring her protests before they could even form.

She melted into him, fingers curling into his tunic as he kissed her like a man starving for air.

When he parted from her, he took her by the hand and led her to the weapons store.

The weighty door creaked as he swung it open, and before she could say a word, he pulled her inside.

The heavy thud of the closing door echoed around them, sealing them away from prying eyes and ears.

The space was cramped and the faint smell of leather, steel, and aged wood filled the air.

Aemond's hands found her again, rough palms curling around her waist, pulling her against him as his lips captured hers once more.

It wasn’t a kiss of patience. It was raw, urgent, and consuming.

Aemond’s hands roamed her body like a man possessed. She gasped against his mouth, tilting her head back, and he took advantage of it, trailing fierce kisses down her jaw, along her neck, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her shiver.

Valaena slipped her fingers under the leather strap of his eyepatch pulling it from his face and then tangled her fingers in his silver hair, before removing the tie, letting it spill over his shoulders like molten silver.

His fingers worked at the ties of her breeches, tugging with growing impatience. But the fabric caught, stubborn in its refusal.

A growl of frustration rumbled from his chest as his fingers curled into the waistband and yanked it down in one sharp motion.

The leather bit at her thighs as it gave way.

“Aemond!” she gasped, half-scolding, half-laughing at his brazenness.

Her laugh was cut short when his mouth claimed hers again, swallowing her protests with searing heat.

Her smallclothes met a similar fate, torn free with a sharp rip that made her eyes go wide.

Aemond grasped her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he set her atop the edge of a sturdy wooden cabinet, its surface cool against her skin.

“I need you” growled Aemond, his hands quickly untying the laces of his breeches.

“You had me this morning” replied Valaena.

"And I shall have you again," he promised, his voice a rasp of hunger and certainty. His gaze flicked to her lips, his eye dark with want. "Again, and again, as many times as it takes for you to know there is no part of you I will not claim."

Her breath hitched, heart pounding like a battle drum. Her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as she tugged him closer, her defiance tempered by her own desire. "Is that so, husband?" she breathed, her eyes blazing with heat to match his.

Aemond didn’t answer with words but with action, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss so fierce it left them both breathless.

His hands were everywhere — her waist, her hips, her thighs — pulling her flush against him as though he could never have her close enough. She gasped into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his silver hair, nails grazing his scalp.

"Say it," he demanded between kisses, his voice rough and possessive. "Say you are mine."

"Yours," she gasped, her voice barely more than a breathless whisper. "I have always been yours, Aemond."

"Good," he murmured darkly, his lips trailing down her jaw to her neck, where he left a trail of heated kisses that made her breath hitch.

“Tell me you need me” whispered Aemond.

“I n-need you-” muttered Valaena writhing against him as he wrapped a hand around his cock and began moving it slowly along her wet folds.

“Tell me you want me-“ growled Aemond.

“I want you” exclaimed Valaena desperately.

“Tell me you love me” muttered Aemond as he sheathed himself inside her.

“I-I l-love you –“ gasped Valaena.

“That’s it-take it-take all of me” groaned Aemond.

“Oh-Oh-Aemond” moaned Valaena.

“Ivestragī issa rȳbagon ao” growls Aemond (Let me hear you).

"A-Aemond. Pleeease" whimpered Valaena.

“Fuck” groaned Aemond, his fingers now digging into the flesh of his wife’s hips.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Valaena, as he began to thrust in and out of her in a series of deep penetrating thrusts.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”.

“Oh” gasped Valaena as she crossed her ankles behind Aemond’s back and rolled her hips against his.

Then the sound of knocking made both of them pause momentarily.

“Ignore them” urged Aemond as he placed his hands on Valaena’s hips, pushing and pulling her onto him.

“Oooh Aemond” gasped Valaena, throwing her head back.

Aemond let out a frustrated snarl as the sound of knocking continued.

“FUCK OFF”

“P-Prince A-Aemond-“

“I swear to the gods, if you interrupt again, you will be skinned alive and fed to Vhagar-“ snarled Aemond pausing momentarily.

As no more interruptions came, Aemond immediately resumed his hard thrusts.

“A-Aemond” moaned Valaena.

Aemond moaned loudly as he dug his fingers into her hips and began fucking her in earnest, his pace unrelenting.

“My wife-my perfect wife” groaned Aemond, the pressure building in his abdomen as he pounded inside her with a series of deep penetrating thrusts.

“Yes-don’t stop-right there-“ muttered Valaena.

“Never leaving this sweet cunny-” moaned Aemond his eye looking down at where they were joined and admiring the way his cock was shining with her slick.

“-yes-yes-” muttered Valaena her hips moving frantically in time with Aemond’s his cock reaching deep inside her.

“I can feel you-I know your almost there-” groaned Aemond moving his hand so his thumb could encircle her peal.

“AEMOND” screamed Valaena, arching her back as she peaked.

Her husband began to pound into her, as he chased his own end, his arms coiled tightly around her body.

He was almost there-just a little more-

“God. Valaena” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed, collapsing forward on top of his wife, breathing hard.

Aemond adjusted the laces of his breeches with sharp, practiced movements, his hair a dishevelled mess of silver strands falling wildly around his face.

He glanced toward Valaena, his smirk growing as he watched her tug her breeches up, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her fingers fussed at her hair, trying to twist it back into something resembling a braid.

Her cheeks were pink, her lips swollen from their shared passion, and her eyes flashed with that sharp, knowing mischief he loved so much.

"Stop staring," muttered Valaena, running her fingers through her dark hair.

"Why?" asked Aemond, leaning his shoulder against the wall with an easy, self-satisfied grin. "I like the view."

She shot him a look, but the faint twitch of her lips betrayed her. "I’m certain you do, husband, but you could be useful and help me with this braid instead of leering like some love-sick green boy."

He pushed off the wall with a low hum of amusement, stepping behind her. His fingers wove through her hair with the ease of a man who had done this many times before. "I’m your husband. It is my right to stare," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he twisted her hair into a neat braid.

Valaena glanced over her shoulder, grinning as she arched a brow at him. "I guess that’s true”

"Of course-” Aemond said, his hands settling on her hips for a brief, possessive squeeze before stepping away.

Valaena shook her head, still smiling, as she turned to face him. "You do realize," she said, gesturing to the door, "that everyone probably knows exactly what we were doing in here."

Aemond shrugged, running a hand through his untamed hair, entirely unbothered. "Let them know." He glanced at her, his grin shifting into something more wicked.

Valaena pressed her fingers to her temples, letting out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Gods, you’re impossible."

"Hmm," he hummed, tilting his head as he gazed at her with lazy affection. "But you love me for it."

“Yes, I do” replied Valaena, her eyes gleaming with warmth as she reached for the latch, pushing open the door with Aemond trailing close behind her.

Only to stop dead.

Standing in the training yard just a few paces away was Jaehaerys and his sworn protector, Ser Willis.

Ser Willis was doing everything in his power not to look at them, his gaze locked intently on a stone the ground as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

Jaehaerys, however, was not so composed.

The poor boy stood there, red as a weirwood leaf, eyes darting everywhere but at them. He shifted on his feet like he was debating whether to flee or sink into the floor entirely.

Valaena blinked once, twice, then smiled. "Oh, hello, Jae!" she said cheerfully, as if she had not just emerged from a weapons storage closet with tousled hair and a clearly smug husband in tow. "I haven’t seen you around lately."

"Hello, auntie," Jaehaerys muttered, his voice cracking. His gaze was locked firmly on his boots, his hands clasped awkwardly behind his back. "I—I’ve just been busy."

Aemond's gaze flicked to Jaehaerys, his one eye narrowing to a sharp slit. He knew that look all too well.

Valaena, oblivious to the undercurrents, tilted her head with a warm smile. "Busy, hmm?" she asked kindly.

“I-I-I-” Jaehaerys began, but his words trailed off as Aemond shifted behind Valaena, stepping just to the side so that his full height and presence were on full display.

A long, deliberate step. His arm draped loosely around Valaena’s waist, fingers curling possessively at her hip.

The message was not subtle.

Jaehaerys’ eyes darted up for the briefest moment — just long enough to see the sharp, warning glare Aemond fixed on him.

Valaena opened her mouth, but Aemond’s hand was already tugging her away.

"Come," he said firmly, his tone clipped but smooth. He shot one last glance toward Jaehaerys, his stare so pointed it could have pierced armour.

Jaehaerys froze, his shoulders stiffening under the weight of that gaze. His hands twitching nervously at his sides.

As Valaena let Aemond pull her away, she glanced up at him, her brow furrowed. "What’s that about?" she asked quietly as they rounded the corner, "You’ve been like that with Jae for weeks now. Did he do something?"

Aemond didn’t answer, his jaw tight as his eye stayed fixed ahead.

As they made their way back to their chambers, Aemond’s fingers laced tightly with Valaena’s, his grip firm and grounding.

The air between them was quiet but comfortable, filled with the soft echo of their footsteps down the stone corridor.

Valaena glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Are you going to tell me what all that was about back there?" she asked, tilting her head toward him.

Aemond said nothing at first, his jaw shifting as if he were working out how much to say. His eye flicked forward, gaze sharp as ever. His grip on her hand tightened just slightly.

After a pause, he exhaled through his nose. "He has a crush on you”.

Valaena blinked, caught off guard. Then she tipped her head back and laughed. "Oh, come now, that's ridiculous," she said with a grin. "He’s a boy, Aemond. A child. It’s nothing more than—"

She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as something clicked in her mind. Her grin faded into stunned realization.

Oh.

Her eyes darted upward, her lips parting as she remembered Jaehaerys' whispered confession from weeks ago, something she’d thought innocent at the time. “It’s a married woman-with children,”

Her gaze snapped back to Aemond, her expression a mix of disbelief and dawning clarity.

“No,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. "No, it can't be—"

Aemond hummed knowingly, his gaze cutting toward her. "It is."

Her brows lifted in shock, as the weight of it settled on her. "You’re serious?" she asked, her voice still disbelieving.

His jaw tensed as he glanced at her. "The woman he seeks in the brothel bears your likeness," he said sharply, his voice carrying that subtle, simmering edge of irritation he rarely let show.

Valaena’s eyes darted away, her face twisted in shock and mild disbelief. "He’s a boy, Aemond," she said with a huff, her arms swinging at her sides as she tried to laugh it off. "A harmless little boy."

"Harmless boys grow into reckless men," Aemond replied darkly, glancing over his shoulder.

Valaena snorted and tugged on his arm, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes glittered with amusement as her lips curled into a grin that was equal parts sly and amused.

“Wait just a moment,” she said slowly, dragging out the words like she’d just uncovered a great secret. Her grin widened, full of teasing mischief. She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "Aemond Targaryen-you’re jealous."

He snorted, his face an unmoved mask of cold indifference, as if she’d accused him of something utterly beneath him. "Don’t be ridiculous," he muttered, his tone firm but unconvincing.

Her eyes darted over his face, catching the faintest flicker of something in his expression. Her smile grew. "You are," she said, triumphant as she shook his arm. "Gods, you’re absolutely jealous. Of Jaehaerys!"

"Think what you like," he muttered, his grip on her hand tightening as he pulled her forward with a bit more insistence. His strides were longer, faster now, as if he could walk away from the accusation.

Valaena’s laughter echoed off the stone walls, light and musical. "Oh, I think I will," she said, practically skipping to keep up with him. "The rider of the mighty Vhagar, reduced to sulking over a boy with puppy love."

"I am not sulking," he shot back, his voice clipped, though his ears had gone just the faintest shade of pink at the tips.

“You are absolutely sulking," she pressed, grinning up at him like she’d just bested him in a duel. She tilted her head playfully, still eyeing him with that sharp, knowing gaze. "What’s the matter, husband? Afraid your nephew will steal me away?”

Aemond stopped.

The sudden halt made her stumble forward a step before she looked back at him, confused. His face was calm, but there was something dangerous in the quiet.

“No,” he said lowly, his gaze slow and deliberate as it trailed from her face, down her body, then back to her eyes.

He stepped toward her, and his presence, his height, and the sharp intensity of his gaze made her back press lightly against the cool stone wall behind her.

“A-Aemond” whispered Valaena.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke, his voice a low, rough rasp of certainty.

"I fear no boy," he muttered, his breath hot against her ear. "But I’ll not have him looking at you like that."

Her breath hitched, her heart stuttering in her chest. She swallowed hard, her eyes wide, lips parted in surprise. She glanced up at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on her, sharp as a Valyrian steel blade.

Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, heat crawling up the back of her neck. "Like what?" she asked, her voice quieter now, a little breathier than before.

He didn’t miss the shift in her tone. His fingers reached for her chin, tilting her face up toward his.

His eye stayed on hers, steady, unwavering, and utterly unyielding.

“Like I do,” he said simply, his gaze intense but certain.

The words lingered in the air, soft but absolute.

Valaena’s breath left her in a slow, steady exhale, her cheeks warming as she gazed up at him. She slowly blinked, her lips parting like she had something to say, but it never left her tongue.

She stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his love, his possessiveness, and his unyielding devotion all settling over her like the warm cloak he often draped around her shoulders on cold nights.

Her lips curled into a slow, fond smile. "Fool," she murmured, her voice filled with affection as she pushed gently at his chest.

"Hmmm" Aemond hummed, his arms sliding around her waist as she tried to push past him. His grip was firm but not forceful, his body warm against hers.

"But I’m your fool," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there longer than necessary.

Valaena’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, her body relaxing in his hold. "Yes," she whispered back, her smile soft but true. "Mine."

They stayed like that for a heartbeat longer before she pushed at him again.

"Come," she said, shaking her head as she pulled away, though her fingers laced with his once more. "Back to our chambers before you decide to threaten every boy in the Red Keep who dares to glance my way."

He raised a brow at her, but his lips twitched in a faint smirk. "Only the ones who forget their place," he muttered, his voice laced with quiet promise.

Her laughter echoed in the hall once more.

Aemond glanced at her as they walked, watching the way her face lit up with joy, her eyes crinkled at the corners, and her smile as wide and bright.

He would never admit it aloud, but in that moment, he didn’t mind her teasing. If her laughter was the price for her affection, he’d endure it every day.

"Keep laughing, wife," he murmured as he tugged her toward their chambers. His voice was low, his smirk sharp as a blade. "But I’ll remind you tonight exactly why he will never compare to me."

Her steps faltered, her laughter catching in her throat as she glanced at him with wide eyes. Her lips parted to say something, but she saw the way his smirk curled at the edges, how his gaze dipped slowly to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes.

Valaena lifted her chin, eyes narrowing with challenge. "I’ll hold you to that, husband," she said, her grin returning full force.

Later that night, the chamber was dim, lit only by the glow of a single flickering candle on the table before him. Shadows danced against the stone walls, their jagged shapes moving in time with the flames.

Jaehaerys sat slouched in a chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest while the other held a half-empty cup of wine. His fingers tightened around the cup’s stem as he lifted it to his lips, taking a long, slow drink.

The sweet tang of Dornish red burned faintly at the back of his throat, but it did little to dull his mind.

If anything, it only made his thoughts sharper.

Valaena.

Her name whispered through his mind like a prayer, unbidden but persistent. No amount of wine could drown it. He had tried.

Seven Hells, how he had tried. But it was no use. She lingered in his thoughts the same way the scent of rain lingers after a storm—fresh, wild, and impossible to ignore.

His uncle had warned him, threatened him, promised him that he would suffer if he didn't stay away.

“If you so much as breathe near her again, I will carve your fucking heart from your chest and feed your body to Vhagar.”

Jaehaerys had nodded, his heart thudding hard in his chest, but he’d been too much of a coward to reply. Not that it would have made any difference. When Aemond Targaryen made a threat, it was no idle thing.

Stay away.

But how could he?

He tipped his head back, letting the wine sit on his tongue before swallowing it down in one bitter gulp.

His eyes, glassy from drink, fixed on the ceiling above. It was no use pretending otherwise. He hadn't stayed away.

Not really.

He lingered.

He watched.

When she passed through the hallways, he was there—half-hidden in the alcoves or the shadowed bends of the corridors.

When she strode into the training yard, he kept himself on the fringes, close enough to see but not to be seen.

She was always moving with that unmistakable purpose, her steps steady and firm, not the soft, cautious tread of a woman raised to walk quietly behind men.

But it was on the training yard where he saw her most clearly, where she burned brightest.

Clad in breeches and a loose tunic, her hair pulled back but with strands already slipping free, sticking to her face with sweat. Her cheeks flushed red with exertion, her breath coming in sharp, rhythmic puffs.

At first, she moved with the awkward rigidity of someone unaccustomed to a blade, her arms too stiff, her swings too wide.

But she learned. By the gods, she learned.

Day after day, he watched her grow. Her movements became smoother, her strikes more precise. Her footwork, once sluggish and uneven, grew lighter and sharper, and she danced around Aemond with a wild kind of determination.

She never yields.

Not to Aemond. Not to anyone.

There was something magnetic about it, about her stubborn refusal to break. He could see it in her eyes—the way she burned, her gaze set firm on her goal.

This was no delicate lady in silk skirts and pearls.

This was Silverwing's rider.

This was the woman who would one day wear the crown and sit the Iron Throne.

She was not like the others.

Jaehaerys exhaled slowly, his fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

You are a fool, he thought bitterly. A hopeless, stupid fool.

He shouldn't have stayed today. He knew he shouldn't have stayed. He told himself he would leave, that he would look just once—just once—and then turn away.

But he’d lingered. And then he'd heard them.

It had been faint at first. Muffled sounds from the old weapons storage shed at the edge of the yard.

No one ever went in there unless it was to restock the racks or check for rusted blades. But today, the sound of wood creaking and muffled thuds drew his attention.

He'd known it was them before he even got close.

Her laugh came first—soft, breathless, and full of mischief. His heart had leapt into his throat at the sound, and he’d frozen in place.

Then he heard it—a gasp.

The kind of sound that left no doubt in a man's mind as to what was happening behind that closed door.

Jaehaerys hand’s clenched, his knuckles turning white.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

But it was too late.

The low rumble of Aemond's voice—gruff, commanding, and utterly unyielding. Jaehaerys couldn't hear the words, but he didn't need to. He knew that voice. He knew that tone.

Then her breathless voice came next, gasping out his uncle's name. “Aemond.”

He'd stepped back from the door then, shame curling like a snake around his ribs. But he hadn’t left.

Not right away.

His feet had stayed rooted to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. He hated himself for it, hated the heat that flushed up the back of his neck, the ache that settled low in his gut.

She was a woman with children.

A married woman with children, his conscience hissed, but it did little to still the hunger stirring inside him.

Even now, as he sat in the quiet of his chambers, her voice echoed in his mind.

The way she'd said “Aemond” wasn’t like how she spoke his name at court.

This was raw and breathless, the kind of sound a woman makes when her resolve has broken.

He tipped his wine back again, draining it in one long, desperate pull. His chest ached with the weight of it all, jealousy and longing twisting together like a blade lodged deep between his ribs.

Fool.

The cup hit the table with a dull thud, and he slouched lower in his chair, his head tipped back as he let his eyes fall shut.

But even with his eyes closed, he saw her.

He saw the way she smiled when she beat Aemond in a match, hands on her hips and chin raised like she’d just conquered a kingdom.

He saw her hair coming loose from its braid, wild strands clinging to her sweat-slicked face. He saw the way her eyes softened when she cradled her children, her lips pressing gentle kisses to their hair.

The woman who could fight on the training yard, command her dragon in the sky, and cradle a babe all in the same breath.

The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

He had no claim to her. He knew that. She belonged to his uncle, and her place was at his side.

The gods themselves had decreed it so. She would likely bear more children, and they would be Aemond’s, not his.

But knowing that did nothing to stop the ache.

He sat there for a long time, letting the wine take him. But wine wasn’t strong enough to wash away what had rooted itself so deeply in him.

Jaehaerys opened his eyes slowly, his gaze distant as he stared at the low-burning candle. His fingers drummed once against the arm of the chair.

He’d never have her. Not truly.

But that didn’t mean he would stop watching.

Not yet.

Not while she still burned so brightly.

The halls of the Red Keep were a maze of flickering shadows and dim torchlight, but Jaehaerys barely noticed them.

His feet moved without thought, each step a stumble that almost sent him to the floor more than once. His hand slapped against the cold stone wall to steady himself, fingers splayed wide, dragging along the rough surface as he lurched forward.

The wine sat hot in his blood, making the world tilt and spin. It hummed in his ears, thick and muffling, like he was moving underwater.

Too much, he thought vaguely. Too much wine.

But he didn’t stop. His mind was a foggy mess of half-formed thoughts, and through it all, one name burned brightly.

Valaena.

He shook his head as if that might cast her from his mind, but it did nothing. Her face remained—sharp, clear, and beautiful, like a portrait burned into the back of his eyes.

His body moved as if it had a will of its own, guided by instinct rather than reason. Somewhere, a distant voice in the back of his mind whispered that he should turn back, that this path would lead only to ruin. But the wine drowned out that voice with ease.

Too late. Too far gone now.

He blinked slowly, and when his eyes opened, he was standing at the edge of Maegor's Holdfast. How had he gotten here? His gaze lifted, blurry but focused enough to spot the great wooden door ahead, cracked open just slightly.

Just enough to be an invitation.

He hesitated.

Turn back.

But his feet moved forward, the sweet allure of his desire tempting him beyind reason.

The night air whispered through the crack in the door, cool against his flushed face. One foot crossed the threshold, then another.

The door gave a soft creak, but not enough to draw attention.

No guards. No sounds of footsteps echoing through the hall. Just the steady thrum of his heart and the ragged pull of his breath.

He drifted down the dimly lit corridors, his steps uneven but purposeful. The air smelled faintly of cedar and smoke, the telltale scent of burning hearth fires. He knew where he was going.

Gods help him, he knew.

The heavy oak stood before him, a barrier between him and everything he should not want. His hand hovered just inches from it, fingers twitching with hesitation.

He shouldn’t be here. Every fibre of his being knew that. It pulsed in his blood, as loud as a battle drum.

But the wine was louder.

Jaehaerys pressed his hand to the door, his fingers curling as he gave it a slow push. It swung inward with the soft groan of wood on iron hinges.

Warmth met him like a wave. The fire in the hearth burned low but steady, casting a soft, amber glow across the room.

Shadows danced along the stone walls, flickering and swaying like ghosts. The air here was thicker, warmer, scented faintly with lavender.

Her scent.

His eyes swept over the room, searching.

Is he here?

But there was no sign of Aemond. No cloak hung on the chair. No boots beside the bed. His gaze flicked toward the balcony.

The doors were open, the gauzy curtains swaying in the breeze like a dragon’s wings.

But there was no sign of him. No pale-haired shadow moving in the night.

He turned toward the bed.

Gods.

Valaena lay there, her bare body a gentle curve beneath the thin cotton sheet. Her long hair spilled like dark ink across the pillows.

She was on her side, her breathing slow and even, the soft rise and fall of her chest like the steady pull of the tide.

Jaehaerys’ heart pounded against his ribs, so loud he swore it echoed in the quiet chamber. He swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the wine.

She’s here. She’s alone.

He took a step forward. Then another. His feet barely made a sound as he moved across the stone floor, gliding over it as if he were a shadow himself.

Closer. Closer still.

Don’t do this. Leave. Now.

But his eyes were locked on her. The sheet shifted slightly as she turned in her sleep, her face becoming clearer. Her lips, soft and parted, released a small breath that hitched once before steadying.

His breath was shallow, uneven. His fingers twitched at his sides, every muscle tense as he stood at the edge of the bed.

So close.

Her lashes fluttered, a tiny shift of movement that made his heart leap into his throat.

Leave. Leave now before she wakes up.

His gaze softening with a dangerous mixture of longing and desire, but there was a darkness seeping into his mind, the thoughts overwhelming him.

Everything around him became insignificant, the very walls and foundations of the Red Keep melting away leaving only the two of them.

The tendrils of desire, reached out to him like smoke, coiling around him.

It should have been me.

The thought ripped through him with the force of a dagger to the gut.

It should have been him she loved. It should have been his children she cradled in her arms.

Jaehaerys reached out and twirled a piece of Valaena’s hair between his fingers, the dark locks soft like satin.

His breathing accelerated, his blood grew hot, the arousal coursing through him like an endless unyielding river.

He let go of her hair and gently ran his fingers over the curve of her cheek down towards her chin.

Valaena stirred slowly from the depths of sleep. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Aemond?” she murmured groggily, her voice thick with sleep, the word escaping her lips with ease.

“No, it's me” whispered Jaehaerys his mind surrendered the darkness and desire.

“J-Jae. What are you-” muttered Valaena as she shifted backwards on the bed.

“Shhhh-it’s ok-I’ll make you feel good-I promise”

Valaena’s eyes went wide with panic, and she went to scream but Jaehaerys clamped his hand over her mouth.

His other hand quickly pulling the sheet down, his gaze wandering hungrily over her body, she tried to break free, but his hands moved to grab her wrists, his finger nails digging into her flesh.

He was stronger than he thought, it was almost inhuman, Valaena struggled against him, yet he held her there as if she wasn't even there in the first place.

The arousal surged through him once again; his mind completely blank accept for one primal thought.

Claim her.

“No Jaehaerys. Please don’t do this-” begged Valaena her as he climbed on top of her, his knee forcing her legs apart.

“I want you-gods I want you so much” muttered Jaehaerys, securing her wrists in one hand as he reached down to unlace his breeches.

“NO. NO-” screamed Valaena, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

TBC

[a-strange-inkling]

i have nothing to offer for hellcheer anniversary week except tiny snippets of my too many wips 🙈

here is a bit of the mechanic au for the ‘coworkers prompt’:

“Hey, Jonathan,” Eddie beckons quietly through the side of his mouth, still feeling Wayne’s warning scuff burning beneath the waves of his hair. “Jonathan…Jon…Jon… Jonny… Jonny Quest…Jon Bon Jovi.” His half brother finally gives in, rolling his eyes in heavy agitation before glancing up from the other side of the car.

“What?”

“Hey uh…” Eddie peaks over at Chrissy on the other side of the garage, working dutifully on the Prius, her headphones still in her ears. In her own little world. He’s not really bothering her if he’s asking someone else about her. Right? He cups his mouth with one hand as he whispers. “What’s the deal with Tinker Bell?”

Jonathan’s dark eyes jump over to Chrissy instantly, then back to Eddie, his face turning pink before he clears his throat loudly and gets back to work. Oh, so he’s not the only one who’s taken a fancy, apparently. “What about her? You have a problem working with a girl or something?”

“No,” Eddie feels himself bristle defensively. “Course not… just wondering how someone like her ended up in this dump…I mean, c’mon, look at her.”

The girl is beautiful and polished and tiny like she should be wearing pearls and cashmere while being courted by some frat boy at an Ivy League campus that drives the same car she’s currently tuning up. And yet here she is instead, in children’s sized coveralls with an allen wrench in her hand and a smudges of motor oil on her face.

He can tell Jonathan doesn’t appreciate the jab toward the ‘family business’, but he doesn’t care enough to argue about it. He just shrugs his shoulders dismissively as he reaches over for something from the tool box. “Why don’t you just ask her yourself?”

“Because she doesn’t talk to me,” Eddie mumbles, trying not to sound as deflated as he feels about her single syllable greetings and guarded nods of acknowledgement when she punches in. “I think she’s scared of me.”

“She’s just shy,” Jonathan replies, turning his gaze her way again empathetically. “Took her a while to warm up to the rest of us too.”

“Well you two must get along then,” Eddie mutters, rolling his own eyes now, a little sting of irrational jealousy swelling in his chest area.

“We do.” Jonathan answers flatly, keeping his eyes on the stubborn, rusted bolt he’s having trouble loosening.

“Oh yeah, are you guys an item or something?” Eddie grins, mean and pestering. It’s admittedly fun to get under Jon’s skin.

“He wishes,” Will says quietly from where he’s reading his comic book on the old leather couch by the office. Eddie didn’t even realize he was there. Jonathan gives his little brother the side eye, but ultimately ignores him.

“No, she’s got a boyfriend,” Jonathan informs him.

“Total jerk.” Will adds, turning a page.

“Ahh,” Eddie muses, smiling in amusement at young William’s side commentary. “…Serious?”

“I guess,” Jonathan answers, trying for indifference and failing. “Five years.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie chuckles away the sinking feeling in his gut. “Five years… Jesus… I’ve never been with anyone longer than five days.”

Jonathan makes an annoyed face that says I’ve never been with anyone period, asshole.

Eddie decides to steer his irritation in a mutually beneficial direction. “…So he’s a jerk?”

Jonathan meets his gaze, on the cusp of a rueful smile. “Yuppie douchebag.”

“Awful lot of chatting going on over there,” Wayne calls over from beneath the Ford. “The chief is expecting that Blazer ready by the end of the day, boys.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waves his hand in the old man’s direction dismissively, not remotely concerned about Hopper.

Jonathan gets back to work, while Eddie lets his gaze slide back to Chrissy, who’s right where he left her, that pretty little enigma. She’s gently bobbing her head along to the music, completely focused on her work, her button nose all scrunched.

Damn, she’s cute.

“Why’d you ask?” Jonathan says under his breath, and Eddie realizes that he had asked the question at least twice now.

“I dunno, curious,” he supplies easily. “Not a lot going on around here.”

Jonathan nods his head, brows furrowing in a ‘yeah, sure, bullshit’ sort of way.

“Don’t worry,” Eddie tells him a little bitterly, finally getting back to work. “Wayne’s forbade me from bothering her.”

Jonathan just snorts softly in reply and the garage quiets back into a companionable silence.

[sirfrogsworth]

I really hope that phrase "it takes money to make money" is true.

I have started taking photo editing gigs. But in order to do them properly I had to purchase some tools to help me.

I got an advanced colorimeter to calibrate all of my displays so I don't have to check my edits on 9 different screens to make sure they hold up. Plus I assume most of my edits will be printed out and you cannot send something to print without an accurate screen.

I mean, you can. There isn't a law against it. But if you want the image on the screen to look anything like what spits out of the printer, ya gotta calibrate.

And I had to buy a $70 software license because I need a single filter Photoshop does not offer. It removes the textured pattern in scanned photos and there is literally no other way to do it.

I feel like I just bought this tool kit...

But I will only be using the smallest Allen wrench.

So the two jobs I've been hired for will amount to $0 in profit.

But I will have these tools available for future jobs and they are only a one-time expense. I just have to make sure these aren't the only two editing gigs I ever book.

[sleepymccoy]

I have a character in my scifi who's missing his legs from knee down. It's not a recent disability so he's adjusted to it. I'm trying to come up with some cool leg attachments he'd probably have. He's an engineer, so he makes his own in his down time and could have some wild stuff

Like, he'd have just easy to walk with legs for causal use I figure. This kinda thing (but both legs)

I reckon he's got stealth fake legs that look and move like real legs, even to the point of having a rubbery skin touch if you bump them. For if he ever wants to lie to people. He lies to people a lot, it's a real character trait so that works for me

He'd have one of the swoopy ones that look so cool

I mean, how cool can you get? They're awesome

They work in zero gravity sometimes. So there'll be a foot design that's easier in zero g. Moving around is mostly done by hooking your toes under a hoop, so something with a hook inbuilt makes sense for him. This kinda of vibe

But more hook-focused in design

I reckon he'll have something that's magnetic. So, he can climb walls by clicking the magnetic of it on and off as he steps. He might use that in zero g sometimes too I suppose

He'll also have a set that attaches to his space suit. They'd have some air thrusters on, so he can kinda fly alongside the ship and adjust position iron man style without having to hold onto stuff to manage himself

And he def has something with like a seat built in. I mean, that's the dream, innit? I'm basing that off this design

But with the idea that the lever thing at the back of the thigh would be a seat that kinda locks into place if you bend your knees a certain way. And on both legs, so he can just sit whenever he wants

He's a pretty fun engineer. I reckon he's got like a work day one that looks like nothing special except it can also make a coffee

Like that, except the coffee machine is attached where the calf would be

Like, that's the work leg on the right, the left work leg has a bunch of emergency engineering equipments. Like, four Allen keys, WD-40, and a wrench hidden inside. And a good erotica novel.

Maybe he'd have one that's designed to flip around and become a table when he sits down? Or a really pretty one? I think he'd have to buy a pretty one, he's not an artistic kinda dude

I can't think of anything else rn. I am taking suggestions lol

[stormyweaver]

Nobody asked for this, but it's my OC Elliott. Have fun!

----

"Hehh!!-- Ihh- ihh- IHHH-- HIIISSHHH'HUUEE!! Ohh… sdf!-- HH'JSSCHHUuee!!" Elliott sniffled - a thick, viscous sound reminiscent of sludge far too packed to flow through the pipe it currently resided in - and winced at the 'bless you's' which echoed through the garage. Taylor spoke up first, as always, with a blow to Elliott's already fragile ego. "Jesus, you plan on stopping any time soon? I only have so many fingers to keep count!" Though a part of Elliott, a large part, wanted to beam his co-worker with an allen wrench, he knew that the comment was at least partially warranted. Ever since arriving to work, Elliott had been sneezing on and off; and that wasn't even including the sneezing before he'd gotten to the auto shop. Pausing to cough into his elbow, the brunette decided to opt for non-violence - and instead threw up a not-so-friendly gesture towards his fellow mechanic. "Maybe if you actually focused on working instead of counting my sneezes, you'd leave on time for once," With another forceful, snorting intake of air, Elliott laid back down on the bench beneath his back. It felt cold and rough beneath his aching muscles, the skin shivering every so often, sticky with sweat. He was genuinely surprised he hadn't soaked through the entirety of his shirt already. Despite his malaise and slight dizziness, he continued working on the car's suspension. A few minutes in, he blinked blearily, before a panicked, albeit hazy expression settled onto his face. No no, not again, he was almost done! Rosy nostrils fluttered as his chest rose with a sharp inhale.

"Ehhh--!! EHH'JSSCHH'HIEW! HH'RRRSCHH'HIIEW!!Ohhh…"

The sneezed threatened to bolt him entirely upright, and he barely managed to restrain the strong expulsions from doing so. Still, his nose still got it's vengeance: glistening trails of mess clung to his upper lip, along with a heavy spray settling onto his face and shirt. Elliott swore under his breath, then went rigid as Taylor piped up again.

"Thirty-six!" Fucking hell. He'd probably beat his record at this point, and it was only... 11:30am. Today was gonna be long.