#this might just be my niece but she will have to be reminded to take each bite if she knows she has to taka a bath when shes done

[rebeccabobecca]

I don't mean to vague, but also, I do mean to vague.

5 year olds talk in complete sentences.

I read a fic recently, which was pretty good, but I could not finish it because the two 5 year olds we saying "me hungie" and "I no wan" and other shit like that. I get that some of yall don't interact with children, but there are resources! Babies learn language by mimicking the adults around them! If you're not saying "me hungry", they're not going to say "me hungie". Also, unless the child has an actual speech impediment, by 5 years old they can properly pronounce their phonetics. They can say hungry instead of hungie (I've never heard a child say hungie, even when they were legit learning to speak) and uncle instead of unkie.

5 year olds are in kindergarten, learning their numbers and letters, and how to share, and communicating with their teachers and peers! I've been having conversations with my niece since she was 3! She could speak 3 word sentences at 2! My niece is 5 and she is staring to learn to read, and we've been reading to her since she was born! She might not understand why language works, and were still correcting her on some things, but she is speaking real words!

If you haven't spoken to a child recently, and you're writing a fic that involves small children in speaking roles, watch a youtube video with a small child in it!

[floatyflowers]

The second wife| Dark! Ozai x Wife! Reader x Platonic Dark! Zuko and Azula

Ozai murdered your husband and your baby to take you as a second wife.

Of course, he has done it secretly so he doesn't appear like the villain in your eyes.

You were the handmaiden and younger sister of his first wife, and the one he wished to marry in the first place.

So, when Ursa runs away, he marries you against your will.

Even though the marriage was forced, right after your husband and child's death, yet you held no ill intention towards your nephew and niece.

Zuko is quick to accept you as you are his aunt whom he trusts.

While Azula didn't know how to act around you, thinking that you viewed her in the same way her mother did, a monster.

But you made sure to include her in everything along with Zuko.

The healthy relationship you had with Ursa is the same one you wish for Zuko and Azula to have, one full of love and respect.

But Azula always tried to push Zuko out of some activities, she claimed 'it is a girl's thing'

"Mother should only brush my hair because I'm a girl"

Meanwhile, Zuko clings to you, telling you everything he knows, or sought knowledge about it.

Meanwhile, you hate Ozai, he is just unlike...your first husband.

Ozai is beyond redemption in your eyes.

And many days, you avoid him.

However, one day, you and Ozai were fighting about political matters and Zuko intervened to defend you.

"Stop yelling at mother, she has done nothing wrong!"

You only placed your hands on Zuko's shoulders, fearing that Ozai might hurt him.

But the glaring competition between the son and the father only ended in Ozai leaving.

Unfortunately, Ozai did not let that slide when Zuko cut in one of the political meetings.

He challenged him to an agni kai.

Something that Azula was excited about.

You tried to plead for Zuko's case.

But that made Ozai more determined.

And on that day of Agni Kai, Zuko was left defeated with a scar as a reminder.

And then banished from the fire nation for not wanting to fight his father.

But you kept sending him letters from behind your husband's back.

At first, Zuko swore to capture the avatar so he can be accepted back as an heir and into the arms of his aunt, you.

But after joining the team avatar, he swore to defeat his father and save you.

[celestialprincesse]

Just going to leave this here and then sneak away! K bye! 🎀🩰

John Price is a man who runs on instinct. After years in the forces, he has to be. He's learned that the feeling in his gut is almost never wrong, and learning how to trust it is a skill. Right now though? He's wishing that his stomach would stop roiling. He's so anxious he feels like he might actually be sick. Kyle sits earnestly at his side, hunched over in the plastic hospital chair nursing a long gone flat vending machine Coke.

They've been tuning out your screams for a good three hours now.

Something within John breaks with every guttural cry that sounds from under the doorway. He's heard so many countless screams of agony from faceless people. They've been and gone in his head like a passing storm. Yours, he thinks, will stick for a lifetime.

Realistically, he knows that you're safe. Receiving the best care you possibly can, safe within the walls of the modern private hospital his insurance more than covers. He also can't help but remind himself just how complicated giving birth can be - and you're so delicate to him.

He's not actually sure when Kyle got here, having been running on autopilot since your contractions started yesterday. All the boys love you just as much as you do them, and when he'd messaged their shared group with a simple: > On way to hospital now. they'd been so shit scared.

Each one of them had opted to take up shifts staying beside their captain in the hospital, waiting earnestly for if they were at all needed. Johnny had picked up groceries, claiming that he' d best know what to get for a new mum, seeing as he's the only one besides Price who actually has sisters, and a niece of his own. None of them would ever admit that they also wanted to be the first to see little baby Price, and to check in on his wife who'm they'd grown to love so much, but there'd definitely been attempts on all three sides to work out when the baby would approximately pop, so that they could time their stint accordingly.

"Think she's okay in there?" John croaks, lifting his head from his palms, squinting at the fluorescent hall lights with a tired grunt.

Kyle swallows the sip of Coke in his mouth before responding. "She's a trooper. I think if anyone can handle having a baby, it's your missus."

Hours later, your small hospital room falls silent, and John is immediately up on his feet, back ramrod straight, everything alert. And then, a baby cries. It's a little hiccuping whinge at first, but then his baby seems to find their voice, wailing up a storm.

"You should go. See them." Kyle prompts quietly, noticing his captain's reverie as he just stands there staring at the closed door.

Nurses file out one by one, whilst he makes his way in, a dazed sort of look on his face as he sees the swaddles blanket you hold close to your chest, gurgling softly as tiny fat fists reach out to your nose.

The stillness in the room is like time stops entirely, only finally broken by a soft "Hey." as your husband makes his way quietly to your side.

"Hi." You breathe, a soft smile blossoming on your tired face, scooting along in the hospital bed so he can sit beside you.

The reverence on his face as he looks down towards the face of such a small creature is a look only talked about in fairytales. A look that tells you that your baby is the luckiest child in the world to have a dad like John.

"She's a girl." You laugh softly, noticing the look on John's face, the one that says he's holding his tongue.

"Oh, my baby girl." Tears spring to his cerulean eyes as he brushes a gentle finger down the soft slope of her tiny nose.

For a moment, the two - three - of you sit in total stillness, entirely enraptured by the tiny human you currently keep held so closely to your chest. Until there's a quiet, tentative knock on the door.

"Mrs Price? Can we come in?" Kyle's voice comes softly from the other side, but before you can even finish your "Yes" not just Kyle, but also Simon and Johnny are practically barrelling into the room, barely able to contain their intrigue as they lock eyes with the little blanket wrapped parcel they've been waiting nine months to meet.

The minute you invite them to look at the sleeping face of your daughter, they're practically tripping over themselves to see the much anticipated baby Price.

"Looks jus' like her mam." Johnny observes, whilst Simon just stares, and Kyle busies himself with taking a picture of you, John and your baby girl.

"Bought 'er a present, mrs Price." Simon admits a little sheepishly as he pulls a haphazardly wrapped parcel from his coat pocket. A stuffed ghost teddy only just the size of your fist. "To remind 'er that uncle ghost is always looking out for her."

You're practically crying at the thought behind his gift, carefully side-hugging the lieutenant with the arm that's not holding your daughter.

"We're all here for her. And for you. Always. One for one and that."

[endless-ineffabilities]

I will never say that I am in love (18+)

{ alternate title: you are the love of my life }

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the one-eyed prince falls, the realisation comes to him in the scent of flowers. In his nephew's laughter. In his dreams.

themes/warnings : just pure sweetness, our emotionally constipated and repressed Aemond Targaryen, he thinks some *impure* thoughts in this one (how dare he!!!), he does NOT want to even think about falling in love (what a stupid distraction, he is not weak, you all should know) - also, he is DOWN BAD for the reader.

all my other works

a/n : this is the first fic I'm writing completely in the male lead's, in this case Aemond's perspective. Complete train-of-thought type of storytelling. (also, this is not in my scheduled works, the idea came to me after watching the new promo clips for s2... never in a million eons did I ever think I would hear Ewan Mitchell utter the word "cheugy" but oh well) - Enjoy! 🖤

{ I. flowers ▪︎ II. innocence ▪︎ III. dreams }

I.

Aemond decides that he finds pleasure in your scent.

The thought comes to him as he strolls through the halls of the Red Keep. Not a strong one, not a revelation by any means. A mere inkling of something he favours.

It is innocent. It is nothing.

He had spied some flowers peeking from just beneath a window. Roses, peonies, or some other, he did not bother to truly look. He glanced them out of the corner of his eye.

And he thought of you.

You smell something rather akin to those flowers - blooming and enticing and sweet.

A simple observation, rising to him now from his memory.

That is all.

Your scent reminds him of springtime in the gardens. You are pleasant, there is no doubt, but that very sweetness can only be construed as sickly if divulged in for far too long, too often.

Besides, his icy disposition does not really take well to flowers in the spring. They are more like to whittle under his boot, and shrivel from the coldness in his gaze.

You are not for him. No.

Flowers. Sweet things. The gentleness in your voice when you call him 'my prince'. Aemond scoffs at himself as he walks on.

It is no transgression to be distracted. It is a natural thing.

You are a distraction, and Aemond decides to think of you no more.

II.

Aemond comes to Helaena's chambers to visit with his niece and nephews. It is only by coincidence that you are almost always there too.

"Prince Aemond." Your voice resembles a song in greeting him. "Queen Helaena has just left to speak with Lady Alicent, but she should return shortly."

"Hmm." You are not a lady-in-waiting to Helaena, but more of a companion, a friend. Yet you do not mind looking after Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor when their mother is indisposed.

This is where Aemond finds you, most mornings. Were it anyone else, he might have sent them away, so that he can spend time alone with the children.

But he lets you stay, because, of course, Helaena would prefer it so. She dotes on you so dearly, Aemond has noticed.

In these instances, he lets you stay only because it is what Helaena would want. Why else?

He settles on an upholstered stool and beckons to the children. They eagerly waddle their way over to their beloved uncle.

You watch the interaction with a smile, as you always do. With your legs curled underneath you, comfortably seated on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Aemond used to pay you no mind, but increasingly it has been nagging at him that you are observing, taking him in.

It is inane to be self-conscious; there is no reason to be. He is the Prince - being perceived has been a constant all his life.

He is the Prince, and you are merely a lady companion.

But when you say things like, "They are very fortunate to have you as their uncle, my prince," it makes him feel a sense of pride. Like it is some accomplishment to be complimented by you.

He knows this. He knows he is a good uncle.

Perhaps it is just that. Vanity.

You pointing it out has nothing to do with anything.

Jaehaerys crosses the many strides it takes for him to reach you again, and he pulls at your hand.

"Come," he giggles.

"Where, sweet boy?"

"Come, come here, come here," he mumbles mostly to himself, grunting when you are unmoving and his three-year old form is unable to magically transport you as he wishes.

"Okay," you laugh once, getting on your feet with your body bent to his level, and you let him pull you to where he wants.

Which is... right next to his dearest uncle Aemond.

"There." Jaehaerys claps his hands in glee, as you curl up on the floor beside Aemond's outstretched legs.

"He has a sense of humour, that one," you grin, looking up at Aemond.

Aemond sees your expression up close and you look okay. Comely. Fine. You are not bad-looking, by any means.

You are the most beautiful lady in the court.

You are fine, just fine.

Aemond would not mind seeing your face everyday; he already sees it every night in his dreams.

And it is just fine.

"Is something the matter, my prince?"

Call him that. Do it again. Or better yet, replace prince with his name. Call him 'my Aemond'.

Aemond desires nothing more than to hear it.

Because... because he is vain. Nothing more than that. It would take a high degree of devotion for someone to utter the words 'my Aemond' to him. And who would not want to be at the end of such idolatry.

Perceive him. Worship him. Consume him.

You already consume him.

Aemond stands abruptly, and you scramble to follow suit.

"Aem... Aemond," you stammer. "I mean, forgive me... my prince, what is wrong?"

Aemond looks down. Your delicate hand is gripping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic doing nothing to mask the heat of your skin.

He is of dragon, he is of fire.

But your touch burns.

The clacking of wooden toy horses ring in the background, the children lost in their imagination.

"Nothing," Aemond clears his throat, and folds his arms behind him so your hand falls. "I am alright. I must go."

The smell of sweetness lingers in his nostrils. Your sweetness. He is growing weak.

He steps away, "I bid you farewell, my lady."

"My prince."

Call him Aemond. Call him by his name, title be damned. By the gods, call him yours.

Aemond nearly rushes out of the chambers, his gait sure and his footsteps heavy.

Tonight, in his dreams, he will finally release his foolish desires and that will be the end of it.

Behind his eyes, he will touch you and taste you and watch you crumble underneath him.

And he will be your Aemond.

That will be the climax of this passing fantasy.

III.*

Aemond has stripped down to his undergarments, supine above the silk sheets of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, and he sees you.

All the better for it, he supposes, that he gets rid of it now before it ruins him further.

It is a memory, from only one moon ago, but he sees it clear as day.

You had let your hair down that day, and it flowed freely, following the gentle breeze. Nestled in what Aemond found out to be your favourite spot in the gardens, needle and thread in your dainty fingers, you tell him that you are embroidering a veil for your dear mother.

You request for him to sit with you, and Aemond obeys.

Pleasantries are exchanged, about the weather, your duties, his training. All the while Aemond watches the contour of your lips, how it stretches back to reveal your smile when he says something that could not be the farthest from amusing, but you find it amusing anyway.

He stares you down questioningly.

You blush then, turning your focus back to your work, "Apologies, but I... I admire the way you speak, my prince. As if every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. You are intelligent, and you care what you say."

"Hmm," he said then, but now...

In his mind, he lets you know just what he wants, "Have you ever been bedded, my lady?"

You look at him in shock, of course you do. Those rosy lips part, and Aemond wonders whether your lips below possess the same shade.

In his grand chambers, Aemond lets his hand drift down, down from the planes of his stomach, to his hardened cock. He licks his lips, and imagines the softness of your own. He strokes the leaking tip with his thumb. The picture continues.

"Do you not ever wonder about the deed?" Aemond asks.

"M-my prince...I do not... I - "

"You must," he sneers. "You must, as I do, and when I do, it is you who floods my very thoughts, and consumes my very being."

"I do not know what to say."

"Say you want to kiss me."

His grip tightens, drawing down and up his cock, covering it with the milky white that has leaked from his tip. He is pained, teeth pressing down on his lower lip. He imagines your hands on him, your dress undone as you watch him come undone.

"We mustn't," you look down in shame. Your legs clench together to keep in the warmth.

"Come here, my sweetness," he leads you to sit atop him, and your work clatters to the ground.

You try to look away, try to hide just how much he is affecting you.

"Kiss me," Aemond pleads.

You comply. He slips his tongue past your lips.

Faster, wetter, he gets harder and it is unbearable. His hands are not enough, he wishes to plunge his aching member right into your soaking folds. Wishes to watch beads of his sweat fall on to you as he pounds you without mercy, his cock squelching deep inside your cunny until it is sore. If only you will ache as he does. Come as he comes.

Aemond lifts you up and the two of you end up stumbling down on the grass. He does not relent. His fingers make quick work of the strings and ribbons holding you together. Your breasts come free and he latches his mouth on one, his tongue swirling against the nipple.

"Oh Aemond!" you moan, and it is a scandal. It is everything unholy. It is every dirty thought nestled in his mind.

Soon he has you bare, your skin practically glowing under daylight. You are perfect, and you are his.

"Take me," you say, practically begging. "I want you to fill me with your cock. Fill me with your seed, my dragon prince. Please."

"My sweetness," Aemond reveals himself to you, undoing his breeches and slipping out of his tunic. How could he resist?

"Do you want me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you, my prince," you affirm, squirming under him, you hips bucking up with desire, hopelessly attempting to rub your cunny against his skin.

"My Aemond," he corrects you. "Say it."

"I want you," you say, "my Aemond."

Aemond rubs his cock faster and faster, the thick green veins in his hand and arms straining angrily under his skin. He feels you, he sees you in his mind so clear. You are his, and he is your Aemond.

He plunges his cock inside you, and you are left mewling and writhing as he quickens his assault.

He groans loudly. The lewd squelching of his cock turning sloppy, hasty, mindless. A few more strokes and he comes all over himself, hot white streaks decorating his torso. His silver hair in disarray on the pillows, like a broken halo. Beads of sweat falling from his temple. His mouth parted as he whispers your name.

He gives himself a few more tugs, emptying out. You would do him so much better. Touch him so well.

In his mind, he still sees it. Fragments of his memory bleeding through his fantasies. He does not know anymore what is real and what is not.

He cleans himself up with warm cloth afterward, feeling shame at his actions.

This is enough. Now he has released you from his being. The desire he holds so closely to his chest must have dissipated along with the lewd act he just committed.

"My Aemond," you whisper from behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Enough. No more of such useless musings.

"I love you, Aemond."

I love you too.

🌸🌸🌸

* In III, reality is fully italicized, and his memories + fantasies are typed as normal.

this was meant to have more sections ( IV to VII )... maybe I'll come around to it eventually.

Let me know what you think of this sort of writing from Aemond's perspective!

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

[axiina]

what about aemond x niece reader but aegon has always been in love with her? she is betrothed to aemond and they’ve always had a thing for the other but aegon has been head over heels for her since he can remember 👀

Always the last

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x niece!reader, Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader

Summary: The firstborn son, always the last. It was like a mockery of the gods. To give him birthright but take away the one he wanted more than anything in the world.

Words: 1k

Themes: angst, no comfort, basically aegon is obsessed with reader, kind of self harm? (too much alcohol to silence pain), addictions

Warnings: delulu fanon aegon, kind of self harm? (too much alcohol to silence pain), addictions, incest (it's targaryens so obviously)

Author's note: I'm back, and I hope for longer. At first, it was supposed to be a more aemond x reader, but I changed my mind, and it ended up as angst from aegon's perspective. I'm sucker for my delulu fanon aegon. if you want more, my asks are open!!

Aegon knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. The life he imagined with his niece by his side was simply not going to happen.

He didn't deserve her. And even if it were otherwise, nothing would come of it. He had already been married to Helaena for years.

It just didn't make sense, and Aegon was well aware of that. So why did it hurt him so much? Why then, when he heard his father's decision about the betrothals of Aemond and his niece, did Aegon feel as if his life had just been put to rest? Why did it hurt so much? The knowledge that it would be Aemond who would be able to watch her sleep blissfully, hug her, kiss her, and spend the rest of his life with her didn't allow him to function.

He is the first-born son, and yet always the last.

So he turned to drinking and whoring. Aegon was never a serious man. He was always more interested in pleasure than any duty and this time was no different either. He didn't want to think anymore.

He didn't want to think about her, so to silence those disturbing thoughts, he would get drunk to the point of unconsciousness, unable to get her out of his head.

He would do anything to forget, to silence the pain and the voice that reminded him that it should have been him all along.

Aegon drank day and night with no desire to stop it. In every spare moment, all he could think about was his niece. The girl whose smile could light up the darkest corner and whose touch made his heart beat faster.

He knew it was wrong. He knew he should forget her. After all, she was his brother's betrothed. But there was nothing he could do about it.

No matter how much he tried to push away thoughts of her, no matter how much he tried to hide his feelings, he couldn't.

He couldn't forget the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed or the way her hair fell around her face like a waterfall. He couldn't forget her scent and the smile that made his heart flutter. He couldn't forget the way her hand felt in his, or the way her fingers traced patterns on his skin. Even if it was years ago when they were children. When life was easier.

He couldn't forget her. He was completely and utterly infatuated.

And it was killing him.

Every time he saw her with his brother, every time he saw them laughing and joking together, it felt like a dagger in his heart. He knew he should be happy for Aemond, but he couldn't. He was too consumed with jealousy, too consumed with the thought that she should be his betrothed and not his brother's.

He knew it was selfish and even unreasonable. But he couldn't help it.

He couldn't bear the thought of her being with someone else. Not when he had wanted her so much for so long. Not when he had spent years admiring her from afar, unable to do anything but dream of what might have been if things had turned out differently.

No amount of alcohol could erase his memories, no amount of pleasure could dull the pain in his heart.

She was always there, on the edges of his mind, tormenting him with her sweetness, beauty and innocence.

The pain in Aegon's heart only grew when he saw them together.

The sight of Aemond's eyes brightening as he looked at her, the way he leaned in to listen closely every time she spoke, the small smile that appeared on his lips when she laughed, all of it made Aegon's insides twist into a knot.

He felt as if a cold, strong hand was squeezing his heart and squeezing it tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

He tried to look away, to divert his attention, but he couldn't. His eyes always returned to them, drawn to their sight like a moth to a flame. He tried to tell himself that he should be happy for Aemond, that he should be happy that his brother had found someone to make him happy, but he couldn't.

He was filled with a burning jealousy from which he could not shake.

He couldn't stand it.

He couldn't look at them together, see the happiness on their faces, the warmth in Aemond's gaze. It was like a thousand needles piercing his heart with every passing second. He wanted to scream, tear them apart, take her away from her brother, and claim her as his own. He wanted to sink his face into her hair and inhale her scent, to wrap his arms around her and never let her go.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't do any of those things. He was trapped, watching from the sidelines as Aemond, his younger brother, his other son, always the more loved one, was now the one who could be with her. The one who could hold her hand, kiss her, and share her life. Aegon could only stare at it, feeling the bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue.

She was like a drug, an addiction he couldn't shake off. Every time he saw her, his heart sped up, his palms sweated, and his throat tightened.

And every time she smiled at Aemond, her eyes shining with affection, his heart broke all over again.

He knew that Aemond deserved someone like her in his life. But he couldn't help it. Jealousy was consuming him. It was destroying him.

Aegon knew he was not the right choice for her. He was too weak, too selfish, too impulsive.

He was a drunkard, a lustful man, one who lacked discipline and self-control. He would disappoint her, hurt her, and ultimately break her heart.

But that didn't stop him from wanting her, from lusting after her like a drug. Every thought of her filled his mind, every memory of her haunted his dreams.

She was like a bright, shining candle in a dark, cold world, and he was drawn to her more and more because he couldn't have her.

He was the firstborn son, the eldest, the one who was supposed to get everything.

And yet he was always the last. Last in his father's eyes, last in his mother's heart and now last in the race to her heart.

It was like a cruel joke, a mockery of the gods, that they had given him the birthright but taken away the one thing he wanted, the one person he wanted more than anything.

[chronically-ghosted]

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

History says no. 

So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 

The bastard winks at you. 

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did. 

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

“When are you going to have some of your own?” 

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie. 

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 

This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger. 

Shame. Guilt. 

Hot embarrassment. 

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.” 

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 

And out of nowhere, he smiles. 

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 

Oh. 

Maybe he did mean it like that. 

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 

  “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 

“Face down, baby,” he says. 

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do. 

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.” 

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 

“Dieter, please –,” 

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 

“Harder again, please.” 

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 

“Say it again.” 

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 

And you’re laughing. 

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.” 

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

Your heart says yes. 

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley gets roped into helping Bob coach tee ball, even though he knows nothing about kids. But he is immediately charmed by his team and one of the moms.

Warnings: Fluff, angst and swearing

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

"I could really use your help," Bob told Bradley over some drinks at the Hard Deck. "Jake wouldn't take it seriously enough, and Phoenix already volunteers at the animal shelter. Will you do it?"

Bradley tipped his pint glass against his lips and took a long drink. "Ten weeks is a long time," he told his friend. 

Bob drummed his fingers against the bartop. "I need a contingency plan in case I get deployed. That's the only way the league will let me coach a team."

Bradley leaned forward on his elbow. "Bob, I don't really even know anything about tee ball. Or kids for that matter."

"You played baseball in college!" Bob reminded him with a hopeful smile. "And you were really good, right? Starting shortstop all four years?"

"You're just trying to use that against me, aren't you?" Bradley asked with a chuckle. 

"Of course I am! My sister is begging me to do this, and I want to! My niece is struggling in school, but she loves sports. I think she would do better with a coach she's familiar with," Bob gushed. "Come on."

But he was still shaking his head. "It's not that I don't want to, Bob. It's just that, I don't know anything about kids!"

"Kids are simple. You treat them like their opinions matter, and they'll love you forever. At least that's how it works with Piper, my niece."

Bradley heaved a deep sigh. It wasn't like he had anything better to do with his time. He was single, work ended at 4:30 when he wasn't deployed, and he really did love baseball. It might be fun to teach a bunch of kids how to play. Hell, what did he have to lose?

"Yeah, okay."

Bob's eyes went wide behind his glasses. "Really? You'll be the co-coach of the Tiny Eagles with me?"

With a shrug and a smile, Bradley nodded his head. "Yeah, Bob. I'll be your co-coach."

-----------------------

"What do you mean you're not allowed peanut butter in the lunchroom?" you asked your son as you were making his school lunch. "You took a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Friday!"

"That was last week, mommy. The rules have changed, and it's important to be flexible."

You really despised it when your six year old used your own words against you.

"Everett, I don't have time for this. You'll need to buy lunch today, okay? Be flexible?" you said, glancing down at your half-dressed body. You needed to be on time for work today, therefore the elementary school cafeteria food would just have to do.

Everett scrunched up his nose but said, "Okay, mommy."

"Perfect," you said, shoving the jar of peanut butter to the side and pouring two bowls of cereal. "Eat your cheerios so I can get you to school."

You inhaled your own breakfast and then dashed back up to your room to finish getting ready. Your suit with the tight pants was the only one that was clean, so you squeezed yourself into them and found a clean bra. Frank would be in the office today, and you'd gotten used to him meeting up with you around lunchtime to make out a little bit, even though it was strictly against company policy. He'd like the tight pants, you supposed. 

Once you added some mascara and lip gloss to your face, you found your black heels and started back down the stairs. "Shit," you muttered, turning around again. Today was Everett's first day of tee ball practice, so you grabbed a pair of old sneakers to change into later. 

You felt like a scattered mess all the time, especially since Danny, your ex-husband was almost no help with Everett. Every time you thought about him, you wanted to punch the wall, so you took a calming breath and put a smile back on your face before you entered the kitchen. 

"Let's get going, sweetie. You've got tee ball after school today, so I'm packing some extra snacks."

"Yes!" Everett cheered. "I've been waiting all month for baseball to start!"

You smiled and ushered him out to your car. "Remember, it's not quite baseball, so don't get ahead of yourself, Ev. But tee ball is a good place to start."

"Yeah, I know. But it's still going to be fun."

Once you dropped him off at school, you raced to your office and tried to sneak to your desk without anyone bothering you. Thankfully you made it all the way there before Frank let himself in. 

Yeah, you and he were hooking up. Yeah, you had slept over his house last weekend while Everett was with your sister. But you still didn't want him to just waltz into your office whenever he felt like it.

"Hey, baby," he whispered, walking toward your desk. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Frank," you told him, trying to compile your spreadsheets while he kissed your cheek. "Just very busy. And Everett has practice this evening."

"When are you free to go out again?" he asked, stroking his fingers down your neck. God, it felt good to be touched like this, but Frank really wasn't your type, and he was mediocre at everything. He was mediocre at work, usually doing the bare minimum. He was a mediocre kisser. He had mediocre looks. He was probably below average in bed. 

But you were a single mom who barely had time to eat, only washed her hair three times a week, and usually fell asleep about thirty minutes after Everett did every night. 

"I'm not sure, Frank. I'll have to let you know." Bottom line, you'd probably schedule another date for next week when you'd be too horny again to mind that you weren't that into him. Not the best way to live your life, but what else were you supposed to do?

"You just call me, and I'll take you out anywhere you want."

What you wanted was to be able to introduce Everett to the guy you were spending time with, but Frank hated kids. 

"I'll let you know. I'm just busy at the moment, so..." You let your sentence hang until he nodded and took the hint. When your door closed behind him, you got back to work. Of course you were in the middle of a phone call and existing solely on caffeine when your alarm went off to let you know you needed to go pick Everett up.

"Sounds great. I'll talk to my clients and get back to you soon," you said, ending your work call and sweeping your work into your bag. 

"Shit." You'd accidentally skipped your lunch again. You ate your sandwich while you were in the car pickup line at Everett's school and then touched up your mascara and lip gloss. 

"Ready, sweetie? First day of practice!"

He climbed into the car and buckled himself into his seat. "Ready!"

You just smiled as he tugged his Phillies hat lower over his forehead. You'd been taking him to Padres games as often as you could, ever since he'd become obsessed with baseball. Each time the Padres played a new team, you let Everett pick out a shirt or hat to remember the game by. For some reason that Phillies cap was his favorite. 

"I hope my team colors are red and white, so they match my hat," he said, munching on a snack while you pulled into the ballpark lot. 

"That would be fun. Just remember, we don't complain about things like the color of your uniform," you mumbled, snagging an empty spot next to a vintage Ford Bronco. You gave it a quick once over before you got Everett and his equipment out of the car and started to head toward the field, changing your shoes as you went. 

"Are those my coaches?" Everett asked as you lugged his bat and carried your heels in one hand. "What were their names again?"

"Um, Coach Bob and Coach Bradley? I think? We'll find out in a minute," you said, but when you looked up, you saw two extremely handsome men walking toward you. They were wearing matching blue jerseys, caps and whistles, and your tummy dipped at the way the one with darker hair carried himself when he walked. He was almost strutting across the infield, and his baseball cap was on backwards. 

You bit back an embarrassing sound before it could escape you, and you had to force your mouth to shut.

"Come on, mommy!" 

Your attention snapped back to your son who was now headed for the bleachers. He was already changing into his cleats amongst all the other kids by the time you caught up to him. 

When you glanced up toward the coaches again, the one with the backward hat was already looking at you. His head was cocked a little to one side, and he had a cute, crooked smile playing at the corner of his mouth. And you immediately wanted to disappear. 

How embarrassing, being caught out like that. The blond coach with glasses blew his whistle, and the kids went into a frenzy. You quickly shoved Everett's sneakers into his bag and got your phone out. You took a seat near the other parents while Everett and the other kids all trotted out to the field.

But you could clearly hear the two women behind you whispering. "These coaches are eye candy, Tara! This season is going to be fantastic!" 

--------------------------

"Here's the full schedule. And you don't have to worry about the theme days, because I already took care of all of them," Bob said, clearly trying to sound reassuring as he handed Bradley packet after packet of paperwork.

"Theme days?" Bradley asked, skimming the calendar. 

"Yeah, like there's a day where the kids can wear costumes for practice. Another day where they can dress in their favorite sports shirt. A swim party. Fun stuff to keep them engaged. I already added them to the calendar," Bob said. Bradley just nodded as they made their way back across the field. 

But when he looked up toward the bleachers, his eyes caught on something so pretty, he couldn't look away. You were carrying some seriously tall high heels in one hand and a tee ball bat in the other as you made your way toward the huge group of kids. 

Bradley should be embarrassed. He really should. He had assured Nat that there was no way he was going to start jonesing for any of the moms. They weren't his type. He never sought them out, and he never ever dated them. 

But there was no denying that you were exactly the type of woman he'd try to chat up. You were pretty; god, you were gorgeous. Your suit pants were distractingly tight, and he thought your sneakers looked cute paired with them. He was grinning when you made eye contact with him, and his smile just grew. 

He watched you scramble and pull your phone out of your pocket just as Bob blew his whistle, calling the kids onto the field. 

"Welcome, Tiny Eagles! I'm Coach Bob, and this is Coach Bradley! Who's excited to be here for tee ball?"

Bradley couldn't help but smile as all of the kids jumped up and down and cheered. Lots of them had cute grins with missing teeth, and Bob's niece Piper was hugging Bob's leg. 

"When I point at you, tell us your name, okay?" Bob went through the group of twenty kids, and Bradley would be lucky to remember even three of their names after this first practice.

"Let's get started with some warm-ups!" Bob instructed. "Who knows how to do jumping jacks?"

All of the kids started jumping at the same time while Bradley and Bob tried to get them to count to ten. Their excitement had Bradley smiling and laughing, and at Bob's instruction, he led all the kids in a jog around the bases. When he rounded second base and then third, Bradley had the perfect view of you sitting at the bottom of the bleachers. 

You were tucking your hair behind your ear, and he met your eyes again. This time you smiled back before your eyes dipped to the turf in front of you. Then you glanced up again and waved your fingers to whichever kid was yours. Bradley could imagine you waving to him that way. He could imagine you doing a lot of things he might like. 

He sighed and joined Bob as he started to get the kids lined up for practice catching. Bradley adjusted gloves on a few kids' hands, and then he knelt down in front of an adorable little boy who had untied laces.

"Hey kiddo, what's your name again?"

"Everett!" 

"Right. Everett. Can I re-tie your laces for you? Make them nice and tight? Don't want any injuries so early in the season."

When the boy nodded, Bradley started to tie up the cleats for him.

"I like your Phillies cap. That's my favorite team," Bradley said with a smile.

He watched the kid's eyes grow wide. "Really? It's my favorite team, too! My mom took me to see them play the Padres last year, and they won!"

"Oh yeah? Your mom sounds cool."

He nodded vigorously. "My mom is so fun. She doesn't really know stuff about baseball, but she took me to a bunch of games to see different teams last summer."

Bradley was grinning as he was about to stand. "Which one's your mom?"

Everett turned to look over his shoulder, and Bradley followed his extended finger to where you were sitting. "Over there. In the suit."

Bradley watched you uncross and recross your legs and play with your hair before you glanced up from your phone and found him and Everett both looking at you. A hesitant smile found your lips and you waved again. This time Everett and Bradley both waved back. 

"Holy cow, kid. Your dad's lucky."

Everett just gave Bradley a confused look. "Oh, no. He's not fun like her. He doesn't take me anywhere."

"Ready?" Bob called to where Bradley and Everett were chatting. With one final look at you, Bradley stood and led Everett by the hand to where the kids were all lined up along the first base line. 

----------------------------

So that was Coach Bradley. You didn't seem capable of keeping your eyes off him. Your phone kept buzzing with work emails that you kept ignoring. Any time Everett wasn't engaged in the practice, your gaze drifted to Coach Bradley, his backward hat, and his snug shorts. 

The other moms and nannies were all abuzz over the cute coaches, and you were silently agreeing with everything they said.

"They both must be at least six foot two."

"I wonder if they are single. I don't see any rings. God, I hope they are single."

"I'd let Coach Bradley bring his whistle to bed."

When practice ended, you were flushed and warm as you started to gather up Everett's bag. He came running over to you with his arms outstretched for a hug. 

"Guess what! Coach Bradley likes the Phillies!"

You laughed as you caught him for a hug. "Does he really?" you asked, glancing to see that all of the moms had swarmed around both of the coaches. 

"Yeah! It's his favorite team!" 

"Did you have fun then? Tee ball is a success, and you want to come back on Thursday?"

"Yes!"

"Love to hear that. Let's get packed up and head home for dinner."

But Coach Bradley was looking at you again as you tossed Everett's mitt and cleats into his bag. And when you began to turn to head back to your car, he came jogging over to you.

"Hi," he said with a smile. "I didn't get to introduce myself before. I'm Bradley."

He held out his big hand to you, but you felt like you were moving in slow motion now. His voice was so deep and raspy, and his hand was big and calloused. He was so tall, standing right in front of you and smelling like sweat and spicy deodorant. And you didn't even want to get started on his brown eyes and his mustache. You were turned on enough that you feared you might squeak instead of actually speaking, but you did manage to open your mouth and tell him your name as you slipped your hand into his. 

"It's nice to meet you," he replied, and your tummy dipped again. "Everett told me you took him to see the Phillies play."

"I did. Last summer. He's baseball obsessed." You were still gently shaking his hand, but he wasn't letting go yet.

"He's a fun kid. Happy he's on my team."

"He likes you already," you said with a smile, and as your hand left his, you missed his warmth right away.

Suddenly Everett popped up next to you. "I'm hungry."

You kissed his forehead and said, "I have snacks for you in the car. And I'll make dinner as soon as we get home. Can you thank your coaches?"

Everett smiled and gave Bradley a high five when he held his hand up. "Thanks Coach Bradley," he said before running off toward Coach Bob. 

You went to grab the equipment bag off of the bench, but Bradley reached for it too. "If you're heading out, I could walk up with you." You nodded and let him take the bag as Everett ran back over. 

As you scooped up your heels and led the way to your car, you listened to your son ask his coach a string of questions.

"Are we going to do batting on Thursday? What if it rains? Do we get a rain delay? Have you ever won coach of the year? How long have you been a Phillies fan?"

You were just about to tell Everett to chill, but Bradley started to answer all of the questions in stride. 

"We are definitely going to have batting practice on Thursday. I'm pretty sure we will just cancel practice if it rains. You don't want your mom to have to sit on a bench in the rain while you have all the fun and get muddy, do you?"

Everett just laughed and shook his head. 

Bradley continued. "This is my first time coaching, so no awards yet. And I've been a Phillies fan since I was about your age." 

"How old are you now?" Everett asked.

"That's not nice to ask adults, Ev," you said, tossing Bradley an apologetic look.

"What? I just want to know if he's the same age as you," Everett replied. Then he turned to Bradley and said, "My mom is thirty three."

"Everett!"

But Bradley was just laughing. "How about a math problem. What's thirty three plus three?" he asked, but he was still smiling at you as he adjusted his baseball cap.

"Thirty six!" Everett said as you all reached your car.

"That's how old I am," Bradley informed him with a smirk. "And you're very good at math."

"Mom! He's your age!"

"That's enough, Ev," you said, ushering him into the back seat. You took the bag from Bradley and tossed in on the backseat as well.

You turned to Bradley and tucked your hair behind your ear. "Thanks for walking us up. And sorry about the interrogation."

"I don't mind," he said, leaning in closer to you so he could see Everett, and making your breath hitch in the process. "See you on Thursday, kiddo?" he asked Everett, and his neck was right next to your face. He smelled so good.

"See you on Thursday, Coach!"

Bradley opened the driver's door for you, and as you thanked him and slid past, you realized you were more attracted to him after less than an hour in his presence than you were to Frank. 

"See you on Thursday," he said before gently closing your door. 

As you backed out of your parking spot, you watched him toss some of his gear and his hat into the vintage Bronco. He ran his hand through his hair and waved to Everett who was waving out the window. 

"Coach Bradley is so cool."

"I'm glad you liked him," you replied, and you watched him in your side view mirror as he started unbuttoning his jersey. You swallowed hard. "I liked him, too." 

-------------------------------

He's here! He's really here! And I am excited! I hope you liked this first part! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and thanks to@mak-32 for the gorgeous banner for this fic!

PART 2

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@xoxabs88xox

[daemonsdivorcerock]

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW || d.targaryen

IN WHICH: king viserys targaryen’s eldest daughter had a reputation for being a shrew and rejects every suitor before her, until her uncle daemon becomes a widower and decides to take an offer on his niece’s hand.

REQUESTED: yes/no

PAIRING: daemon targaryen x fem!targaryen

AUTHOR’S NOTES: the reader is described as having silver valyrian hair (if you do not wish to have silver hair in the fic feel read to change it). Also this text means high Valyrian.

WARNINGS: incest (uncle/niece) mention of daemon’s divorce rock, spousal murder, arranged marriage, targaryen incest, totally not inspired by shakespeare’s taming of the shrew, angst, allusions to sex, loss of virginity etc

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

VISERYS I DIDN’T EXPECT TO BEGIN A MEETING FOR THE SMALL COUNCIL WITH AN INTERRUPTION. A young son of Lord Blackwood entered the chambers of the Small Council, unannounced, practically in hysterics, clutching his red-marked, throbbing cheek.

Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, furrowed his brows. “Ser Cyrus,” Viserys spoke, eyeing the boy’s streaming tears, “Whatever is wrong?”.

“She-She is a nightmare in the flesh!” Cyrus Blackwood snapped, “She called me a cunt and threw her shoe at me! I will not wed her!”

Cyrus stormed out of the Small Council’s chambers, muttering a string of curses beneath his breath. Awkwardly, Viserys coughed. “This meeting is adjourned. I will make my way to the Princess (Name)’s chambers,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

The doors to (Name)’s chambers flew open, revealing an anger-stricken Viserys. Plainly, his eldest daughter sat, nose in a book. “Do you take pride in making this House look like fools?!” Viserys hissed, as the guards closed the door behind him.

“Whatever do you mean, Father?” (Name) spoke, barely looking him in the eyes, “Is this about that child you sent in with an offer for my hand, trying to barter me off the highest bidder already? Took you long enough…”.

Viserys scowled at his eldest. “You’re just like him,” Viserys scoffed, making (Name) look up at him, “Daemon. You’re thick as thieves with him. The both of you, like plagues sent to destroy me,”.

(Name) scoffed, eyes returning to her book. “Of course,” she sarcastically spat, “As if my whole existence suddenly depends on pestering you. Believe me, I have better things to do,”.

“Such as?” Viserys snapped, sitting down besides his daughter on the sofa in front of the fireplace, “Denying the…fourth proposal from a noble family? Lord Blackwood’s son was half-traumatised! You threw your shoe at him-“.

“He deserved it. He said I was merely a broodmare,” (Name) clarified, eyes scanning the inked words on the parchment pages, “Actually, this is only the third proposal for my hand in marriage. Why in the Seven Hells are you even here? Shouldn’t you be doing something like…I do not know, declaring me illegitimate to the line of succession in place of my younger sister? Marrying a girl Rhaenyra’s age of five and ten when it disgusts you to marry a girl of two and ten?”.

Viserys coughed into his handkerchief. “Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?” Viserys pondered aloud, catching his daughter’s attention, “Jaehaerys would’ve disinherited you, (Name)-“.

She slammed the book shut, standing up. “Well, it’s a bloody good thing I’m not one of Jaehaerys’ daughters. I might as well be Viserra reborn. Why do you insist on marrying me off to any man who wants my Valyrian blood for their children?”.

Viserys, once again, sighed in annoyance. “It is not like that, (Name),” Viserys spoke, “I wish that you would choose a husband from the many men who have put their hand forward to wed you?”.

“You know who I wish to wed,” (Name) spoke bitterly, sliding the book back onto her bookcase, “You know the one I want,”.

Viserys sighed. “Your uncle, Daemon, is a rogue. And a bad example,” he reminded, “He is already married to the Lady Rhea Royce,”.

(Name) bitterly sighed. “That didn’t stop Aegon the Conqueror from marrying both Rhaenys and Visenya,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

“Uncle,”

“Niece,”

The two declared rogues of House Targaryen greeted each other. They stood face-to-face, in the centre of the main hall of the Red Keep. Bustled between dancers of noble origin, both Targaryens stood out like sore thumbs.

“Uncle. We meet again,” (Name) spoke, circling Daemon like a vulture, as he did her, “I was quite distraught upon hearing the news of Lady Rhea’s accident. How untimely. It was almost like somebody sped up her passing,”.

Daemon scoffed, gripping the back of her head, thumb brushing her upper cheekbone. “Watch your words, you little shrew,” Daemon warned, the Valyrian words rolling off his tongue, “We are not the only ones who speak the language of our predecessors,”.

The princess rolled her eyes. “I am quite aware, dearest uncle,” she feigned, pressing a kiss to his palm, “I want them to hear. This wedding is so dreadfully boring. Take me away. Take me to Dragonstone and wed me in the tradition of our house. It is what you wish, is it not?”.

Out of the corner of her eye, (Name) spotted her father’s unhappy glance and Alicent’s judgemental look from the main table. She didn’t care. Their lips were almost touching when the sounds of screaming echoed across the hall.

Ser Criston Cole had beaten the lover of her sister’s betrothed to a pulp. To the death. She heard Laenor’s howling shrieks and sobs of agony and pitied the boy, as he mourned his lover’s death. Rhaenyra and Laenor were married later that evening, in a series of sobs and tears and Viserys collapsing.

A servant rushed in, out of breath, chest heaving and panting heavily. “The Princess- (Name)- Has ran away with Prince Daemon- Pentos-” the servant huffed, before falling to the ground, out of breath.

[earlysunshines]

misty

kindergarden teacher!sana x fem!reader. (p1. 1)

summary: you take your niece to her first day of school and- shoot, you might have a crush on your nieces' teacher.

wc: 2k

warnings: none, pure fluff

pt2 pt3 pt4

a/n: hiii this is my first post, feel free to leave feedback or just ask, comment, or anything like that, hope u enjoy!!

also, credits to @soliarus for inspiring and encouraging me to post my take on this! I really liked their take on this prompt/idea, so please check it out!!! it's so cute :'-]

-

you and your niece Hana, approach the classroom, and you spot parents already bidding their goodbyes and waving to their children from the cheery, chat-filled classroom. 

Hana reaches for your hand, holding your large hand with her small one. you look down at your niece, and she wears a white shirt, denim overalls, and a beige backpack, you had dressed her up this morning. The young girl stands outside the door with you and looks into the classroom from the door nervously.

“y/n, auntie…” She begins, “What if no one wants to be my friend?” 

There’s a look of surprise on your face after hearing what she said. She looks down at her beige, velcro sneakers. You squat down to match the little girl’s level,

“Hana… Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know… I don’t want to be the only one alone.” She says, and her frown deepens,

“Hana, sweetheart,” you start, holding both her hands in between your palms, “Trust me, at least one person will talk to you. Even if it isn’t today, someone amazing like you will make a friend, I mean, who wouldn’t want to be your friend? I made a lot of friends when I was your age,” 

You pause and put your hands on her shoulders, making eye contact, and your tone softens,

“You and I, we’re alike, . your dad and grandma think so too.” you begin, “And, be glad. Your dad isn’t as cool as me, trust me. Be glad you got your auntie’s genes, and because you have my genes, you’ll be the coolest in the room.”

“You sure?” Hana questions,

“Of course I am.” You assure her. You stand up and encourage her, “Now, come on, let’s go inside, your dad said your teacher was nice!” you say, smiling at the little girl and standing up again, “You lead me, I might get lost and I’m a bit scared myself, this isn’t my classroom after all.”

Hana’s worried expression is replaced by a growing smile after hearing your last remark,  “You’re so silly y/n, you’re old and scared? I thought you said you were the coolest!” Hana giggles, teasing you slightly.

“Hey! I am the coolest! and I'm not old! you should see your dad!”

The little girl laughs and gains a sudden boost of confidence from the lighthearted teasing, holding, no, grabbing your hand and practically pulling you into the classroom with her as if you were Alice traveling into some wonderland.

You two enter the classroom, and the first thing you notice is the smell. The vanilla scent isn't overwhelming, and you can even smell the faint notes of peaches and pears. The scent matches the slightly chaotic classroom and its well-thought-out arrangement and reminds you of the cafe you work at in a way.

There are kids in seats that are coloring, some looking or running around the room, and some with their parents taking pictures. Hana drags you to the colorful cubbies where she would put her finished work and lunchbox in. She shows you the sticker she put on the cubby with her dad from when they visited for the open house, and you smile at the sight. It’s a shark sticker, Hana and her dad love sharks.

“Hana, love, stand next to the cubby, I want to show your dad.” You tell her, pointing to the area where you want her to pose. She scoots over to the spot and smiles widely, her gums showing a bit as she smiles so brightly; it makes you smile too. you quickly snap a picture and send it to the group chat that your brother, mom, and dad are in.

You two wander around to where the backpacks are supposed to be hung, and your gaze wanders across the room to see a beautiful woman waving to a parent. The woman smiles at the other parent and crouches down to the little boy's level, then points to an empty seat before standing up and making eye contact with you. 

The woman is beautiful. Her dark brown hair flows effortlessly down to around where her ribs are. You find that it might be weird to think this, but her nose is perfect. The way it’s angled and the slope of it, and you surprise yourself at how much you like her nose, because you’ve never really thought about a nose like this. your gaze moves down to her peach-colored lips, and they look soft, lush, and really kissable-

you stop your thoughts on her lips there, because this is a woman you’ve just seen for the first time (and she’s making you all flustered and blushy like a stupid teenager in some romcom).

You look at her outfit, it’s cute and pretty, just like her. She wears a beige cardigan and white skirt that is loose on her thin figure, and the jewelry that completes her look is a small silver necklace sitting on her fair skin, just above her exposed collarbone, a small bracelet around her hand, and small gold earrings.

Hana feels the hand that holds hers slightly loosen up, and she looks up at you to see you staring across the room, ears tinted a shade of light pink. She looks over to what, or- who you’re looking at, which makes her tug at your sleeve, and it breaks you out of your trance.

“That’s my teacher, she’s really nice,” Hana says, smiling, “Last time, she gave me an extra sticker! Dad says she reminds him of you.”

“Me?”

“He says that she has the same warmth or something, I don’t know how people can be warm in the same way, that was kind of weird. He also said the way she talks to me reminds him of you.” Hana says. Your niece walks you over to the woman and she smiles at your niece,

“Y/n, this is Ms. Minatozaki.” Hana says shyly, tugging at your hand. 

“Hello, Hana. It’s nice to see you again.” The woman says, patting her head. Her voice is sweet and higher pitch, and the way she speaks is soft and welcoming, it even makes your cheeks warm up a bit. 

Her smile almost has you losing your balance, as if you were a weak tree getting hit by a gust of strong wind. The way her lips curved up to reflect her genuine joy in seeing your niece again made you weak in the knees. The woman’s gaze lands on you, and she makes eye contact. Her head is just barely angled when she looks up at you due to her being a couple of inches shorter, and you try not to fall into another trance from seeing her alluring features up close.

You try to compose yourself as you put your hand out to greet the beautiful woman, 

“Hello Ms, I’m y/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.” She replies. Sana is stunned by the woman in front of her, and it takes her a moment to really take in your presence. Your face is almost intimidating from how sharp your features are, and she’s trying not swoon over you in the moment seeing as you’re in the middle of introducing yourselves, and you’re (what she thinks,) Hana’s mother. 

her smaller hand fits yours perfectly as she shakes it. the world seems to pause for a bit as you realize this beautiful woman is shaking your hand, and it feels like you’re in a drama of some sort as everything slows down around you. She puts another hand on the outside of yours so that both hands are welcoming you into her precious workplace. 

Hana looks between the two women, a small smile tugging at her lips. She senses the spark that forms from the small interaction, and the way her aunt’s stoic and (usually) confident facade disappears at the moment.

You notice that your hands are still connected, and you pull away to run a hand through your hair, trying to play it off (you don’t, by the way, Hana reads right through you). 

You shift your look over to the little girl and squat down again to meet her level. A loose strand of hair that didn’t get braided is pushed behind your niece's ear by your slender fingers.

“Alright,” You say, placing a thumb on the girl's cheek, rubbing it lightly, “I’ll let you be off on your own, go have fun and be good okay? I’ll be here in the afternoon.”

“Yes y/n!” Hana beams, giving you a toothy grin. You laugh out softly and give her an almost identical grin back,

Your smile widens and there's a small feeling of worry that doesn’t go unnoticed. You really do hope everything goes well for your niece, after all, she’s your only niece and you just want the best for her. 

“If your teacher says you were good today, we can go to the cafe and I can make you your favorite hot chocolate, how about that? Ms. Dahyun also said she made a special croissant for you.”

“Please! Please! I’ll be good, I promise.” Hana says, practically jumping up and down. You smile at her enthusiasm and nod, 

“Alright, be good to Ms. Minatozaki lovely, I’ll see you later.” You say before you two exchange a nice, warm hug, and after you pull away, you push away her bangs and press a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a second.

You stand back up and watch the little girl run off on her own to an empty desk with coloring pages and markers, you smile at the sight.

“Hana is very enthusiastic, she’s a wonderful little girl from what I’ve seen so far. She’s so cute!” Ms. Minatozaki beams, and you turn your head to meet her gaze again, nodding.

“Yeah, she’s a curious little girl, and very bright.” You begin, then sigh, “I just hope she doesn’t cause any trouble. She’s pretty shy with new people, but she’s very energetic when she warms up and, well- you know how kids are.” You joke. 

Ms. Minatozaki lets out a giggle, and the way her nose scrunches makes you lose your cool a bit, it’s so cute that it has you laughing with her, and you don’t even bother to think about how pink your ears are right now.

“I’ll be going now Ms-”

“You can call me Sana, I mean, you’re not my student.” She says, laughing a little. 

“Definitely not.” You joke, and you want to joke on forever and make her laugh the whole day just to see how her face lights up and how adorable she looks when her nose scrunches slightly.

Sana watches you straighten out your dark brown jacket and her cheeks warm up a bit when you shoot her that cute smile of yours, but of course, you don’t notice due to how oblivious you are in the moment. The young teacher punches herself mentally for feeling a small flutter in her chest from who she thinks is her students’ mom, and she wonders how she’ll survive the year if she’ll see you more often.

“I’ll get going then, again, let me know if anything happens.” 

“Of course, I’ll make sure Hana has a great day,” Sana responds, nodding.

You and Sana exchange sweet smiles again, a similar warmth spreading through the two of you as you part. 

Before heading out the door, you wave to your niece again and the two of you smile at each other. You also take one more look at your niece's beautiful teacher, then head out to clock into your morning to afternoon shift.

Leaving the building, the sun seemed to shine a little brighter, and there was a new warmth in your chest knowing that Hana was in the hands and care of such a beautiful, sweet, and cute teacher: Ms. Minatozaki.

You were definitely going to convince your brother to let you take Hana to school more often, and pick her up regularly too.

… and little did you know, Sana would hope to see you often as well.

[pit-and-the-pen]

The Art of Dancing in the Rain

Summary: Eris needs to unwind, reader has the best idea to do exactly that.

Eris x summer court reader fluff

WC:1.5k (short and sweet)

A/n: As a Florida girly, playing in summer rain is so nostalgic that I had to write about it. Also I live for soft sweet vanserra brothers.

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list general or character specific

Eris was about ready to tear his hair out.. He wasn’t even supposed to be doing work but when Tarquin had handed him the stack of parchment, he couldn’t exactly say no. So that was how he ended up holed up in your childhood bedroom. Windows thrown open at the hopes of chasing in some semblance of a breeze. His skin felt sticky, unused to the summer heat.

Mind reeling with the half-assed documents in front of him. Trade agreements that had so many loopholes, it was a miracle the paper they were written on didn’t resemble swiss cheese.

The two of you were supposed to be visiting with your family. Which is where you were. Probably playing with your sister's new babe. The whole time during her pregnancy Eris would listen as you babbled excitedly about all the things you would do with the baby, hearts practically forming in your eyes. The moment she had gone into labor you had Eris winnow you both and the several bags of presents for the little tot. You had left to give the new family time to settle but you could only stay away for a few months, refusing to miss any major milestones for your precious niece.

You had been particularly excited to show off the little strawberry covered swimsuit you had found, ignoring Eris’ reminder it would probably be too big for the infant. And that the water would be far too cold to swim in at this point in the year.

So here Eris was cursing his dead father for the millionth time. This time for his utter lack of organization. For making him have to take time away from his excited mate and her family. He would love nothing more than to see you playing in the waves, splashing around with the small bundle in your arms.

A small knock on the door startled Eris from his musings. He jumped slightly before he recognized your signature knock. The only one he never had to answer to. Just like he expected, you slowly opened the door and searched the room for him. Your breathtaking smile was enough to make him put down his paperwork. Returning it wholeheartedly.

“Pumpkin, what are you doing here?” He asked, a smile not fading from his face. You crossed the room in a few steps, the light fabric of your dress catching on the wind that had not been flowing through the room a few moments ago.

“Do I need a reason to check on my favorite person?”

“I didn’t realize the babe was in here.” He made a show of looking around the room, like he might be able to find the small child

“Well the biggest babe is in front of me right now” He shot you a fake scolding look that made your head tip back in laughter. “I wanted to check on you, you said it wouldn’t take long and that was hours ago. I had to make sure you weren’t wasting away.” You closed the distance between you two and wrapped your arms around his waist. You head resting perfectly against his chest. His hands came up to rest on the small of your back and he placed a small kiss to the crown of your head.

“I should be done here soon, sweetheart. Go spend some time with your family.” He muttered but only squeezed you tighter. You looked past him, eyes glancing out the window before a breathtaking smile graced your face. You looked back to him and held up a tentative hand out to him.

“Do you trust me?” You asked simply. He didn’t hesitate.

“With my life.” He swore and you wrapped your hand around his and started pulling him out of the make-shift office through the giant sliding glass doors in the room. They opened right onto a small private beach and he tried not to grimace at the unfamiliar feeling of sand under his feet.

“Okay, now that you’ve got me here,” he wiggled his eyebrow at you, “what are you planning to do to me.” He was rewarded with another sweet giggle. When you stopped, you got silent. Waiting for something he realized. That familiar twinkle in your eye that told him you were scheming.

“Just stand here. Should be any second now.” And as if on cue a loud crack filled the sky and Eris vaguely felt something cold and wet drip down his scalp. Then another, and another until suddenly the sky opened up, the downpour of cool summer rain. You let out a sound of pure joy at the feeling of it against your skin. Your dress was already starting to cling to your skin and your hair was already starting to fall into your face.

“We should go inside my love.” Eris spoke up with a shake of his head, trying to free himself from the spell that you seemed to be casting on him.

“Dance with me?” You said a little too loudly, trying to be heard over the loud rain. He cocked his head slightly, swearing he must have heard you wrong. Huffing slightly, you grabbed his hand and gave his arm a tentative swing. Still not entirely getting the hint, you pulled him close to you and threw your arms around his neck. You started swaying slightly and Eris, with practiced hands, came to rest on your waist.

The two of you rocked back and forth, swaying to an invisible song until he leaned down close to your face. “If you want to dance, who am I to tell a beautiful female no?” You didn’t even have time to think of a response before he grabbed your hand and raised it over your head, swinging your body in a dramatic circle. He wanted to drown in the sound of your answering laugh. It warmed his body against the chill of the rain and he spun you once more just to hear that sweet sound again. He spun you around until you were dizzy and needed to lean against his chest for stability.

The small swaying motions quickly turned into a broken waltz. Nothing court worthy as the wet sand made it hard to find your footing but he got to hold you close so he wasn’t going to complain.

As the rain continued to pick up, you started to hum the melody of your favorite song to dance to. He couldn’t help his own laugh that flowed out of his mouth, your joy too infectious for him to feel silly about his current actions. He loved his hands to your waist and lifted you off your feet and into the air in a graceful arc.

When he placed you back on your feet, you wrapped your arms around his neck again and pulled his lips down to meet yours. You tasted like you mixed with the taste of the fresh raindrops that freckled your face and lips. He instantly felt drunk off the taste and pulled you closer against him, tipping your head back slightly to deepen the kiss.

The two of you stayed out for well over an hour. Spinning and laughing and kissing. Until the sky started to lighten and the downpour slowed down to a trickle. You were panting slightly, worn out between the heavy giggling and movement of your dancing.

You pulled his forehead down to rest against his. “I love you, Eris” and the reverence those four words heod as they flowed off your tongue was enough to make his knees weak.

“And I love you sweetheart.” He continued to sway the two of you back and forth until the rain had completely ceased before dipping you low enough for the tips of your hair to dip against the damp sand. He pulled you back up to him, your chest bumping against his and he put a single finger under your chin and placed a sweet kiss onto your lips. Pouring all his love into that point of connection. When he pulled away he couldn’t look away from your eyes. Bright and so full of energy that he truly couldn’t believe you were his.

He was still in awe every day of your beauty and the unabashed way you felt your emotions. Today it was joy and he felt that same feeling mirrored in his own face as he pulled your head against his chest, more so embracing now than dancing and whispered a quiet, “thank you” into the crown of your head. He couldn’t say all the words he wanted to but he hoped you could hear the meaning behind those two. Thank you for loving me, thank you for showing me that goodness still exists in this world , thank you for being with me when I was in a bad mood, and thank you for reminding me how it is important to enjoy the little things like dancing in the rain.

“No, Thank you” Thank you for letting me love you, thank you for loving me back, thank you for still believing in that good and working so hard to make sure it’s still there, thank you for coming out with me and sharing this moment with me. Those words held so much more meaning than either of you could either find the words for but the two of you felt them all the same. As the two of you swayed until the sun started to set along the sea, Eris wished he could bottle this moment and carry it around with him for the rest of his life.

Tagging the Eris fans now that it’s not 1 in the morning (hopefully) @daycourtofficial @secret-third-thing

[acearcane]

Random TUA Headcanons, Pt. 1

I was thinking about what sort of uncles (and aunt) the Hargreeves siblings would be. Since we may get to see those dynamics in s4 (the Klaus and Claire pic has got me hyped) it's time to share my silly thoughts.

This isn't speculation; I don't really do that. These are merely random ideas of mine (and all very soft because I can't be an angst writer all the time). Enjoy! ^.^

Below the break.

LUTHER

Helps teach them how to drive, and really enjoys it, too.

Has karaoke sessions in the car with his nieces when he drives them around. He tries to sing all the parts and makes them laugh.

Takes them to planetariums, rocket launches, and shows them how to work a telescope; he'll map the night skies with them for hours.

Was always the favorite when it came to playing hide-n-seek or tag; he invented a game called "crazy monk" where he makes scary faces and chases them around the house.

Could carry one niece on each shoulder easily; they loved it.

DIEGO

Is there for them after their first break-up. He takes them to a rage room and they have a grand time smashing things to bits.

Teaches them self-defense, as well as how to properly throw a knife. He may have gifted them their first knife a little too early, though.

Attends all of their sports games and track meets, and is there to scream and cheer from the sidelines (or shout at the ref if needed).

Learned how to style hair so he could give his daughter and niece all sorts of fun and dramatic hairdos; on speed dial for "crazy hair day" at school.

ALLISON

The one who takes them out for their first drink when they turn 21.

Likes to buy a lot of little presents for them, although they'll occasionally get jump-scared by something huge, like a new car.

Loves to go on trips with them; was definitely their travel companion for their senior graduation trip.

Helped them get ready before prom and took way too many pictures, all of which she cherishes greatly.

Would absolutely be the one to give "the Talk", because all of her brothers were too awkward to do it for their own children. Is excellent at giving a quick and concise sex ed course.

KLAUS

Would love to take his nieces to get their nails done (he'd get his done, too).

Loves to go get ice cream, boba, and other little treats with his nieces.

Is definitely the one bringing home puppies, kittens, hamsters, etc. as birthday presents.

If any of his nieces/nephews were to come out as queer, he'd be wildly supportive. He'd go with them to get their hair cut and buy new clothes if they were trans, or support them at Pride, or just overall be the coolest uncle ever.

FIVE

Acts like he could care less, but remembers all of the tiny, insignificant details such as their favorite color or favorite flavor of ice cream.

Will pick them up from anywhere, no lectures, no questions asked. Also won't tell their parents if they don't want him to.

Became very distressed the first time one of his nieces was bullied; his siblings had to remind him that he was not allowed to murder a kindergartner.

Unironically refers to them as his siblings' "spawn" and "offspring".

Asks his nieces for help when it comes to using his phone.

Would take his nieces to Starbucks or Dutch Bros (is this too niche to my area?), even if he thinks their coffee tastes like shit, because he likes to see them smile when they drink their overly sugary drinks.

(UMBRELLA) BEN

The absolute best at reading bedtime stories. He'd do goofy voices and end up keeping his nieces awake because they'd be too busy giggling.

Helps them study for tests and exams (they always get the best grades when Uncle Ben helps them).

Is an extremely good listener and gives some of the best advice. He never judges them for their mistakes, but always suggests how they might grow and move forward.

Happy to help his nieces on their curiosity voyages; likes to take them to museums and other places of learning.

VIKTOR

Would attend every musical, dance recital, talent show, and performance his nieces were in. He'd be in the back with big bouquets of roses and whistle and cheer at all the right moments.

Likes to take them to do the ordinary, menial things he wished he could do as a kid, such as going to the zoo or an amusement park.

Loves to talk and FaceTime with his nieces; he never misses a single call.

Is happy to pay for any artistic hobbies his nieces want to pursue, such as music lessons or drama camps.

Have any other headcanons about the Hargreeves as aunt and uncles? Lemme know in the replies or the reblogs!

[kckt88]

The Lost Dragon XI - Freedom.

Summary:

The Lost dragon finds his way home.

Warning(s): Childbirth, Dragons, Reunion, Fluff, Kissing, Language, Anger, Uncle/Niece Incest, Smut - Oral Sex (F Recieving), P in V.

*Features a Time Skip*

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 5523

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.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

As Vaelys cried out in agony, her voice piercing the air with the intensity of her pain, Vermithor, let out a thunderous roar that shook the very foundations of Dragonstone. His mighty roar seemed to echo the anguish of his rider, a primal cry that reverberated through the castle walls.

“Aemond” begged Vaelys her voice filled with desperation and longing. She knew he couldn't be with her, not now, not while he was in exile but still, she couldn't help but yearn for his presence, his strength, his love.

Rhaenyra and Helaena exchanged worried glances, their hearts breaking for Vaelys in her moment of need.

“I want AEMOND” screamed Vaelys, as she clutched at the sheets beneath her with white-knuckled fists, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she fought against the agony that threatened to overwhelm her.

The sound of Vermithor's roar filled the birthing chamber, drowning out all other noise with its raw power and intensity. It was a sound born of empathy and solidarity, a testament to the bond that existed between dragon and rider.

Helaena knelt beside Vaelys' bed; her touch gentle as she reached out to grasp her hand. There was a warmth in her eyes, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes more than words ever could. In that moment of shared vulnerability, Helaena offered Vaelys the comfort of her presence, a silent reminder that she was not alone in her struggle.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra stood on the other side of the bed, taking Vaelys' other hand in hers. Her touch was firm yet gentle, a grounding force amidst the storm of emotions that raged within her daughter's heart.

"You are stronger than you know, my dear," Rhaenyra said, her voice filled with conviction. "It might not seem like it now, but you can do this. You have the strength and the courage to face whatever comes your way."

"Aemond should be here," she sobbed, her words choked with anguish. "I need him-I can't do this without him."

The weight of her longing bore down on her, the absence of her beloved husband a gaping wound in her heart. Each wave of pain only served to amplify her yearning for his presence, for his strength, for his love.

"He should be the one holding my hand” cried Vaelys.

Rhaenyra clasped her daughter’s hand tighter, but her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the confines of the birthing chamber. There was a tension in her posture, a guardedness in her demeanour, as if she held secrets too weighty to share.

"I know how much you long for Aemond to be here with you in this moment. He would give anything to be by your side, to share in the joy and pain of bringing new life into this world, and even though he can't be here physically, his love for you knows no bounds. He carries you in his heart, just as you carry him in yours” said Helaena, her words carrying a soothing warmth.

"Now I need you to focus your strength, Princess” urged Maester Gerardys, his voice a steady anchor amidst the tumult of emotions that swirled around them. "It's time. I need you to push."

With a guttural scream that echoed through the chamber, Vaelys pushed with all her might, her muscles straining against the weight of her labour. The roars of Vermithor outside grew louder and more intense, as if echoing the pain and determination coursing through her veins.

Helaena held tightly to Vaelys' hand, her own fingers trembling with emotion as she offered silent strength and support. Rhaenyra leaned in close, pressing gentle kisses to Vaelys' furrowed brow, her words of encouragement lost amidst the cacophony of noise.

The sheets beneath Vaelys were stained with blood, a stark reminder of the battle being waged within her body. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, every fibre of her being screaming for respite. But still, she pushed, drawing upon a wellspring of inner strength she never knew she possessed.

And then, with one final, push, the babe emerged into the world, a tiny, wailing bundle of life. Vaelys collapsed back against the pillows, her chest heaving with exertion, tears of relief streaming down her cheeks.

Helaena's eyes widened in awe, Rhaenyra's breath caught in her throat, and even Vermithor's roars seemed to falter in the presence of the miracle before them.

"It's a boy," Maester Gerardys announced, his voice filled with wonder as he cradled the newborn in his arms.

As Vaelys gazed upon her son for the first time, a rush of emotion flooded her heart as she whispered, her voice barely a breath, "A son, Aemond-we have a son."

The babe was a vision of beauty, with silver hair that shimmered in the faint light of the birthing chamber and eyes the colour of amethyst, mirroring that of his father. In that moment, he looked the very image of Aemond.

As Rhaenyra and Helaena gathered around Vaelys and her newborn son, their hearts overflowing with love and joy, they knew that their family was forever changed. For in the face of new life, hope blossomed anew, filling the chamber with the promise of a brighter future for them all.

Rhaenyra's eyes shimmered with pride and joy as she looked down at her grandson cradled in her daughter’s arms.

"What are you going to call him?" she asked, her excitement palpable.

Vaelys' smile widened as she gazed upon her newborn son, her heart overflowing with love. "Daevyn," she replied, her voice filled with warmth. "It means freedom”.

The significance of the name was not lost on Helaena, who shared a knowing glance with Vaelys. Daevyn was the name that Aemond had chosen for a son before Sovia was born, he saw it as s symbol of hope and resilience.

Helaena's smile grew as she reached out to gently caress her nephew's cheek. "Prince Daevyn Targaryen," she declared proudly, her voice filled with pride.

Sovia, with her bright eyes and messy silver curls, toddled into the room, her tiny hand gripping a plush dragon toy tightly. She paused in the doorway, her gaze fixed on the bundle nestled in her mother's arms.

"Sweet girl," Vaelys whispered, her voice soft with affection, as she gestured for Sovia to come closer.

With cautious steps, Sovia approached her mother and the newborn babe, her curiosity piqued. She reached out a chubby hand, her fingers gently brushing against Daevyn's tiny fist.

Daevyn stirred at the touch, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal bright, amethyst eyes that mirrored Sovia's own. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he gazed up at his sister with wonder.

Sovia's face lit up with a radiant smile as she giggled with delight, her laughter filling the room like a melody. She leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Daevyn's forehead before settling down beside her mother to admire her new baby brother.

Vaelys' heart clenched with a mixture of longing and sorrow. She cradled Daevyn closer to her chest, her thoughts drifting to Aemond, who was still far away in exile.

In that bittersweet moment, Vaelys couldn't help but wonder if Aemond felt the same ache in his heart, the same longing to be with his family. She whispered a silent prayer, wishing for their reunion to come swiftly so they could share in the joys of parenthood together.

Vaelys walked along the sun-kissed shores of Dragonstone, the soft sand beneath her feet yielding with each step. Daevyn nestled snugly against her chest in a sling of cloth, his tiny breaths warming her skin with each exhale. Beside her, Sovia skipped along, her hand clasped tightly in hers, their footsteps leaving imprints in the sand.

Helaena strolled beside them, her three children darting ahead, their laughter mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor chased each other along the shoreline, their playful antics painting the air with joy.

Behind them, Daeron kept a watchful eye, smiling as he observed his nieces and nephews.

As Sovia giggled and darted off to join her cousins in their playful chase along the shoreline, Vaelys couldn't help but pause for a moment, her gaze drifting across the vast expanse of the sea. A pang of longing tugged at her heart as she wondered quietly to herself: Is Aemond okay?

Sensing her turmoil, Helaena stepped closer, her presence a comforting anchor amidst Vaelys' inner turmoil. With a gentle touch, she wrapped an arm around Vaelys' shoulders, offering silent solace and reassurance.

"He's okay, Vaelys," Helaena murmured softly, her voice carrying the weight of conviction. "Aemond is strong, and he will come home to you".

Vaelys drew a shaky breath, her worries momentarily eased by Helaena's words of comfort. She leaned into her good sister's embrace, finding solace in the warmth of her presence.

Vaelys turned around and a flicker of panic shot through her chest at the sudden absence of Sovia. She scanned the beach frantically, her eyes darting from one spot to another, searching for any sign of her daughter amidst the swirling chaos of laughter and waves.

"Sovia?" she called out, her voice trembling with worry, the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Vaelys' heart pounded in her chest as she rushed over to Daeron, desperation etched into every line of her face.

"Daeron, where is she?" she demanded, her voice tinged with fear.

Daeron's expression mirrored her concern as he met her gaze, his eyes scanning the beach in search of any sign of Sovia.

"I... I took my eyes off her for just a second," he admitted, his voice filled with regret. "I didn't see where she went."

A surge of panic washed over Vaelys as she processed Daeron's words. She clutched Daevyn closer to her chest, her heart racing with fear for her missing daughter.

“Silver and wing, together the two will sing, an egg for a King” muttered Helaena her voice carrying a cryptic note that gave Vaelys pause.

Before Vaelys could question her further, a sudden roar pierced the air, reverberating through the surroundings with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Their attention snapped to the source of the sound, their eyes widening in awe as a shadow passed overhead. Against the backdrop of the sky, the silhouette of a dragon emerged.

“Silverwing” exclaimed Vaelys her heart skipping a beat as she watched the beautiful silver dragon land on the beach with a thud.

But her wonder quickly turned to panic as she heard Sovia's giggles nearby.

"Sovia!" Vaelys cried out, her voice tinged with fear as she saw her daughter toddling toward the dragon, her tiny hand outstretched in curiosity.

Fear gripped Vaelys' heart as she raced forward, her maternal instincts urging her to protect her child. But to her astonishment, Silverwing lowered her head with a gentle grace, her eyes shimmering with warmth and affection as she regarded Sovia.

A sense of wonder washed over Vaelys as she watched the unlikely encounter unfold before her eyes. With cautious steps, Sovia approached the dragon, her laughter filling the air with joy as she reached out to touch Silverwing's scaled snout.

To Vaelys' astonishment, Silverwing responded with an affectionate purr, her massive head nuzzling against Sovia's tiny hand with a gentleness that belied her formidable size.

"I guess Silverwing has found her rider,” remarked Daeron quietly, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and admiration.

"She's not even two name days old," Vaelys murmured, her voice tinged with wonder as she watched Sovia interact with the majestic creature before her.

In Sovia's innocent laughter and Silverwing's gentle purrs, Vaelys saw the undeniable proof of a bond being formed.

Daeron's laughter rang out across the beach, a buoyant and infectious sound that filled the air with mirth and warmth.

"Imagine Aemond's face when he comes back and discovers that his daughter is the youngest Targaryen in our history to ever claim a full-grown dragon," he exclaimed, his voice laced with amusement. "The guy is going to be so insufferable!"

Vaelys couldn't help but chuckle at the thought, the image of Aemond's proud and boastful demeanour bringing a smile to her lips. She could already picture the gleam of pride in his eye as he regaled anyone who would listen with tales of Sovia's remarkable feat.

Vaelys' gaze shifted to Vermithor, who lay basking in the warmth of the sun, his massive form sprawled out lazily on the sand. With a hint of playful sarcasm, she addressed the dragon.

"Thanks for all your help," she remarked dryly, her tone tinged with amusement.

Vermithor, sensing the sarcasm in her words, cracked open one eye, and let out a low, rumbling huff in response, as if to say, "She’s fine."

Vaelys couldn't help but grin at her dragon's playful reaction, a sense of camaraderie passing between them.

Vaelys turned to Helaena, a flicker of concern crossing her features as she thought of her newborn son. "Sovia has her dragon now, but what about Daevyn?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with worry.

Helaena smiled reassuringly, placing a comforting hand on Vaelys' shoulder. "Don't worry, Vaelys," she said gently. "Daevyn will have his dragon soon enough."

Vaelys nodded, her heart eased by Helaena's words. She knew that in time, Daevyn would find his own companion, a dragon to call his own. With a grateful smile, Vaelys turned her gaze back to Sovia and Silverwing, feeling a sense of peace wash over her as she watched them play together on the beach of Dragonstone.

The wind rushed past Vaelys' face as Vermithor soared through the skies, his powerful wings beating rhythmically against the currents. With Sovia securely fastened in the saddle in front of her and Daevyn strapped to her back, Vaelys felt a sense of exhilaration coursing through her veins as she flew with her children.

Beside them, Silverwing soared gracefully, her scales gleaming in the sunlight as she danced through the clouds. Sovia, almost three years old now, squealed with delight, her laughter echoing through the air as she reached out to touch the sky.

"Look, Mama, look!" Sovia exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as she pointed to the world below.

Vaelys couldn't help but smile at her daughter's infectious joy, her heart swelling with pride at the sight of her children flying with her. Daevyn, just fifteen moons old, gazed wide-eyed at the world around him, his tiny fingers grasping at the air in excitement.

As the winds carried them higher into the clouds, Vaelys couldn't shake the memory of Helaena's comforting words. "Daevyn will have his dragon soon enough," a promise of hope and possibility that lingered in Vaelys' mind.

It wasn't long after that when Silverwing laid a clutch of eggs, each one a shimmering promise of new life. Among them was a single egg, chosen by some unspoken instinct, to be placed in Daevyn's cradle.

Days passed, marked by anticipation, for the egg to hatch. And then, one morning, as the first rays of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, the egg cracked open.

A dragon of silver and blue emerged from the shell, its scales gleaming in the early light as it stretched its wings and let out a triumphant roar. The little hatchling, bonding immediately with Daevyn, curling up at his side.

As time passed, Sapphyre grew swiftly, his scales shimmering in the sunlight as he stretched his wings and tested his strength. Despite his youth, he was already a good size for his age, his lithe form exuding a sense of grace and power that contradicted his tender years.

With each passing day, Vaelys watched with pride as Sapphyre honed his skills, his flights becoming more confident and his movements more fluid. He soared through the skies alongside his mother, Silverwing and Vermithor.

Together, the three dragons danced through the clouds, their wings beating in perfect harmony as they embraced the freedom of the open sky. And as they flew, Vaelys felt a sense of wonder wash over her, grateful for the beauty and magic of the dragons.

Vaelys stood on the sandy shores of Dragonstone, her heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. As she waited for Aemond's return, her mind drifted back to the night before he left, their final moments together etched into her memory.

"Meet me on the beach of Dragonstone," he had said, his voice filled with determination and longing.

In that moment, Vaelys had promised herself that she would wait for him, no matter how long it took. But now, as she stood there, the weight of uncertainty pressed down upon her, her thoughts swirling with doubts and fears.

What if Aemond didn't come? What if the two years apart had changed him, irrevocably altering the bond they shared?

The air seemed to grow heavy with her doubts, the silence stretching out before her like an endless abyss. But just as her fears threatened to consume her, a deafening roar shattered the stillness, echoing through the air with a force that sent shivers down her spine.

And then, Vhagar descended through the clouds, her majestic form cutting through the sky with a grace that defied description. In that moment, all of Vaelys' doubts melted away, replaced by a surge of hope and longing that burned brighter than the sun itself.

With tears of joy streaming down her cheeks, Vaelys watched as Vhagar landed on the beach.

Aemond began his descent down the rope ladder, his movements eager and impatient. But halfway down, his haste overtook him, and with a determined glint in his eye, he let go of the ladder and leapt down onto the soft sand below.

Vaelys stood there, stunned by the sight of her husband, his features etched with determination and longing. In the two years they'd been apart. Aemond had grown even more handsome, his sharp features softened by the warmth of his smile.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Vaelys drank in the sight of him, her heart overflowing with love and longing. And as Aemond approached her with outstretched arms, she felt a surge of joy wash over her, and with a cry of joy, Vaelys sprinted across the sand toward Aemond, her heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. As she reached him, she leaped into his arms, her laughter mingling with his as they tumbled into the soft embrace of the sand below.

Giggling uncontrollably, Vaelys peppered kisses all over Aemond's face, her lips finding his cheeks, his forehead, and his nose in a flurry of affection and adoration. With each kiss, she felt the weight of their separation lift from her shoulders, replaced by an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude for the man who held her heart.

Aemond wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they lay entwined in the sand, their laughter echoing across the beach.

Aemond's voice trembled with emotion as he spoke, his eye searching Vaelys' face for reassurance. "I was worried you wouldn't be waiting for me," he confessed, his words heavy with the weight of his fears. "That the years apart would mean you no longer loved me, that you had taken another husband-"

But Vaelys shook her head, her eyes shining with love and devotion as she reached out to cup his cheek. "It's you, Aemond," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with conviction. "It's always been you."

With those words hanging in the air between them, Aemond's fears melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude. And as their lips met in a passionate kiss, the world around them faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of them entwined in each other's embrace, their love stronger than ever before.

"Brother!"

Aemond turned to see Daeron and Helaena hurrying towards them, their faces alight with joy and relief. With a smile spreading across his face, Aemond rose to his feet, pulling Vaelys up beside him as he greeted his siblings.

With open arms, Aemond embraced Daeron and Helaena, pulling them into a tight hug. The warmth of their reunion enveloped them, filling the air with a sense of familial love and unity.

Tears of happiness glistened in Daeron's eyes as he clapped Aemond on the back, his voice thick with emotion. "It's good to have you back, brother," he said, his words echoing the sentiments of everyone present.

Helaena joined in the embrace, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she held her brother close. "We missed you," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

With their arms wrapped around each other, the three of them stood together on the beach of Dragonstone, united once more.

As Aemond's gaze scanned the surroundings, his eyes fell upon a small figure standing with Ceci near the steps, a little girl with silver curls cascading down her shoulders. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized her instantly.

"S-Sovia?" Aemond stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. His daughter—his precious little girl—stood before him, but she was no longer the baby he remembered. She had grown so much in the two years he had been away, her silver curls just as wild and untamed as ever.

Stunned, Aemond approached her slowly, his steps faltering as he reached out a trembling hand. But Sovia, shy and unsure, backed away, seeking refuge behind Vaelys' protective embrace.

His heart aching with longing, Aemond knelt down before her, his eyes filled with love and longing. "Byka grēges," he whispered softly (Little bug).

At the sound of her father's voice, Sovia's eyes widened in recognition, and then, as if a dam had burst, she uttered a single word that filled Aemond's heart with boundless joy.

"Daddy."

With a cry of delight, Sovia threw herself into Aemond's waiting arms, her laughter ringing out like music on the breeze.

As Aemond basked in the joy of reuniting with Sovia, Vaelys stepped back, allowing father and daughter a few precious moments together. She watched them with a tender smile, her heart swelling with love and gratitude for the sight before her.

But as the moments passed, Vaelys knew it was time to share another precious gift with Aemond—their son, Daevyn. With a gentle nod to Ceci, she took her son into her arms, feeling the weight of his tiny form against her chest.

Taking a deep breath, Vaelys turned to face Aemond, her heart fluttering with nervous anticipation. She could see the stunned expression on his face as his gaze fell upon the boy in her arms.

"I-Is he?" Aemond's voice was barely a whisper, his eyes wide with disbelief and wonder.

With a soft smile, Vaelys nodded, her heart overflowing with joy. "Yes," she replied, her voice trembling with emotion. "This is your son. His name is Daevyn, born nine moons after you left."

As Aemond took in the sight of his son for the first time, his initial shock quickly gave way to a surge of overwhelming emotion. His heart pounded with a mixture of disbelief and anger, his mind struggling to process the revelation before him.

He had a son—a son he never knew existed. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightening, filling him with a sense of betrayal and fury. How could this have happened? How could his wife have given birth to their child without his knowledge?

His anger simmered, threatening to boil over as he grappled with the enormity of the situation. He knew it wasn't Vaelys' fault—she had been left in the dark just as much as he had. But still, the injustice of it all gnawed at him, fuelling the flames of his rage.

His gaze hardened as he turned his thoughts to Rhaenyra, the woman who had sent him away, tearing him from his family and his home. It was her decree that had forced him into exile, robbing him of the chance to witness the birth of his own son.

Bitterness welled up inside him as he thought of the time lost, the moments stolen from him by forces beyond his control. Anguish mingled with fury as he cursed the circumstances that had kept him apart from his loved ones, leaving him to wallow in ignorance while life carried on without him.

"Aemond," she began softly, her voice filled with warmth and compassion, "Would you like to hold Daevyn?"

Aemond's gaze flickered to his son, in Vaelys' arms, his features serene and innocent. For a moment, the storm of anger and resentment that brewed within him threatened to consume him entirely. But then, with a heavy sigh, he nodded silently, his resolve to confront Rhaenyra simmering beneath the surface for the time being.

Wordlessly, Vaelys carefully transferred Daevyn into Aemond's waiting arms, her touch gentle and reassuring. As their son nestled against his chest, Aemond felt a wave of tenderness wash over him, mingling with the anger and frustration that still lingered in his heart.

The soft glow of candlelight cast a warm ambiance over the small dinner gathering, illuminating the faces of those gathered around the table. Vaelys sat at the head, her radiant smile lighting up the room as she doted on their children, Sovia, and Daevyn.

Beside her, Aemond watched with a sense of overwhelming gratitude, his heart swelling with love as he beheld the sight of his family together once more. Daeron sat across from him, a grin on his face as he regaled the table with tales of his time at Old Town and how he once filled Lord Ormund’s boots with manure, his laughter filling the air.

Helaena sat beside her brother, with Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor by her side, their youthful energy adding to the lively atmosphere of the evening. Aemond couldn't help but smile as he watched them interact, their laughter and chatter a soothing melody that filled him with a sense of peace.

As he looked around the table at the faces of those, he loved the most, Aemond felt a surge of contentment wash over him.

He watched as Vaelys tended to their children with a grace and tenderness that took his breath away, her love for them evident in every gesture and smile. In that moment, Aemond fell in love with her all over again, grateful beyond words for the woman who had stood by his side through thick and thin.

As the evening stretched on and the laughter continued to flow, Aemond found himself lost in the warmth of the moment, his anger towards Rhaenyra could wait because he was home at last.

As soon as the door was closed, Aemond was on her, he wrapped his hand around Vaelys’ throat and pressed her against the wall.

“I can’t wait any longer ābrazȳrys, I need to have you” exclaimed Aemond (Wife).

“-Pār gūrogon issa “ replied Vaeryna as Aemond suddenly lunged forward and pressed his lips to hers (Then take me).

Their kiss was rough and desperate. Consisting of teeth and tongue.

It was an eruption of frustration and passion. Hands everywhere, grabbing, scratching, and pulling at one another.

Aemond spun Vaelys around and pressed her face against the wall, with one hand on the back of her neck and the other quickly untying the laces of his breeches.

Gods, he was so fucking hard, he'd been hard the moment he saw his wife again, and in truth if Daeron and Helaena hadn't of been there, he would have fucked Vaelys in the sand.

Aemond nudged her ankle with his foot, signalling for her to open her legs wider.

His body covered hers as he sucked and licked the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Vaelys moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

“Two years-two fucking years I’ve waited-“ growled Aemond.

“Kostilus” begged Vaelys (Please).

"Two years with nothing but my own hand-I fucked my fist everynight, thinking of you"

Aemond pulled up his wife’s skirts and slipped his fingers into her small clothes.

“Fuck” moaned Aemond, gods she was so wet that he almost spilled in his breeches.

Aemond ran his hand up and down the hard length of himself, eyeing his wife with an animalistic hunger, a smirk on his lips as she bent forward for him.

He pulls aside her small clothes as he guides himself to her entrance, she barely has a moment to adjust before he is pressing his cock forcefully inside and stretching her.

“THAT’S IT!” groaned Aemond.

Vaelys couldn’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts, Aemond set a brutal pace, his hips crashing into hers, his hard cock reaching deep inside her.

Then he withdrew from her and span her around, lifting her into his arms, his mouth pressed against hers as he quickly sheathed himself back inside her.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screams Vaelys.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond as he feels her cunny clenching around his cock.

He withdraws from her again, making her whimper in frustration.

But Aemond ignored her as he laid her on the chaise lounge and fell to his knees.

Sliding his calloused hands up her legs, bunching the fabric of her small clothes in his hand before he rips them from her body.

“Aemond” shrieked Vaelys as Aemond’s mouth descends on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into his wife’s core with his tongue, in and out, much faster than his cock ever could.

Still gasping, Vaelys clutched at his head with one hand, her other digging into the fabric of the chaise.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Vaelys ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

Aemond growled, deep in his throat. The vibration of his vocal cords rippled through to his tongue and Vaelys gasped; she felt every vibration keenly. Her body tensed for her peak– But Aemond pulled away from her and smirked, his chin shining with her slick.

“A-Aemond” gasped Vaelys, the tears of frustration spilling down her cheeks.

“Be a good little wife and take what your husband gives you” said Aemond as he reached for the laces of her dress before he grew impatient and tore it from her body, leaving her body bare before him.

His own hands moving to his own breeches and shirt, removing them as quick as he could before he surged forward and worshipped his wife’s breasts. His tongue licking at the stiffened rosy peaks

“P-Please. Husband” sobbed Vaelys as she felt his hard cock sliding against her folds.

“Hmm” growled Aemond as he wrapped his hand around his wife’s throat and sheathed himself inside her once more.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Vaelys.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

“Your cunt is dripping, it's so beautiful” sighed Aemond.

Slowly thrusting back and forth. Over and over, withdrawing further each time, until his cock entirely withdrew from her warm wet entrance. He marvelled at her body. Such a beautiful, succulent thing his wife was. Allowing him entry into the most sacred parts of her body.

Aemond began to fuck her in earnest, his fingers digging into the flesh of her throat, using her as leverage as he repeatedly plunged his cock into her cunny, over, thrilled to hear Vaelys’ moans of need echoing around their chambers.

His thrusts, brutal and unrelenting.

“Come for me, love” breathed Aemond.

Vaelys screamed as her desperately needed peak exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Aemond’s cock.

Gods, he needed to spill his seed, but not like this.

So, with his cock still nestled inside her, Aemond manoeuvred himself into a sitting position with Vaelys on his lap.

“Give me another-I want you to come on my cock again” growled Aemond.

Vaelys ran her hands over the defined muscles of his chest, her nails digging into his pale skin.

“Oh” gasped Vaelys as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

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

Aemond placed his hands on Vaelys’ hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Vaelys dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Vaelys as he moved his hand to her breasts and once again took one of her nipples into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

Vaelys’ thighs began to burn, as she felt her second peak approach.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaelys her vision going white as she came around his cock.

 “God. Vaelys” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed inside her, collapsing against the chaise, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses. Meanwhile his wife had collapsed against him, her face pressed into his neck.

"Rest a while ābrazȳrys and I shall have you again-we've got two years to make up for" rasped Aemond (Wife).

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Thank you so much for taking me to your lovely home, Mr. Schultz! It's so nice to see you! I had a feeling if I worked my hometown I might run into a few familiar faces...."

"The pleasure's all mine, Josie. Look at you! My, my, last I saw you, you were a skinny, nerdy girl who could barely land a date. I almost didn't recognize you strutting up and down my block, flagging men down for money to take a spin with that big, sexy pregnant body of yours."

"Awww, thank you! I'm glad you like pregnant girls! But I actually don't get paid."

"Oh, just providing some community service? My niece is about your age and she volunteers herself at the homeless shelter downtown."

"Mmmm, good for her! I'm actually working on my thesis. I guess you could say...."

"Oh? This I've got to hear."

"Well, I'm a Sexual Health Major and I'm trying to get my Master's. As soon as I started college they told me about my assignment. It's so time consuming it's almost all I do for college...."

"Does your college have you out working the streets, getting that belly pumped full of kids for the sake of experience, or is it more of a written project you need the experience for?"

"Both, kind of. I'm to fuck twelve new men a day. Every day, until I graduate. No exceptions. That's eighty-four men a week. Three hundred thirty-six men a month, at least. Over four thousand a year."

"That's quite a daunting amount of work. You have to catalogue them?"

"Yep! Get their names, or a pseudonym, their cock length, time they lasted, the positions they tried on me, what got them off the most, and summarize my findings about guys' sexual performance. I'm supposed to write an essay about it and share it with the university in a couple years."

"My oh my, seems you've been at this a while then. Already over ten thousand guys who fucked that curvy body of yours?"

"Yep! Closer to twenty thousand, at this point."

"And what wisdom can you share? You must be so experienced, darling...."

"Well, most guys are total perverts, but they won't just come out and say it. They're all porn addicts. The second one gets limp fucking my juicy, swollen pussy I have to roll my eyes, reminding them to fuck my ass instead to emulate the grip they use on their own cock. Then when they're about to cum take that dirty cock out of my ass and cram it in my pussy, cum inside it, and piss in it too, cause that's really all a girl's pussy is good for. Not getting men off, just a filthy toilet to do your business in and get out. Wipe your cock off my my labia. I'll lick the guys clean if there's any mess left....."

"Wow, and that works for almost every guy?"

"Well, most. Some like to fuck me doggystyle, others like me to ride them. But lots of guys have their own quirks. If it's an older guy I'll ask if they have a daughter my age, and if so to use her name as picture that I'm her as we fuck and that works every time. If the guy's my age I ask if they have a sister. Same deal. Oh, and other guys if they still have trouble getting all the way to an orgasm I tend to assume they must be into really extreme porn. So I just tell them to start beating me up. Punch my belly, my boobs, strangle me, give me a black eye. And boom, the second they start going to town beating on me they cum like crazy."

"Sounds like you must get that sexy body of yours beaten to a pulp fairly regularly, if my experience with the newer generations of men are anything to go by."

"Ohhh, you bet! But I'm a good girl, I get used to it. I just sit there writing about what gets them off in my little notebooks and I encourage them to keep escalating their aggression until it's enough for them to cum."

"Such a perfect student. I hope they're giving you extra credit for all the brutality..... and STDs, I'd wager."

"Nope, it's just considered part of the project! I have pretty much every std you can imagine, my pussy is so swollen and red from all of them it's starting to look like a balloon. And I'm sure having it treated like a toilet isn't helping either, but oh well. In my opinion, this is what a girl's sex is supposed to look like."

"I take it I won't be at risk of contracting anything with you?"

"Not at all, silly! My college gives me an unlimited prescription for the male-only std-prevention pills."

"Shame they don't make one for girls like you."

"Why? My pussy should be super swollen, red, irritated, and deformed from all the wonderful STDs men give me! Like I said, that's what a girl's pussy is there for..... Plus, the government would never fund an anti-std pill for girls!"

"Ah, good point, dear.... So, enough chatter, I guess I'll be the next entry into your notebook. Hope you enjoy yourself."

"I always do. And even if you don't really want to you can try out hitting me while we fuck, you'd be surprised how fun it is!"

"I think I just might, sweetheart.... Seeing you like this makes me feel like I'd be letting you down if I didn't."

Josie bit her lip. "That's good to hear. Do whatever you want to me, it's what my body's for.❤️"

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 8/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

                “I have a friend in Paris, I want you to go there and work in his kitchen.”

                “Why?”

                “You’re too comfortable here. Time to remind you that you never stop learning,” Leandro states and Bradley lets out a slow breath. He’s been here for three years, and he’s learnt so much, and Leandro and Silvia’s hospitality has been amazing. He feels part of their family.

                “I don’t speak French.”

                “It’s okay. You didn’t speak Italian either when you started with me. I will teach you.”

                “You speak French?”

                “Of course. It’s where I trained.”

                “Trained?”

                “I went to Le Cordon Bleu. Now I teach you,” Leandro says, and he rolls his eyes but he’s grinning. Bradley feels like there must be a joke there that he’s missing.

…            …            …

                He’s never spent so much time with a guy he’s not in a relationship with and also having sex with. Spending time with Jake feels so easy, like they’ve somehow skipped ahead over weeks of dating and awkwardness by simply forging ahead with lots of sex and hanging out. They haven’t had deep or meaningful conversations, other than some quite frank discussions around preferences in bed. They’re wonderfully compatible sexually and Bradley hasn’t had as much sex in the last year as he’s had in the last forty-eight hours.

                Jake has gone home, well, to his sister’s house across town, to where he is apparently babysitting his nieces and nephew so that his sister can have a date night with her husband. And also so he can have a night chatting with Vi before her flight home tomorrow. Although chat might be pushing it, because he’s pretty sure Vi is going to have a brain aneurism with all the muttering she’s been doing under her breath. Every time Jake put sauce on something her nostrils flared just a little and he wonders when she got a bigger bee in her bonnet than him about shit like that. She doesn’t even cook.

                “He puts sauce on pickles…” she mutters, and she’s pouring two glasses of wine, so he guesses he’s drinking wine tonight. Clearly because she doesn’t want to drink alone.

                “He does seem to put sauce on everything.”

                “Oh my god…” Vi says, pulling a face.

                “What?”

                “You would normally flip your shit at someone adding sauce to everything and yet… here you are looking like it’s cute. You actually like this guy.”

                “I mean, I don’t like his taste in sauce. But yeah… he’s pretty… uh… great.”

                “Oh my god. Leandro and Silvia are not going to believe it.”

                “How about we don’t share the details of my sex life with them until it’s something more than just sex?”

                “Oh, I’m calling it now. It is definitely more than sex. You wouldn’t be staying if it was just good sex.”

                “What about mind blowingly great sex?”

                “With a guy that adds sauce to everything?”

                “Well, he hasn’t brought it into the bedroom. Yet.”

                He supposes he deserves the punch to the arm.

…            …            …

                Leo is an active rester. That’s the only thing he can take away from watching him be completely unable to just sit. Even after sex he seems to buzz with energy until Jake wrings another orgasm out of him, which had been a delight to learn. Now he’s making more food and he watches as Leo cuts, his hands, fingers and blade flying and it’s mesmerizing, like watching the flicker of flame but instead it’s the flash of a metal blade.

                “Damn you’re good with that…”

                Leo doesn’t stop but he looks up to smile at Jake.

                “The knife is an extension of my arm… just like when you fly. Muscle memory and training.”

                “Huh. You know a lot about flying huh?”

                “Navy brat remember?”

                “Even after you dad died?” Jake asks.

                “Yeah… my godfather stepped up and he helped my mom raise me. So I know all about the military lifestyle. How I was raised.”

                “So your godfather was also an aviator?”

                “Yep,” Leo says, tone clipped and okay, not touching that subject then.

                “So, raised a Navy brat then. Not how you live now, we do not eat this well.”

                “Well, not for lack of trying. I ran away from home when my godfather pulled my papers for USNA. And you put sauce on everything, so it’d all taste the same anyway,” Leo says, winking at him and Jake grins, reaches over and steals a slice of pepper.

                “Wait. You were going to go to USNA?”

                “That was my plan. Instead I got on the first plane out and ended up in Italy.”

                “Holy shit… you kind of brushed over how young you were when you did that.”

                “Yeah. I got very fucking lucky.”

                “Is Violet actually your cousin?”

                “No,” Leo laughs. “Her family pretty much adopted me though.”

                “Huh. Okay.”

                “Here. Try this.”

                Jake obliges, although he’s not quite sure what Leo is hoping to achieve here. Jake hasn’t ever been able to differentiate different flavors, not like some people seem to. He licks the spoon, grinning a little when he sees Leo’s eyes tracking his lips.

                “Could use a little sauce,” he says, just to be an asshole.

                “Don’t be a dick… Come on, I'm trying to make a new dish...”

                “A new dish. Why not just use a recipe?”

                “I wouldn't be much of a chef if I used other people's recipes...”

                “Huh. Okay. You want to have someone that’ll actually talk about the flavors with you? Because I know I’m just going to think everything needs sauce, because I think everything needs sauce. You know who would be really good at this?”

                “Who?”

                “My sister. Well, two of them specifically, but Maria is easiest. She loves all this tasting things over and over stuff.”

                “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

                “Are you saying I have no other redeeming qualities?”

                “Oh, you have plenty of redeeming qualities. Your tastebuds just don’t happen to be one of them.”

                “I’ve got good taste where it’s important…”

                “Smooth, real smooth.”

                “I do alright.”

…            …            …

                “Shit shit shit…”

                “What?”

                “I burnt the rice.”

                “You? You still burn stuff?”

                “Yeah, when there’s a guy in my kitchen naked who decides that fucking me on the dining table is a good decision…”

                “Mmm. Sorry baby. I didn’t think about the food.”

                “Yeah well, the smoke alarm kind of killed the afterglow,” Bradley mutters and Jake snorts against his neck before licking a stripe and he groans again. God. He’s never going to get enough.

…            …            …

                “Hey. I have a favor to ask.”

                “Shovel or money?” Maria asks, clearly distracted by something but Jake is still trying to parse what she’s said.

                “What?”

                “Am I burying a body or am I bailing you out?”

                “Wow. Do you guys have a bet going what will come first?”

                “Yep. So which is it?”

                “Neither actually. Fuck. Maybe this is a terrible idea.”

                “Well, I still don’t know what it is and I’m a little busy so… either piss or get off the pot.”

                God his sisters are all so classy.

                “Do you want to be a taste tester?”

                “What,” Maria asks, and Jake doesn’t hear an inflection, she’s just surprised so he waits. “A taste tester… for a competition or something? Oh god, don’t tell me you’re trying your hand at cooking again, because you’d have to pay me danger money…”

                “Hey! I can make some things! But, no. Leo is a chef and he’s trying to perfect this dish and I’m as useful as tits on a bull.”

                “You’ve got a guy who can cook as well as everything else? How is this fair?”

                “You ain’t even seen him yet Maria, he’s fucking gorgeous.”

                “You get all the luck, I swear. So what… you want me to eat some of his cooking? Oh my god. Let me guess, he asks you and you just keep on adding fucking sauce to it.”

                “Yeah. It kind of makes his eye twitch a little, but he still lets me do it.”

                “Does he now?”

                “Yeah. His cousin uh… actually. Nevermind.”

                “No no, his cousin what?”

                “Just said… well, she said it in Italian, so I could have gotten it wrong, but…” Jake can’t believe he’s sharing this with his sister. “Just that, uh, the dick must be good?”

                “Ew.”

                “You asked!”

                “Remind me of this conversation next time I ask a question you think I won’t like the answer to.”

                “I’ll try. You never listen to me anyway.”

                “Maybe I’ll start.”

CHAPTER NINE

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

“you have a daughter?” with single dad! marc pls🥺🥺

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Word Count: 2k (we're off to a strong start lol)

A/N: Just opened up my askbox for some requests!

Warnings: fluffy, a little angsty, marc is a bit of a nervous mess bless him

Marc, she’s come to find out, was the guy to take it slow. 

He took his time with her, bought her flowers and pretty necklaces with jewelled pendants that he gave her when he took her out to dinner. 

She’s never been charmed the way Marc has managed to charm her. 

He walks her to her door after taking her out, kisses her cheek and then asks if she’d like it if he kissed her on her mouth. 

The stories her grandmother told her of the dashing, charming men that wooed her off her feet when she was young finally start to ring true to her ears. 

She feels that maybe, after years of looking, she’s managed to find a real treasure worth holding on to. 

She feels that maybe all those ruined dates and talking phases and endless swipes on the dating apps were worth it, if it meant that one day Marc would stumble into her life like he always belonged there. She’d do it all over again, ten times over, to get to Marc. 

Marc, she’s come to find out, is worth close to anything she’s able to give, and he always asks so little from her in return for all he does, as if she was worth all that he gives her and more. 

He’s flurrying about his kitchen now, having banished her to the living room with a glass of wine and a quasi-demand to make herself at home, despite her insistence on helping. Dinner would be ready in just a couple of minutes, he said. He’d already set the table. 

Marc, she’s come to find out, was the guy who liked having things done his way. Found it easier to take on the load himself than to let others help. 

It’s the first time he’s invited her over to his place. The first time that he asked her to have a date night in, with soothing music and soft lights, just the two of them together. 

Marc, she’s come to find out, was an utter, sappy romantic at heart. 

She wonders if tonight will be the night he’ll take her to his bed, she wonders what the brown of his eyes will look like shrouded in desire and lust. 

Her cheek is still tingling from where he’d kissed her, the small of her back warm from the heat of his palm. His cologne lingers in the air. There’s an anticipatory ache in her thighs and she tries to distract herself from it.

Her eyes are wandering, not looking for anything specific except for him, but because she’s scared that would be too weird, she looks out the window. She’s soaking in the view of the London skyline, dingy and dark from the near consistent rain they’ve had all week. 

In Marc’s place, she barely feels a shred of the cold seep into her bones. There are only warm, yellow lights on, nothing too direct. She might as well be looking at a hyperrealistic painting. 

She goes to set her glass down when her eyes fall on the picture frames, hung up beside the window. The wood is stained a deep brown that reminds her of Marc’s eyes, as all brown things usually do. 

She hadn’t meant to pry, but now her curiosity has been stoked to life. The oven timer goes on and off, there’s a waft of something savoury as he opens and shuts the door. 

The girl is too similar to Marc to be able to pass it off as a niece or a coincidence. The same head of dark curls, matching noses and bushy, unkempt eyebrows. She’s sure this is what Marc would have looked like, when he was a child, had he been a girl. 

There’s a picture of her as an infant, still in the hospital and in a younger Marc’s arms, dark circles under his eyes and a nervous smile on his face. It’s the unmistakable traces of new fatherhood, she feels as if she’s seen thousands of pictures just like it, the same words, in different handwritings. 

First day of school, mile-wide grin, heavy, sombre eyes from her father that were jarring against his smile. The girl’s pulled tight into his frame, Marc seems to be holding on to her as if she were a shadow. 

Eyes flitting up and down, she takes in the rest of them. Days at the beach and nights at home. Milestones stacked on top of each other. Dance recitals, a small bouquet of roses clutched in her hands, held proudly in Marc’s arms. 

They even grinned the same way. 

Marc’s daughter was well-loved. 

Happiness like that could never be faked. 

She drifts back towards the kitchen. Marc’s curls, normally neat and tamed back are loose and carefree now. 

He tugs on them when he’s nervous. Gives them two or three harsh pulls before drifting down to rub at the skin of his neck, exhales a nervous breath. 

She’s underestimated the effect his presence can have on her. There are drawings on the fridge, drawings she hadn’t noticed, not until now. 

She feels as if her lack of attention should be justified. Marc is pretty. Pretty in a way that makes her breath hitch, her head somersault on itself. She’s always a little tongue-tied during the first few minutes of their dates. 

She knows now that it wasn’t just because of his little belly that tucked out comfortably when he sat down, or the crooked angles of his nose. Tenderness and patience radiates out from inside him, the kind people usually only get when raising children with love. 

The thud of his knife against the cutting board, slicing through lettuce and cucumbers is comforting. Though she’d made him promise not to go all out, not to bother himself too much for the dinner, Marc has done exactly that. 

“Hungry?” 

“Hm?” There’s a dog in one of the drawings, a cat in the other. 

“Just gotta finish the salad.” 

She knows that it’ll be fruitless to offer to take anything to the table. She wants to ask him if he’d like some wine and is instead surprised by the words that flow out of her mouth. “You have a daughter?” 

He freezes. A cucumber slides off his knife. It may have well been a scene out of a sitcom. She would have laughed, had it not been for the hold Marc already had on her heart. 

She keeps her gaze steady on him, watches intently as he sets down his knife and looks at her. 

There’s nothing she can tell from the expressions in his eyes, the hardened tilt of his mouth. She’s come to accept that it will take months before she’ll feel confident in reading the man in front of her, one who spoke so much with his body. 

If she gets to take months to learn his language. 

It’s an unpleasant little tumour of a thought. She swallows to apologise, to grab at whatever the string was that has managed to tie her tightly to Marc and make sure it stays there. 

His throat bobs up and down. Marc speaks before she gets the chance to, “Yeah, I have a daughter.” 

“What’s…” she wonders if it’s appropriate to ask, and the question dies on her lips. 

“Maya. She’s seven now.” 

Maya. She rolls the word around her head like a marble, tries to connect it to the photos and drawings hung up around the place. “She looks just like you.” 

He laughs, an awkward, fumbling thing. It’s like a flat ball. “We get that a lot.” 

“Well, it’s true,” she smiles and tentatively reaches for his hand. It’s a little rough, a little wet from the freshly-washed vegetables; she wonders if he would like it if she bought him some cream, something with glycerin. “And you’re both very beautiful.” 

He pauses, emotions fighting on his face until he settles for steering the topic away from him, “You really don’t mind?” 

“Why would I?” 

He shrugs, casts his eyes away from her. The pressure of his hand in hers fades ever so slightly and she stumbles forward to make sure it stays. 

“I don’t mind,” she swallows, rounds over the counter so she comes to stand beside him and looks up at him. “I really don’t. And I’d love to meet her, whenever you think it’s time.” 

There’s a familiar expression in his eyes, one that she’s able to figure just from the sheer amount of times he’s looked at her with it on. 

“I don’t lie about these things, Marc.” She leans up and kisses his cheek, squeezes his hand at the same time. “And I understand why you didn’t tell me sooner.” 

He pauses, mouth hardened into a firm little line, “You like kids?” 

She nods. There’s the footprint of her lips on his cheek, a faint brush of rusty pink that plants a little seed of possession inside of her. 

“Good.” His voice is gruff, serious like a boulder of sandstone. 

“Sorry for springing it on you like that, I saw the photos and-” 

He shakes his head, his free hand comes to rest on her waist. Water seeps into her clothes and onto her skin and she revels in the feeling of it, a physical trace of his touch on her. 

It amazes her how quickly he can quiet the static inside her mind. “I meant to tell you tonight.” He sighs, his breath rolling over her face, a stitch forming on his forehead. “Forgot about the pictures.” 

She presses away the stitch, smiles and delights when he smiles back, retracted and tight, the corners of his eyes wrinkling like well-loved and sunkissed linen. 

His phone starts to ring, turns their soft bubble into shattered ice. The grimace returns to his face, “Sorry.” 

The cadence of his voice is soft, soft in a way that’s never been directed at her, when he answers the call and goes into his room, “Hey baby…” It sounds like honey, syrupy and nutritious, she feels if she listens hard enough she can hear the gentle hum of bumblebees underneath. “I miss you too.” 

She’s finishing the salad when he returns, cutting the rest of the vegetables the way he’d started and hoping that she’d done a good enough job. 

His gaze falls back to her hands, “Sorry.” 

“Nothing to apologise for,” she slides everything off the cutting board and into the bowl, sets everything aside and comes close to him. “Is she alright?” 

“Yeah,” his fingers are tentative as they reach for her again. Her hands come on top of his and press down. A never ending cycle of reassurance. “She’s at my cousin’s. Told her to call before she goes to bed.” 

The thought that he has the place to himself tonight makes her stomach flip-flop on itself. 

She dares to cup his face between her hands. She’s never done it before and finds the feel of his clean-shaven skin addicting, “You’re a good father.” He stiffens in her arms but doesn’t move out of them. The picture of young Marc in the hospital with his daughter rises again in her mind, “Thank you for making me dinner.” 

He frowns, eyebrows furrowing together like two fuzzy caterpillars, “You haven’t fuckin’ eaten it yet.” 

It makes her laugh, and she lets him go, kisses him on his pouty mouth. The way he moves is like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon. 

He’s all business now, rushing about the kitchen to finish the food. Her eyes fall back to the drawings, flit over to the curly head of his hair, “Do you want some wine, Marc?”

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond to, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here, requests here.

[delilah1990]

DUTY

PAIRING:  Rhaenyra x Northern! Reader

SUMMARY:  Y/N receives news that may affect the promise she made to the princess. Viserys finally announces who he will marry. His choice changes everything for Rhaenyra and her friends.

ADDITIONAL COMMENTS:  Alternate Universe. There will be slight Rhaenyra x Harwin Strong, Rhaenyra x Daemon Targaryen, and Northern! Reader x Cregan Stark.

WARNINGS:  Angst, character death, fluff, possessiveness, slight abuse, smut, and violence

WORD COUNT:  3,769

Part 3 of Fire and Ice

It’s been six months since Queen Aemma’s passing. And though Viserys named his daughter his heir, his small council encourages him still to take a second wife. Much to Rhaenyra’s ire. While there was a small part of her that understood her father had to take a second wife, she wasn’t ready to see another woman by his side.

Y/N wishes she could offer words of comfort to her friend. But she has no experience in what the princess is going through. She never knew her own mother, and her father never had to remarry. His wife had already bore him a son before dying.  

She’s pulled away from her thoughts with the sound of a knock at her door. Y/N grants whoever it is entrance, and a servant girl enters her room with a sealed letter in hand. Instantly recognizing her house’s sigil on the melted wax, she thanks the servant and dismisses her. As soon as the servant leaves, Y/N breaks the seal and reads the letter sent from her brother.

Sister,

I hope all is well for you in Kings Landing, and that both the king and princess are recovering from their loss. All is good here at home. Your niece is a force to be reckoned with. She’s walking about always giving the nurse maids the slip. She reminds me a bit of you when you were that age. Our father is growing rather impatient with my wife and me. He’s eager for a grandson, but we are heeding the Maesters advice and waiting a year before trying for a second.  

Speaking of which, there is something I feel you should know. As of now nothing is set in stone, but that could all change in an instant and when it does, I don’t want you to be caught off guard. Father has begun to receive marriage proposals for your hand. He hasn’t considered a match yet; I believe he is waiting to see if our future child will be a boy before deciding.

I pray it does not come to that, but you should prepare yourself. I look forward to your next letter, sister. Your brother, Rob.

Just as Y/N finishes reading the letter, there is another knock on her door before it opens to reveal Alicent. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I’m heading to the Sept; Rhaenyra is coming with me. I thought you might like to come as well.”

“You know I do not worship the seven.” Y/N says as she folds the letter and places it under her sleeve. “And I hate going to the Sept, I feel as though I’m being judged every time I set foot there.”

“I was hoping you would come for Rhaenyra. It would seem she’s had a bit of a day and wishes to leave the Keep.” Alicent continues.

“She’s been having all sorts of days since her mother’s passing. There is only so much you I can do to remedy that. She must find a way to deal with what’s happening on her own.” Y/N says in a frustrated tone. Alicent immediately senses something is wrong.

“What’s happened?” She questions and Y/N waves her off. “Anytime Rhaenyra has needed us you are the first by her side, and now you speak of how she needs to figure things out on her own. That’s not like you, so I ask again Y/N. What’s happened?”

Y/N stands and approaches Alicent. “I will go with you to the Sept, but I will not enter.” Y/N makes a move to exit her chamber, but Alicent wraps a hand around her wrist to stop her. Taking a deep breath, Y/N turns to her friend in a more calming manner. “Nothing terrible has happened. I just received some unexpected news that I am currently processing. I just need time Alicent.”

“It sounds like you need a moment with your gods. Go, I’ll take care of Rhaenyra.” Alicent says in understanding. Y/N squeezes her hand in thanks and leaves for the Godswood.

Though the Godswood here is nothing compared to the ones at home, Y/N has found herself growing use to this one. She kneels before the great tree and bows her head.

She always knew her father would marry her off someday, it was the only way he could ever be rid of her. But when he agreed to leave her here to serve the princess, Y/N had thought perhaps he would forgo marrying her off. She shakes her head at herself for having such foolish thoughts. Rhaenyra will be angry. I promised her I’d always be there for her. It’ll be hard to keep that promise once I move away from King’s Landing. Y/N thinks to herself.

The crunching of leaves interrupts her inner thoughts, she turns and spots the king approaching her. She stands to curtsy, but he raises his hand. “Forgive me, Lady Y/N. I did not mean to interrupt your prayer.”

“You didn’t your grace. I was thinking more than I was praying.” Y/N admits.

“I wanted to get your opinion on something.” Viserys says almost nervously.

“I’m not sure what opinion I could offer your grace.”

“It’s about Rhaenyra. She doesn’t speak much, at least to me anyway. I’ve been told I should probably go to her, that if I did, she would open herself up to me. What do you think?”

Y/N is unsure what she should say to the king. Normally she would just be honest and speak her mind, but she did not want to risk offending the king. Sensing her inner struggle Viserys reassures her. “Please speak freely. Northerns are known for their honesty, and that is what I need right now.”

“I think you both need to open yourselves up to each other. You share the same pain, yet instead of coming together, you’re distancing yourselves.” Viserys hums at this. “You both just need to speak with one another. Talking often goes a long way.”

“Thank you, Lady Y/N., That is wise advice.” Viserys says grateful.

“Happy to help your grace.” He gives her a small smile before departing the Godswood. Y/N turns around and places a hand over the face in the middle of the trunk. She closes her eyes and attempts to actually pray this time.  

After spending a couple of hours at the Godswood, Y/N heads back to her chamber, where she runs into Alicent. “How was the Sept?”

“Good, I think it helped the princess a bit.” Alicent responds.

“That’s good, I’ll check in with her tomorrow…I’m sorry for my behavior earlier.” Y/N apologizes.

“Have you sorted it out yet?” Alicent asks.

“Not quite.” Y/N answers honestly. Alicent takes hold of both her hands.

“Whatever it is that is plaguing you, you do not have to suffer it alone. I am here for you, and though she has a lot going on, I know Rhaenyra will be there for you too.” Y/N pulls Alicent into a hug in thanks and bids her goodnight. Perhaps by morning she’d be more open to speaking with her friends. For now, she still needs time to herself.

The next morning Y/N decides to seek Rhaenyra out. She knows she won’t be able to keep to herself much longer. She walks around the Red Keep until she hears two familiar voices speaking. As she walks closer towards them, she realizes the voices belong to Rhaenyra and Rhaenys. “I did not ask for a lesson in politics. I asked whether this bothers you.” Y/N hears Rhaenys say.

“Laena is your daughter, Princess. Does it bother you?”

“Of course it does. But I understand the order of things. I’m not sure you do.”

Laena must be a potential candidate to be the king’s wife. Y/N realizes.

“If you mean to elicit some anger from me, you should know that you’re failing, Princess.”

“Quite the opposite. Whether it’s to my daughter or to someone else’s, your father will remarry sooner than late. His new wife will produce new heirs, and chances are, better than not, that one of those will be male. And when that boy comes of age and your father has passed, the men of the realm will expect him to be heir, not you. Because that is the order of things.”

“When I’m Queen, I will create a new order.” Rhaenys chuckles softly.

“How I wish that could be, Rhaenyra. But the men of the realm already had their opportunity to appoint a ruling queen at the Great Council and they denied it.”

“They denied you, Princess Rhaenys. “The Queen Who Never Was.” But they bent the knee to me and called me heir to the throne.”

“Do you remind your father’s men of that as you carry their cups? Here is the hard truth, which no one else has the heart to tell you. Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne. And your father is no fool.”

As soon as she hears footsteps walking away, Y/N steps out from her hiding spot. Luckily for her it was Rhaenys who walked off and not Rhaenyra. “Did you hear all that?” The princess questions.

“Some of it, yes.” Y/N answers as she leans across the rail facing the royal garden.

“Do you think she’s right?” Rhaenyra questions.

“I think that we both know she is.” Rhaenyra joins her at the railing. She clasps both her hands and lays her head on top of them.

“I made a suggestion to the council yesterday, a good one I thought, and they looked at me as if I was a dragon flying without a head. When I tried to give my father further insight at dinner, he dismissed me. How can I get him to listen to me, to see me as his heir and not is little girl?”

“You want your father to see you as his heir, then you need to start acting like it.” Rhaenyra looks at her, confused by her statement. “Your father is the King, and every king needs a Queen.”

“I know that.”

“You may know that, but you’ve yet to accept it. Why do you think your father hasn’t chosen a bride yet?” Rhaenyra begins to consider her words. Y/N cups her cheeks in her hands and lifts her face up to look at her. “Your father has to marry, just as you will someday soon.” The princess closes her eyes and leans into Y/N’s touch. “If you cannot accept his duty to the realm, how is he to accept you as his heir?”

“And what of the council?” Rhaenyra questions as she opens her eyes.

“First, stop filling their cups. That is the job for a cup bearer, not the heir. Second, remind the council that you are no ordinary princess, you are a dragon. And dragons don’t take shit from sheep, they eat them.”

Rhaenyra can’t help but laugh at Y/N’s statement. As soon as her laughter dies down, she turns back to face the royal garden. There is a moment of comfortable silence between them before Rhaenyra turns to her friend. Alicent had mentioned the day before that Y/N had received unexpected news and that she needed time to herself.

She didn’t mind granting her friend that. Y/N has always been there for her whenever she needed, but now it’s her friend that is in need, and Rhaenyra wants to be there for her. “I can feel you staring princess.” Y/N turns to her with an amused look.

“Alicent mentioned there was something going on with you.” Rhaenyra simply states, and Y/N knows she won’t be able to keep the news to herself.” She reaches for the letter she’s been carrying around and hands it to the princess. “I must warn you; you will not like it.”

Rhaenyra takes the parchment and unfolds it. She smiles at first, but as she reads further her smile begins to fade and is soon replaced by a frown. She hands the letter back to Y/N and considers every word.

“I could speak with my father, maybe he…” Y/N interrupts before Rhaenyra can finish.

“He will not interfere, not with this.” Rhaenyra shakes her head and then considers something else.

“Even if you do marry and produce a son, that son would be heir to your husband, not your father.” The princess points out.

“If I am able to produce a son, then I can produce another. If my brother does not have a son of his own by then, my second son would be his heir.” Rhaenyra lets out a sigh of defeat. “There’s still time, I’m not leaving anytime soon.” Y/N says in comfort.

“No, but you could. Even if your brother manages a son, it’ll only delay the inevitable. Eventually, you will have to marry.” Y/N doesn’t say anything, she knows Rhaenyra is right. She leans her elbows against the rail, and Rhaenyra joins her. Placing her head on her shoulder, while Y/N leans her head on top of hers.  

Later that evening, in Y/N’s chamber, she lies in the tub reading her brother’s letter again. She knows wither her brother has a son or not, she will eventually marry. Letting out a heavy sigh, she stands from the tub and dries herself off. Once in her nightgown, she sits at her desk and writes a response letter.

Dear Brother,

It gladdens me to know that my niece is taking after me. When she comes of age, I’ll have to teach her the bow and arrow.

As for my possible future betrothal, I thank you for your warning. When you send your next letter, I ask that you include what suitor’s father is considering, that way I can thoroughly prepare myself.

Give my good sister my best and give my niece a kiss from me. Love your sister, Y/N.

Y/N roles the small parchment paper and melts wax to seal it. Just as stamps her family sigil over the wax, Rhaenyra enters her room with a burst of energy. “I did it, I did it!”

“What did you do that couldn’t wait until morning?” Y/N asks.

Rhaenyra sits on the long couch in the center of the room and pats down the spot next to her. Y/N sits next to her and gives the princess her full attention. “So, shortly after our talk, an emergency council meeting was called. Daemon apparently stole the dragon egg meant to be my brother’s, fled to Dragonstone with a whore, and took most of the City Watch with him.”

Y/N is speechless at first, until her mind processes what the princess just told her. “And how exactly do you fit into all that?”

“My father sent Otto to confront my uncle and bring back the dragon egg. I knew Otto would not be able to retrieve it, and that there would be bloodshed. Daemon and Otto despise each other.” Y/N nods along in agreement. “So, I got on Syrax and flew to Dragonstone. Confronted my uncle and safely retrieved the egg.”

“That’s quite impressive.” Y/N comments.

“That’s not all. My father found out and summoned me. He scolded me at first, but once he realized I went to Dragonstone and retrieved the egg without bloodshed. He calmed down. And we spoke, actually spoke. We talked of my mother, and how her death affected us both. About how he must now take a new wife.”

“And what about your status as heir?” Y/N questions.

“He has no intention as replacing me as heir, even if his new wife gives him a boy.” Rhaenyra answers with a smile.

“That’s good, that’s really good.” Y/N says, happy for her friend.

“I think he intends on marrying my cousin, Laena Valaryon, he makes his announcement tomorrow. Will you come with me to the small council?”

“Is that allowed?” Y/N questions. She had never been to a small council meeting, much less been inside the small council chamber.

“You will be accompanying the heir to the iron throne, of course it’s allowed. Alicent will be there as well.”

“Then it will be my honor.” Rhaenyra smiles at Y/N’s answer and stands to leave but a thought enters her mind. Something she had been thinking about on the flight back to Kings Landing.

“As for the matter of your possible betrothal…I’ve decided that no matter how far North you move, you’ll only ever be a dragon ride away from Kings Landing.” Y/N smiles widely at this and nods in agreement. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Rhaenyra then places a kiss on Y/N’s cheek and exits her room with a satisfied grin on her face. Y/N’s face on the other hand, is bright red.

Inside the council room the next morning, Visery’s is the first one to arrive. He’s looking out the window, hoping his announcement will go smoothly. He already knows not everyone will agree with his decision, but he knows his choice is what’s good for the realm and himself.

At the sound of the council doors opening, he turns to greet his council members. His daughter is also present, along with her friend lady Y/N who stands beside her. He also notices lady Alicent has entered the council chamber with her father.  

“Good morrow, my lords.” Viserys greets, and they each greet him back. “I have decided to take a new wife.” He looks over at his daughter, ensuring she will be ok with this. She gives him a small smile and a nod of approval. “I intend to marry…” He looks over at Alicent, when she realizes he intends to choose her as his next wife, she has a shocked look on her face. “The lady Alicent Hightower, before springs end.”

With exception to Alicent, Corlys, Rhaenyra, and Y/N. Everyone else seems to be happy about the outcome. Corlys slowly rises from his seat and looks the king in the eye. “This is an absurdity. My house is Valyrian, the greatest power in the realm.”

“And I am your king.” Viserys points out. Unable to remain in the room any longer, Rhaenyra exits the chamber. She had accepted the fact that her father would remarry, but she had not realized he had intended on marrying her childhood friend. “Rhaenyra.” Visery’s calls after her, but she ignores her. Alicent and Y/N quickly run after her, following her into the Godswood. The moment Rhaenyra sees Alicent, her blood boils.

“How long?” Alicent only looks at her. “How long have you hidden this from me?” Rhaenyra asks again. It’s hard for Alicent to admit, but she knows she has no other choice but to tell the truth.

“My father sent me to console him. After your mother…” Y/N turns to Alicent in shock. Alicent had been secretly meeting with the king since the queen’s death. Rhaenyra realizes this as well; she also confirms Y/N had no knowledge of Alicent’s secret meeting with her father. While she is thankful, it doesn’t alleviate her anger at Alicent.

“Whore.” Rhaenyra accuses, Y/N immediately turns towards the princess.

“Rhaenyra.” Y/N scolds but is ignored.

“You seduced him.” The princess continues with her accusation.

“No…we only talked…about history, about your mother and mine, about you…never about a marriage.” Alicent says in defense of herself.

“You were seeing him in his chambers. What did you think would happen?” Rhaenyra retorts.

“It was at my father’s command.” Alicent says weakly, only fueling Rhaenyra’s rage.

“You should have refused him!” The princess shouts.

“That is enough. This is not a conversation to be had out here. Let us take a moment…” Y/N’s attempt to calm everyone down, and move the conversation elsewhere is interrupted by Alicent.

“Not all of us have such an easy way doing only what we wish, only when we wish it.” Alicent snaps back, instantly regretting it. “I had no choice.” She says meekly.

Rhaenyra’s emotions alternate between anger, accusation, and hurt. “They cannot do this. I am the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, the Realms Delight, Heir to the Iron Throne. I shall annul it…” Rhaenyra stops when she realizes her friend is silent, that she has made no real protest. “Is this what you want?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Alicent says in defeat as she turns from her friends and walks away. When Alicent is out of sight, Y/N turns to Rhaenyra, who has her head turned away and her hands wrapped around herself.

“You should go to your room princess.” Y/N suggests.

“Will you be joining me?” Rhaenyra questions.

“I need to check on Alicent first, then I will stop by your room.” Rhaenyra scoffs at her. Y/N approaches the princess and places a hand on her shoulder. “She could not refuse her father Rhaenyra, just as I can’t. And deep down beneath your anger, you know that.” Rhaenyra does not acknowledge her, she simply heads to her room, but Y/N knows the princess agrees. Even if she won’t admit it out loud.

She heads inside the Keep, towards Alicent’s chambers and knocks on her door. There is no answer. “It’s me Alicent.” She does not hear a response. Y/N begins to think she may have gone to her father’s chamber, but then hears Alicent softly call to her. She enters her room and sees her friend sitting on the long couch. Eyes read, and face stained with tears. Y/N immediately sits beside her and pulls her into a hug.

“She hates me.” Alicent sobs.

“She doesn’t hate you, but it will take her a while to get over this.” Y/N says honestly. The two girls sit in silence. Y/N continues to hold on to Alicent as tears continue to fall down her face. She has terrible feeling their friendship may not last, and that the worst has yet to come.

***Here is part three of Fire and Ice. It’s a little bit shorter than the first two, hope you still enjoy it anyway. Thank you for all the likes so far, it motivates me to write more. Please feel free to comment as well. I’d love to hear your opinions on the story so far.***