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minhosimthings · 4 months

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Dangerously

Symphony Smut Series Day 11: Charlie Puth's Dangerously

Lyric: I love you dangerously

Pairings: bf!Sunghoon × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, oral (f recieving), overstimulation, p in v sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex (highly not recommended), angry sex, hard!dom!Sunghoon, sub!reader, orgasm denial, reader wears a dress, degradation.

A/N: woohoo day 11 second post of 2024 everyone! Please enjoy my urge to be degraded by Hoonie through his oneshot

THE SYMPHONY SMUT SERIES MASTERLIST

Even though he didn't admit it, Sunghoon was a jealous man, whose jealousy couldn't ever be tested.

And so you had to be careful, whenever you went to one of his events, careful not to wear anything that would make other men stare and make Sunghoon give you the silent treatment for a week or so.

But unfortunately the fates are always against you and with a tiny piercing of their threads, you ended up here, in a massive ballroom, with your boyfriend talking to some people, completely ignoring you. Great reward for being the girlfriend of someone whose always present at buisness parties isn't it?

The dress you wore was simple, off shoulder, black, jewels decorating most of the seams, Sunghoon's present to you. But you hadn't expected all the dumb men there to keep staring at your collarbone. Your memories went back to eight grade, when you were discouraged from wearing anything which showed off your shoulders, lest the boys get distracted or some bullshit like that.

"Hoonie." You whined, clinging to your boyfriend's arm, as he took another sip of his pink champagne, taking not a single glance at you, "Hoon, oh fuck this, Park Sunghoon!" You more than screamed at him, which caused the other patrons at the bad to stare at you weirdly.

Sunghoon turned his head to look at you, with the coldest eyes, filled with icicles, as he smiled awkwardly to the bartender, and put his empty glass down, pulling you up with him as she stood. Adjusting his suit, Sunghoon began to walk, basically dragging you with him, you fastened to keep up with his pace.

"So fucking needy aren't you?" Sunghoon growled, pinning you against the wall, "You wanted more than one dick didn't ya you whore?"

Sunghoon's grip on your waist was tight, which made you feel the wetness in your panties.

“The party can wait.” He whispered against your lips before kissing you, this time more intensely than ever before and you hummed, burying your hand on his hair while the other stroked his chest.

He brushed his tongue against your lower lip and you opened your mouth to let him explore it, moaning lowly against his mouth.

He lowered his hands to the back of your thighs, not breaking the kiss, and lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and you yelped in his mouth.

"You needed me so bad didn't you?" Sunghoon teased, his breath hitting your skin.

He walked to the sink and placed you on the cold marble, his hands going under your shirt and experimenting with his touches on your bare skin.

You whimpered, shivers running through your whole body as his big hands roamed through your burning skin.

You pulled away, your forehead touching his, a whispered “Fuck” coming out of your lips. Your hands went to the hem of your dress and slowly pulled it over your head, leaving your torso bare besides your strapless bra.

Sunghoon drank you in, his adam apple bobbing when he swallowed and you felt embarrassed under his strong gaze, your hands slowly coming to wrap themselves around your stomach.

His hands went to your back and unclasped your bra, helping you take it off and toss it on the ground along with the rest of your clothes.

His hands came to the front and grabbed at both your breasts, squeezing them and making you moan into his mouth. His fingers teased at your hardened nipples and you arched into his touch.

His mouth started trailing down towards your neck, your collarbone, until he got to the valley of your breasts and looked up at you. Your mouth was open, eyes hazed and deep breaths were making your chest go up and down. What a sight.

He closed his mouth into one of your nipples and you whined, the warmth of his tongue circling around it making you grasp at his locks with a certain strength that made him groan around your skin. His fingers teased the other breast until he switched sides, feasting on your breasts.

He discarded your panties and ran his hands up your legs, his look never leaving your covered pussy. His hands stopped at your thighs as squeezed the flesh and you closed your legs instinctively.

“Hiding from me now?” He said, his tone deep and dominant making you swallow a whine as you spread your legs wider and he settled between them with a smirk.

He kissed your covered sex and you let out a low moan, his mouth traveled to your inner thighs, biting and kissing at the flesh, driving you insane.

“Such a desperate slut.” He said against your skin, grasping your panties and pulling them down. You gasped at the cold air hitting your dripping core and he groaned at the sight.

He smirked against you and put one hand over your hips to hold you still as he did wonders against your cunt. His tongue eating you out as if you were his last meal, ripping loud moans from your throat.

“Jesus, fuck, right there– Shit” A string of curses left your mouth and he grinned proudly, adding another finger to your torture, making you cry out, his name slipping out of your lips.

You felt the knot inside of you tighten, your pussy clenching around his fingers and Sunghoon knew you were about to cum.

"Hoon ah-ah no don't stop!" You all but screamed, as Sunghoon looked up at you, wiping his mouth clean. Edging, of course, was his brand. He loved seeing you on the brink of insanity just because of him.

"You think you get to cum after all that?" Sunghoon chuckled, placing both his hands on your hips, "As much I would love to fuck you right here, I want to see your cockdrunk face when I make you cum for me."

"There's a sofa there." You mumbled shyly, glancing towards the dark green sofa sitting idle in the corner of the bathroom.

You glance down at his still covered legs and crotch, the tent in his pants looked almost painful and you bit your lip. He noticed that and took you in his arms again, wrapping your legs around his hips, making your sensitive core grind against his trousers and you whined.

He gently placed you on the sofa kissing your lips hungrily and you led one of your hands down to his crotch, palming him through his trousers and he pulled away from your lips to groan, his forehead against yours.

Your mouth watered and your pussy clenched around nothing. He was bigger than he always seemed to be tonight.

He rubbed his cock up and down a couple times and lined it up with your entrance making you whine in anticipation. He slowly pushed into you and you pulled away to let your mouth hang open in a soundless moan.

“ah fuck, princess, didn't know you were such a cum slut for me.” He whisper-moaned against your ear and you hummed, your nails digging into his shoulders, definetly leaving marks to remind him for a couple days of this encounter.

“N-need more.” You said, your brows furrowing in desperation. You glanced down at his hand between your legs, your lower gut fluttering at the sight. He applied more pressure to the circles he was dancing over your swollen bud, the pleasure sending your head to lull backwards. You whimpered more, your legs beginning to feel like jello.

“You sound so pathetic.” Sunghoon spat, working his dick faster on your clit. You exhaled unevenly, your hand coming down on Sunghoon's bicep for stability.

You felt that familiar white heat beginning to ignite low in your belly, your cunt throbbing steadily. Your eyes squeezed shut. You were close— but Sunghoon knew that. He wasn’t going to let you come just yet. Without warning, Sunghoon halted his actions. You could’ve cried in that moment. Sunghoon grabbed your forearm, pushing you down onto the sofa.

“Hoon, please. I need to cum.” You whined, your head falling back into the soft material of the sofa. Sunghoon purses his lips at you, his hand running along the smooth skin of your leg, inching closer to where you needed his attention most.

Sunghoon did nothing but let out a cold laugh, at how pathetic you sounded for him.

Suddenly, Sunghoon began pounding into you. His hot breath fanned over your face as he rammed in and out of you, his length reached the deepest parts of you. You gasped, your hand reached up to grab his wrist that was busy squeezing your throat. Your eyes rolled back in your head and he slammed into you over and over. You were sure he was hitting you so deep that he was nicking your cervix. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more overwhelmed with pleasure, Sunghoon’s free hand snaked between your thighs, his thumb finding your clit, ghosting gentle circles over the sensitive nub. You squeaked out a moan, the pleasure overcoming your senses completely. Your legs began to shake from the stimulation, your lower belly muscles tensing from the overwhelming sensation. Your breath was shaking, the oxygen feeling as through it had completely left your lungs.

“F-fuck, where do you want me? Your mouth? Or should I fill you up?” Sunghoon grunted, his hand snaking around your front to firmly grab your breast, pinching your nipple between his fingertips.

You gasped, the stimulation for your nipple slipping you into the beginning of your orgasm. You didn’t answer him, the feeling of your impending climax completely taking over your body.

“Look at you cumming around my cock. Such a good fucking slut.” Sunghoon growled, his pace somehow quickening further. His hand reached up to your hair, grabbing a fistful of locks and pulling your head backwards. His other hand reached around to your throat as he bent down to kiss you from the intense angle, your orgasm taking over you entirely. Your toes began to curl beneath you, your pussy clamping around Sunghoon's cock that was twitching deep inside you. Your pussy clenched down around his length, hugging it perfectly.

“Fuck.” Sunghoon whimpered, his high hitting him like a train. Your spasming canal clamped down around him as he came in hot spurts, coating your walls deep inside of you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every ounce of cum from his length.

“You look so beautiful with my cum dripping out of you.” He spoke, running a hand up and down the back of your thigh. He pressed a kiss to your sore ass cheek from where he had smacked it.

“As much as I’d love to stay here and fuck you all night, I should go before everyone starts wondering where their favourite boy went.” Sunghoon said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

"Get dressed sweetheart." Sunghoon picked up your clothes, and dusted them off, handing them to you, who was still dizzy from all the fucking.

"We'll have some more fun after we get home won't we?"

Taglist: @ramenoil @mynameisniya150 @demigodmahash + whoever wants to be tagged, send an ask my way!

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its-time-to-write · 6 months

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hi sweetheart! i was wondering if you could do a jamie imagine where the reader is a physical therapist and he’s always finding the most ridiculous excuses to go see her, like getting a paper cut and things like that. i would also love if it could be before they got together :)

it’s okay if you don’t want to do it or already did it and i didn’t see it. thank you anyway, you’re one of my favorite writers here on tumblr 🩵

you called me sweetheart, so now I would die for you. pet names are the way to my heart, in case u didn’t know. hope u enjoy🍊

(important disclaimer, I don’t know how physical therapy works so if I’m wrong about things, remember this isn’t a medical journal, I am just a girl)

before you go

Apparently, it’s impossible to purposely give yourself a paper cut, but Jamie Tartt has been doing his damnedest all day to get some kind of ailment, so if that means being careless with some photographs in his locker then so be it.

He really wishes his leg would cramp or something, but Will’s been keeping him far too hydrated for that.

So Jamie has to settle for slipping a picture of his mum at just the right angle to draw blood.

“Shit,” he whispers softly. He puts his finger to his mouth to catch the first beads of blood.

“Paper cut?” Sam asks sympathetically. Jamie nods, finger in between his teeth.

“Ay, sí, you should go see the physio for that one, amigo. Ask for the Rojas special,” Dani says with his ever-present grin.

“It’s just a paper cut, mate,” Jamie says in order to keep up appearances.

Sam knocks his arm. “You have to go. Dani only just let me request the Rojas special last week, and Richard still won’t talk to me about it.”

“Ça c’est merde,” Richard calls from across the locker room. “Put on a bandage and go home.”

Jamie won’t. He sticks his tongue out at Richard and turns to go to the treatment room because he needs treatment right away. Never mind that it’s a cut and not a muscle injury. He can hide under the excuse that Dani sent him.

Jamie taps on the door and pushes it open to find you sitting on the table, absentmindedly tapping your fingers on your knees. You jump down at the sight of Jamie.

“Hi! I was wondering if anybody’d be over today,” you grin. “Where does it hurt?”

Jamie holds up his finger. “Dani sent me.”

“Ah, right,” you nod, grin never leaving your face. Jamie wonders if your sunny disposition is why you and Dani are such good friends. Suddenly, he’s gripped by uncertainty. Maybe you and Dani are morethan good friends. After all, Dani is strangely tight-lipped about his affairs and besides, it’s not good for the physio to be openly screwing a player.

Maybe he should go.

But you’ve already come back to him after rummaging in a cupboard, small box in hand.

“Technically, this isn’t part of my job,” you say as you select a band-aid, “but I’ve been doing this since I started going to my nephew’s footie matches. Kid’s almost ten now, but he still asks for me every time he gets a scrape. First time I was here it was like, force of habit, but Dani said it reminded him of his sister, so…” you trail off. “I dunno, it’s funny that even big strong footballers still want silly bandages, yeah?”

Jamie watches as you open a green bandage with yellow flowers and wrap it carefully around his finger. You press a kiss to it and smile up at him. “There. All better.”

Jamie is… well, he’s flustered. He’s heard about the so-called Rojas special and how it’s available through recommendation only, but he wasn’t prepared for the sweet way you cradled his hand or the fact that your lips touched him. In fact, he wasn’t prepared for anything beyond a bandage and the fact that you slipped sweets to Sam and Dani to numb the sting of injury.

“Thanks,” he chokes out, aware of the fact that you’re still holding his hand. You give it one last squeeze before dropping it.

“See you around,” you say.

Jamie mumbles something unintelligible and finds his way out the door.

“Fuck you,” he says to Sam as soon as he catches him in the car park.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t get a chocolate. Did you not hold still?”

“I- you- it- fuck you,” Jamie says again. “You fucking knew.”

“Knew what?” Dani asks. He’s a horrible liar.

“You knew I thought she was fit. You didn’t tell me she’s, like, emotionally fit as well. So fuck you both for that.”

Sam mouths emotionally fit as he and Dani dissolve into laughter.

“Which band aid did you get?” Dani asks when he finally regains control of himself. “She ran out of Peppa Pig last week, but she promised to get some more soon.”

Jamie holds up his finger, wishing the cut were on the middle one.

Sam and Dani lean into inspect it and nod once.

“Well?” Jamie demands. They just look at him with stupid grins.

“Good night, Jamie Tartt,” Dani says, opening Sam’s passenger seat door.

“Good night, Jamie,” Sam echoes.

The fuckers just leave him standing in the lot, heart racing like a fucking idiot.

—

Jamie’s ankle is barely twisted. Like, barely. But he grew up watching football so he knows how make an injury seem worse than it is. He’s mastered the art of not going overboard.

“You should see the physio,” Beard tells him. Jamie pretends to protest a little bit, ignoring the way Ted shoots Dani and Sam quizzical looks. They’re making some sort of face and Jamie’s not going to figure out what they mean because he doesn’t care.

(Or maybe he already knows what they mean. But he doesn’t give a shit.)

So he hobbles his way to the treatment room where you’re typing something on the computer. Reports, probably.

You look up with a smile when you see him, the quickly school it into a frown. “Where does it hurt?” you ask.

“My ankle,” Jamie grimaces.

You pat the table and he obliges, sitting down on the crinkly paper.

You squat to undo his boot and Jamie realizes that maybe this isn’t the best way to get you to fall for him but it’s too late now because you’re gingerly sliding it off his foot.

“D’you mind if I get the sock as well?” you ask, and it’s all Jamie can do to mutely shake his head. You lightly run a cool hand over his ankle.

“Feels a bit swollen,” you say. “What happened?”

Jamie has to gather his thoughts firmly away from the way he could feel the callouses on your palm. “Tackle,” he says.

“Hm,” you reply. “Does this hurt?”

Jamie gasps as you press your thumb at just the wrong spot.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say. “Lie down. I’m going to massage it for a minute then put it on ice. You’ll be good to go in an hour.”

Jamie obeys, trying to ignore the way his breath hitches when your hand squeezes his calf for a fraction of a second.

You’re able to find all the right spots, gently pushing the muscle back where it needs to go. You pat his foot gently and go to get an ice pack. “Keep this on for fifteen minutes, off for five, then on for another fifteen. If it still hurts I’ll get you another pack, or maybe a heating pad. Depends on what type of pain you have, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“You sending me back?” Jamie asks in a feeble attempt to be his usual confident self.

You hesitate. “I mean… the other option is you stay here. I won’t lie to you, it’s pretty quiet back here but it doesn’t smell. Will got me on these scent diffuser packs, so this is one of the least-gross rooms on the lower level. I usually just type reports, but I’ve finished for now so I was going to read but we can chat if you like. You don’t have to, but I can monitor your ankle for the next hour if you’re here. It’s up to you.”

Stay and flirt with the pretty physio or sit on the bench instead of practicing?

Jamie positions himself better on the table. “What’s your book about?”

—

Jamie wishes that he were just making an excuse to come see you, but if that were the case he’d have made sure to be showered. Instead, he’s fresh off the pitch after a long day of practice and he needs his joints like, replaced or some shit.

He stumbles into the treatment room and practically flops facedown on the table. You’re up in an instant, combing his hair away from his face with your fingers.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, voice filled with concern.

“Everywhere,” Jamie groans.

“Okay, so full-massage with the extra-large ice pack at the end, then,” you say.

Jamie just grunts in response and tries not to think about the fact that this is the most unromantic way he’s ever tried to date a girl. He tells himself that you’re a physio, that you’ve seen grosser, and that you’re not even interested in him anyway. It still doesn’t stop him from asking about your day and cracking stupid jokes the entire time you’re popping his muscles. His voice squeaks every time you forcibly release tension, but you just laugh and tell him, “You should hear Isaac.” So yeah, the worst training of his life has now turned out to be a goddamned blessing in disguise because you’re joking back and forth for a solid twenty minutes.

“Come back any time,” you tell him with a wink as he heads out the door. “You don’t have to be injured to say hey.”

Jamie smiles at that, and goes to tell Sam and Dani that they’re shitheads but he loves them very much.

—

It’s been a long week and an especially long match, but thank fuck it’s over. There’s a bit of an ache in his legs but he doesn’t give a flying shit. They’ve won, for once, so as a reward to himself he’s going to invite you out with the lads. Proper, like, probably with the words, “Hey I think you’re fit,” except he’s thinking he should probably swap “fit,” for beautiful, or stunning, or the most wonderful, funny, amazing woman he’s ever met and no, it’s not just because of the magical healing powers you seem to possess.

Jamie showers, changes, then heads purposefully down the hall. He knows you’re still here, you never leave after matches until everyone who might possibly need physio is gone.

He bangs open the door, ready to regale you with the shit Ted’s up to post-match when he catches sight of your face. Or rather, the fact that it’s in your hands as your shoulders shake.

He rushes over to the desk and turns your chair so you’re facing him.

His hands are on your knees as he urgently whispers, “Where does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t,” you gasp, wiping your eyes. “I’m fine, I don’t know what came over me, I’m good, I promise. What’s up?”

You move to get up but Jamie presses lightly where his hands were resting. “You don’t look fine, love,” he says, then internally winces. Not a good thing to say to a girl, no matter how true it is.

“I’m good, swear down,” you choke. You move to wipe away another tear but Jamie beats you to it, swiping it with his thumb. You shudder involuntarily, trying not to notice the rough feel of his skin on yours.

“I’m not hurt,” he says tentatively. “Came to see if you wanted to go out with me ‘n the lads.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, still trying your absolute best to pull yourself together and failing miserably. “Right. I um, I’m going to be here a while so you should just go, yeah? Tell Dani I’m proud of him.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Ain’t leaving you here all by yourself.” He realizes your hands have found their way into his, and he has no idea who put them there. He lifts one to his lips and brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “Just tell me where it hurts, yeah?”

Another shiver wracks your body. “You can’t- I can’t- you have to go, okay Jamie? I need you to go.”

Jamie will, he’ll do anything you ask, but first he has to know-

“Why?” he asks, so softly. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“Don’t-” you half-choke. “Not- I’m gross right now.”

Jamie can’t stifle his laugh in time, so he does his best to save it. “Love, you’ve seen me at my fuckin’ worst. We’ll call it even.”

You’re breathing a little easier now, but just barely. You don’t seem too eager to get rid of him so Jamie pushes his luck and stays kneeling on the floor.

“Tell me,” he urges again, but you just shake your head.

“You really should go,” you say, breath catching in your throat. “You don’t want to keep Maia waiting. Heard actresses are notoriously particular about being on time.”

That’s confusing. Maia- do you mean Maia Stanwood? You must, that’s the only Maia he knows. But how did you know her, Jamie had run into her at dinner the other day and there’d been a brief article in the papers, but nothing that connects to what’s happening here.

Unless-

No.

Except- it’s the only thing that makes sense.

But you don’t like him like that. At least, he’s pretty sure. And anyway, isn’t it prickish to assume everyone’s in love with him?

But you’re not everyone, you’re the team physio with nice hands and a sweet smile and an affinity to fix people, to mend what’s broken in the best way you know how.

“I love you,” he says instead of everything else he had planned.

You’re silent, and he’s not sure you’ve heard him so he says it again.

“Yeah, alright, I love you too,” you sniff with a half-smile, except it’s the way you’d say to a brother, the way you’d say it to Dani or Sam.

“No,” Jamie says more insistently, “I love you. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to tell you, wanted to take you out proper. Impress you with my dancing and chat you up at the bar. Make the lads jealous that I’ve got a beautiful girl on my arm, then sneak out early to kiss you like I’ve been fucking thinking about since that fucking paper cut. Had a right crush on you like an idiot since you got hired.”

You’re staring at him open-mouthed, unable to believe what he’s saying, and Jamie doesn’t know much all the time but he knows that you’re gripping his hands like it’s a lifeline. He knows your eyes are wide open and that he was on the mark about you thinking he was with someone else. So he does what anyone in his position would do.

He captures your lips in his, letting go of your hands only so he can slip one hand around your waist and another in your hair.

God, you feel like you’re melting.

Jamie Tartt is kissing you like there’s no tomorrow and the floor is tipping out from under you, but apart from that vague feeling all you’re aware of is his hands on you and the fact that he tastes like spearmint.

His lips are soft against yours, mouth warm and inviting.

It’s like taking a breath of air for the first time in months.

“I love you,” you say as soon as you break apart. You’re breathing heavily as if you’re the one who just played a 90-minute match. Jamie’s lips are swollen and your hair is mussed, but you both share the same look.

“All better?” he asks, and you nod.

“Good. You want to get dinner? I know a few places we can go, don’t have to worry about paps.”

“The team-” you begin, but Jamie waves that away.

“They’ll understand,” he says. “Been flirting with you for ages, getting injured all the time. Think Ted’s starting to get fucking worried.”

You run your thumb down his jawline. “I always wondered about that,” you murmur. “Thought it was in my head how much you were down here. Didn’t want to be unprofessional.”

Jamie reaches up to hold your wrist and you just sit there, on the floor of the treatment room, looking at each other in the dim light. You’ll get up, eventually, but for now you’re going to savor this moment you have together.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 month

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jorrāeliarzus (beloved) │ Chapter 2: Need

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 (In Progress!)

Synopsis: Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own. You crave.

I am sorry for how long this took - to be fair, it's been months since I wrote actual smut and I was nervous to re-pop my smut cherry, ahahahaha. Yes, this chapter features actual smut, hallelujah for Reader! This doesn't technically mark the end for the troubles, however deceptive the ending is. Depression is a process, and sometimes we go through ups and downs with it. We're facing an up here! Ish.

Thanks be to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for beta-ing and offering much-needed pointers to make this chapter coherent and well-rounded. I cannot post without you holding my hand ever, and I love you for putting up with it.

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of PPD, penetrative s*x, lactation and lactation kink.

Wading through the waters of this curious state of mind is no easy process.

Melancholy. Mother’s malady. Madness. Whatever it is called among differing circles, you now know it is not uncommon. This knowledge does not ease the despondency that comes in waves, threatening to shatter any semblance of the control you are tenuously rebuilding. There are days when you feel as though you cannot even bear to lay eyes on your boy and girl, that the merest act of sighting them will somehow cause their unhappiness, that you will ruin them by being near them. There are times when you believe yourself to be the only woman in the world who cannot simply love her children as mothers ought to, free of the complication of treacherous notions slithering through the mind like draughts of poison, silent in their destruction. There are moments when you think that perhaps you should never have allowed them to spring to fruition, that you should have found a way to tear out the blooms that had sprouted within your belly before they had the chance to become living, breathing creatures.

That last thought is particularly repellent.

It is not your fault for thinking these things, though. They are ideas sprung from this affliction, designed to cause uncertainty and create chaos. It does not stop you from thinking that you may well be the most despicable monster to disgrace the earth. If you were left to your own devices, it is indeed likely that you would remain abed for days on end, resigned to misery.

But it is not a fate that you are allowed to succumb to. On the mornings when you find yourself unable to depart the cocoon of your sheets, your ladies coax you up with surprising and uncharacteristic purposefulness. Gone is their cloying timidity, replaced by creatures of determination as they all but drag you bodily upright to clothe and feed you, to immerse you in cheerful chatter while they work.

Gerardys comes to visit you, followed swiftly by Ūlla, newly returned from her journeys. The two rather predictably bicker over how best to approach any potential treatment.

“My colleagues at the Citadel recommend bloodletting,” the maester says with a frown, glancing nervously at your healer, “to restore imbalanced humours.”

Ūlla levels him with a foul look. “Are you stupid? Princess making milk. Losing blood is bad for her, and the babes!”

“If she remains hydrated, any complications will be minimal.”

“Tell Prince,” she shoots back challengingly. “See if he agree.”

“Forgive me, but Prince Daemon does not have the final word here, my lady. As Maester of Dragonstone, it is my responsibility to ensure residents are—”

“Losing blood hurt Princess, and babes, too! Stupid man!”

She storms out of the room with nary a word further, and you find yourself resigned to the possibility of enduring fattening leeches hanging off your skin. Gerardys begins to talk you through the process, though in truth you are not minding him as closely as you ought, but it does not seem to be long before Ūlla re-enters.

“Here,” she says, pressing a nondescript pouch into your hands. All the while, she is glaring at the maester. You inspect the contents, your nose tickling at the mild citrus scent that emanates from within. “Lemon balm,” she explains. “Make into a tea.”

Alas, you think ruefully. More tea. At this rate, it is a small wonder that your urine has not taken on the various aromas and hues of the remedies you are made to consume.

The tea does help, though, or perhaps it is simply in your mind. Perhaps the tea is not the cure, but time. Perhaps it is the magic that lives in your blood, that unites you to your dragon and ties you to the fate of a long-dead dynasty, that best eases your path forward. You still have hours and days where you fare poorly. But gradually, these moments come with less and less severity, feelings that do not fade but are ones you can muse upon, chew about like toffee sticking to the crowns of your teeth. Uncomfortable, difficult to cleanse yourself of, yes, but possible where you perhaps had not even been aware of their existence before. You learn to appreciate them for what they are, no more or less than calls for a defeat that is not yet yours to claim…

Because, despite the war in your head, your babes are happy. They are settled. They thrive. If you truly had been failing, this would not be so.

And thus, you persist with the teas and tonics and tepid baths recommended to you, with the dogged joviality of Jeyne and Bethany, with long walks at Ser Lysan’s side marked by the whip of salty sea air and the faint pulsing warmth of the sun. With visits to your boy, your Athfiezar, his smoke-breath and scaled mass and the thrum of a secret kinship clearing the muck of unhappiness from your view and restoring, in parts, a clarity well-missed. Through it all, you realise—bit by bit, hour by hour—that there is more beyond the sorrow. That something is blossoming, weak and spindly and scarcely living, but there, right there below your ribs and growing, a sickly weed straining toward the light. Something like hope.

It unfreezes the most poisonous of your tender ambitions, slackening the bonds of your inflexible drive to nurse Rhaenar and Aelys alone. ‘Tis a hard-won concession, but one necessary to your wellbeing and theirs. Still, you cannot help but feel your bond closest when they are swaddled against you, tiny hands pressed against your breasts and greedy suckles drawing from the wellspring of nourishment your body has created for them.

“Have they latched well, Princess? Ought I assist in any way?”

You glance up with great effort, nearly incapable of tearing your eyes away from them both. Freda feigns nonchalance, but it is easy enough to tell that she is anxious. Your rather spectacular histrionics are not easily forgotten by all.

Shaking your head, you smile. “They are fine, thank you. They are perfect.”

Never have you spoken truer words. You are constantly marvelling at how dissimilar they are to the shrivelled little beings that you had laboured to bring into the world scarcely two moons ago. Their hair, pale at birth, has only grown brighter, solid where it had been opaque. Much of Aelys’s has fallen out, which you have been assured is quite usual. It certainly makes it easier to differentiate between the two on sight, though this is becoming more and more simple as their differing features have begun to assert themselves. In Rhaenar, you see the promise of Daemon’s strong nose; in Aelys, the shape of the eyes. They share your mouth, even if Aelys’s pout reminds you more of Rhaenyra. These little things make them individuals with each passing day, untangle the singularity they are oft referred to as and begin to show those around them that they are becoming their own person.

You know now that your wish to gather them close and tuck them out of sight of all others is not simple maternal instinct, and instead a symptom of this malady. Through Freda’s tales, you learn that many are involved in the rearing of common-born children; through Ūlla’s considerable experience and your sister’s anecdotes, you begin to understand that your original undertaking was never feasible. It grates you so, but you try to take heed of their womanly advice more than you truly desire to, obliging their recommendations to allow the twins to sleep in the nursery during the night. But in the daytime—in the now—they are all yours.

“That they are,” Freda says, snapping you from your hypnotic reverie. “A bonnier lad and lass I’ve never met, you can be assured of that!”

Even though you know she likely feels duty-bound to say so, you cannot help the flush of pleasure. Their nursing has slowed, eyes heavy-lidded and noses huffing warmth against your skin. It is gratifying to see them so satisfied.

As soon as Rhaenar’s lips pull away, smacking wetly as he gurgles and smiles, Freda is ready to lift him into her arms. His head rests upon the cloth tossed over her shoulder, fists waving with each pat she makes against his back.

“Another meal for the little Prince and Princess,” she says, grinning. “Well done, Your Highness!”

“It would seem so.” Aelys is done, you think, but working her mouth still for comfort. It seems to please her to continue the act long after your milk has emptied. You cup her head, running your fingers through the wispy locks in a manner you hope is soothing. “It is relieving to have finally managed it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Rhaenar belches, kicking his legs when Freda makes a startled noise as she always does. “But what an impressive feat, milady—nursing one babe to a full belly can be difficult enough, never mind two! That thistle tea must be something special, indeed.”

It is not only the tea, you think.

The memories of Daemon’s lips at your nipples, his body hard against yours, the low lusty grunts of more than just gustatory delight—and there are many, as many memories as nights in which his faithful service so oft takes place—elicit a soft, secretive smile even as heat rushes to your face. This heat travels further, down, down, reminding you uncomfortably of another dilemma you are facing.

Desire. It is something which you ponder greatly upon over the next days.

When you had just given birth, you did not think you would ever be capable of it again. Of course, this sentiment had followed a rather gruelling several hours of agony, much of which you cannot recall, and the overwhelming fear that you may perish as your mother had done. With your lower half all but mangled and shedding the remains of what processes your body had devised to best facilitate your children’s growth, the notion of letting your uncle couple with you had seemed positively dreadful. ‘Twas akin to the thought of him rutting into the gaping maw of a fresh wound. But the blood of that night had passed, and the pain had faded, and in your mind, it is almost like it had never happened at all. You do not remember the sensation.

You have not resumed your courses save for some light spotting in your smallclothes, though that is apparently to be expected. Your breasts are ever noticeable, large and leaking or shrunken and soft depending on the time of day, always sensitive regardless of state. Your belly is quite nearly back to the state it had been before carrying the twins, save for an additional laxness and the crawling lines of dark delineating the places where your flesh had most stretched. These are all changes, differences that you have come to anticipate, understand.

It is likely why the return of carnal longings is so utterly strange, so abnormal in its normality. How can a form so changed experience something so… banal?

Even so, you find yourself drawn to the minutest of details when in Daemon’s presence: the corded strength of his arms; the elegant line of his ringed fingers; the set of his jaw and the shadow of his brow. His voice singing lullabies of old to the twins brings a sort of frantic exhilaration, a dampness pooling between the legs instead of drowsed comfort. His easy grin makes your heart pound as though from great toil. When his attention is elsewhere, you admire the span of his shoulders and the planes of his chest, knotting scars of savagery setting you to swooning.

You feel like one of his fawning admirers, breathless and fluttering and giggling at his innate charm. You feel desperate.

And, worst of all, he does not notice. He fails to recognise the reciprocation of your sighs and moans as he feasts from you for the invitation that they are. His touch is gentle, like he is afraid you will break, even when you press yourself into him so eagerly that it seems no small wonder that he cannot read it for the provocation you intend it to be. He is careful not to make his acts of self-pleasure too obvious, pushing your hands away with a kind murmur of, “Rest now, sweetling, I’ll take care of this,” as though you are incapable of doling out the satisfaction he had taught you so well to perform, as though it is an inconvenience to you rather than he that his member rises so readily at the sight of you.

This state of affairs cannot last. It ought to be an easy thing for you to entice him to act on your shameless thoughts, the way you had so often before the babes had entered the world. You feel frozen, trapped in your abstemious existence as you have been for sennights. How to make him see? How to make him comprehend?

When Rhaenyra hears of your plight, disguised in the politest terms you can muster, she laughs.

“Go on and tend to your brother,” she says to Luke, nodding towards Joff. Based on the quiver of little Corwyn’s lower lip, Joff has thrown one of his toys at him again. He appears poised to do so a second time, wooden dragon carving clutched tightly in an upraised fist. “Have him build a tower with you, perhaps.”

Luke sighs, ever wearied at presiding over the play of the younger two. Still, he abandons the book before him, revolves on his heel and trudges over to the pair of tots, prying the dragon from little fingers and leading them both to the far safer pile of blocks.

Satisfied, Rhaenyra turns back to you. “Have you tried speaking to him?”

The abrupt shift takes you aback. You must cast your mind past the immediate happenings—away from the sound of delighted giggling, the thwock of blocks placed by clumsy hands—to recall your previous conversation.

Oh, yes. Daemon.

“Not… not exactly,” you say, hesitant. “I did not think I would need to ask my husband to… well…”

“There are occasions where you think too highly of him.” Rhaenyra shakes her head wryly, a fond curl to the corner of her lip. “This is one of them. Just because he knows you best of all doesn’t mean he’s not still a man.”

“But he is a man who… enjoys certain acts! Perhaps even more so than other men.” Your thoughts supply you with ample evidence of such a claim, unbidden. How frustrating it is that your thoughts are your only source of carnal satisfaction at present. You swallow nervously, praying that such lewdness or its resulting vexation does not reveal itself in your expression. “Why is he being so obtuse?”

She tilts her head sympathetically. “You forget he was there during your labours. They’re pains easy enough to forget when you’re the one experiencing them, but not soon disregarded as the spectator. He remembers your suffering—he does not wish to revisit any further upon you.”

A flattering observation of him, though you note the lack of supposition in her tone. Intrigue washes through you.

“How do you know? Has he been speaking to you?”

“Oh, darling. He’s frightfully easy to read.”

For a moment, you envy her. She is so alike to Daemon that it is hardly any wonder that she knows his thoughts so well. You, on the other hand, do not share their temperament. It is a fact you often appreciate, for the gods know how calamitous such a warring pair would be in matrimony. It had once been said, you recall not by who, that you were the ice to their fire—but now, you feel the comparison is lacking.

If Rhaenyra and Daemon are a blazing conflagration, then you are the steady warmth of the candle flickering in the evening. Soft, controlled, but carrying the same propensity to burn and maim. A dragon, same as all the rest, but with one rather unique quality: mastery of will. The calamities inflicted by your family might have been averted had past generations indulged their wild spirits a little less.

An odd, haunting echo whispers along the back of your neck, a voice you feel you ought to recognise yet lies beyond the precipice of knowledge, just out of reach. “Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor. A dragon is not a slave.”

No. But Targaryens have ever been beholden to their tempers. Mayhaps there is freedom yet to be won.

Rhaenyra clears her throat, brow raised pointedly at your obvious distraction. “Use your words. If you want him to fuck you, you’ll have to make it clear beyond implication.”

You flush, and not only for your inattention. You may be far more accustomed to vulgarity now than you were before marriage, but it does not mean that it is entirely comfortable to hear your sister speak it. Never mind the fact that she is discussing the affairs of your marital bed in so cavalier a manner! You remind yourself that it had been you who had approached her.

“Thank you.”

“I hope I helped. And to be frank, I hope I never need to help again. It’s difficult enough to contend with unspoken.”

A clear enough dismissal: you rise from your seat beside her, squeezing her arm in silent farewell. She catches you just before you turn toward the door, a wicked glint in her eyes.

“And remember,” she says. “If all else fails, just drop your shift and grab his cock. That ought to be enough to encourage him.”

“Rhaenyra!”

It takes a great deal of strength not to follow through on your sister’s recommendation when next you meet with Daemon.

He returns to your chambers following another of his training sessions, sweat-soaked and streaked with grime, grunting as he slips the belt from his waist and sets Dark Sister against the wall. Your ladies avert their stares as he unbuckles the clasps of his leather jerkin and discards the thing across the table. At the sight of his disrobing, Jeyne and Bethany stand, genuflecting hastily before all but rushing from the room. Try as you might, the pair are still somewhat uneasy around him. Characteristically, he appears not to notice their departure—indeed, it is unlikely he truly even noticed their presence.

“I do hope you plan to wipe that table clean,” you call out to him, doing your best to affect a tone of light-hearted teasing. In truth, you feel more than a little faint. It is positively sinful, the way he looks.

Daemon rolls his eyes, bundling up his tunic. He tugs it over his head, exposing the undershirt made translucent from the vigour of his activities. Through it, you can see the scars of old, the firm planes of his chest and belly.

“We have people for that, or did you forget?” he asks. The tunic falls atop the jerkin. A chair screeches across the stone, and your husband seats himself with a wearied sigh to work at the buckles on his boots. “Fucking miserable, this lot. I’m half tempted to drag them to the Stepstones. Perhaps the threat of war might make them more inclined to follow orders. Best way to turn the green ones into true men.”

You know it is mere complaint, but the thought of his flying off to battle is still enough to make your chest pang with worry.

“Not funny,” you say, thumbing the needle in your hand. “Aelys would never stop screaming with you gone. Rhaenar would keep himself awake until your return.”

He grins. “Never fear. I’ll not leave you to manage our little beasts alone.” He pauses; glances toward the cradle. “How are they?”

“See for yourself.”

Hardly needing encouragement, he pads sure-footed toward the sounds of soft gurgling and cooing, the sturdy frame keeping the pair of infants out of your immediate sight. Bending low and extending both arms down, you can hear him murmur, “Rytsas, ñuhys zaldrītsossas.”

Hello, my little dragons.

A high-pitched squeal is his response, no doubt Aelys’s welcome. You try to focus once again on the seam you are patching, though it is hard not to be drawn into the conversation that appears to be taking place to your far left.

Rustling, and a plaintive whine. Daemon sighs. “Daor, ñuhus jorrāeliarzis—jemī ōregon koston daor. Yne aōhi muña asēnilus lo jemī vaogēdan.” No, my loves—I cannot hold you. Your mother would kill me for dirtying you.

“Kony drēje issa.” That is correct, you say archly. You nod toward the screen. “Kōdrion aō syt ilza. Īlvon parklondo go, aōlot rāenābā, kostilus.” There is a bath for you. Wash up before our supper, please.

When he pulls away, the pair squawk their dismay. Luckily, he knows best how to resolve the ensuing fit before it can reach fruition—he jerks his final layer off over his head, depositing the threadbare shirt into the cradle. Their cries fall abruptly silent. You wrinkle your nose at the prospect of their bedding wicking the odour of perspiration, though you are forced to acknowledge the efficacy of such an action. Babes find comfort in the scent of their parents.

Daemon drops a strip of leather on the desk, shaking his head of now-loose hair. On his path to the tub, he stops before you.

“Ynot tolī syz iksā,” he says, rough-hewn palm dragging your chin upward. You are too good to me.

It is all you can do not to moan like an eager slattern as his lips slot against yours and the musk of him rattles your bones like tinder to firewood, bursting and sparking with banked heat. Acerbic, mingled with smoke and the particular fragrance of ashy mud found nowhere else but here upon the isle, it is strong enough to taste upon his mouth, feel upon your skin. Before you have the mind to deepen it, to drag him down and haul your skirts up, he is gone, naught more than a tender dirt-smudged stroke to the cheek to mark his departure.

You collapse back against the chaise, bewildered and hot, the heavy glide of his favourite coat finally breaking free from your lap and to the floor, needle and thread and all. Meanwhile, you hear him whistling to himself as he removes his breeches, his groan of relief as he steps into the water.

You have half a mind to disturb his bathing, for how dare he leave you so bereft? But it is not his fault. Well, to be fair, there is no fault at play here, for there has been no fault committed. Unless being far too handsome is a fault, you think.

Alas, there is no recourse but to wait for the opportune time to strike. It cannot be now—supper is still to come, and the babes must be put to the nursery.

‘Tis this thought you must repeat over and over again. Not now: Daemon is dressing for the evening meal, even if you truly only want to have him remain without clothing, to prowl about with his considerable endowments on display for your avid gaze, and something alarmingly like grief twists in your stomach with each item of clothing that further conceals him from you. Not now: you take your girl and he takes your boy and the four of you make your way through the halls, and you must ruthlessly quell the driving lust from your core with each step, for there can be no notions of lechery with a babe curled in your grasp just so, an innocence you will not dare risk tainting with the impurity of your designs. Not now: the Keepers are explaining that the twins’ dragons “are becoming unruly, my Prince”, and “they will need far more outdoor enrichment than we had previously discussed”, and you must nod your head in sage agreement even as you press a kiss to Rhaenar’s forehead, then Aelys’s, all too aware of the low thrum of Daemon’s voice while you say goodnight to Freda and the children.

Supper comes and goes in a burning haze, marked by the knowing looks you receive from your sister across the table and the pervasive awareness that he is right there next to you, so close and yet untouchable, not now, not in the way you want. When you are done eating—and honestly, you do not even remember putting food into your mouth, but your plate is empty and your belly pleasantly full so you must have—you are forced to just sit, all too conscious of the arm Daemon has carelessly draped across the back of your chair, the rumble of his laugh as his cups flow amply with the free and easy conversation between he and Harwin and Laenor. And then, and then, you are returned to your chambers after minutes or hours or days, so wound up on the inside that you feel close to madness of a different kind, near to bursting, blood bubbling effervescently like the sharpest of Northern wines.

All night, you had been anticipating this moment. Why now does your nerve fail you?

“Come here,” he says, disturbing the panicked wheelabout in your mind.

For a moment, you wonder whom it is he is speaking to—but then he glances up at you, frowning quizzically. You realise you are the only other being in the room. Wringing your hands and cursing your foolish transparency, you trail toward him, stopping expectantly when you are within reach.

Silence.

“Well?” he asks, raising his eyebrow. You look about, trying to determine what it is he wants. He sighs, and adds, “Do you plan on sleeping in that dress, or would you like a hand with the laces?”

“Oh!”

Like a poorly performing puppet, you whirl around spasmodically, breath stuck somewhere between its starting and finishing point, suspended in your chest as he shifts your hair to one side and begins the methodical task of unthreading you from your fabric prison. Each wrench of cord is as keenly felt as a thrust between your legs, or the memory of it, hushing your careening passions to the metronome of the tug tug shwip at your back. Daemon’s breath is sweetly fragrant, hot upon your neck, near enough that you can hear his every exhale before the pressure of air caresses your skin. It is an eternity before the gown slithers to the floor, followed by the soft-boned corset you have favoured in recent moons.

“Shift, too?” is his next whispered query, fingers already at the ties and tugging, palms dragging it clear from your collarbone and down, down, down. It bunches at your waist, but it is far enough for his liking, and he turns you in his grasp to back you unerringly to the bed. A kiss, then, “Make yourself comfortable, talītsos,” and he moves away to remove his own clothing.

Your heart sinks at the familiarity. The routine. Make yourself comfortable, followed by abortive sensual touches and the hard suckle of man at teat before your breasts are dried up for the night, then squirming alone in the dark to the furious beat of his fist over his length across the room and the barely groaned “Fuck!” as he spurts his release on something, anything that is not you.

Even so, you crawl onto the mattress, nipples tingling with the gentle sway of movement and shift pooling over the convergence of your thighs. Kneeling, you wait, torn between hiding and fully baring yourself to the cooling chamber.

He joins you thereafter, body rising over yours as his mouth sinks to touch your own, tongue chasing the give of your lips to feed you the heady prickle of inebriation in a plush glide. Too soon does he break from you, the ridge of his nose pressing a warm line through the wet of his kisses along your jaw, your throat. He bears you slowly down, back against the pillows, grip sliding up your thighs and bypassing where you need him entirely, up your hips, up, away—

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, fumbling at his wrist to make him pause in his pursuit.

He leans back, concern carving lines in his face. Before he speaks—before you lose all semblance of courage—you try to make it plain without words.

You part your thighs flat to the bed. Slowly, without thinking too hard, you draw the rumpled hem of your shift up over your belly, rasping against your flesh, and you show him the dewy softness that awaits, begging for his favour. You imagine it glistens in the low light of candle flame there, dappling gold on tender flesh starved for touch.

Daemon stares unblinking, surprise transforming liquid, dark. “What’s this?”

“I need—” You drag his fingers to your mound, resisting the urge to shudder. “Please?”

He huffs, not a sound of amusement but one of seeming triumph. Idly, as though indifferent, his thumb coasts a path along your folds, taking care not to part them. The nail catches just so upon the hood of your half-hidden bud, sparking and fizzling straight to all the pleasure centres of your body. “Look at you. I’ve left you wanting, have I?”

“Ye—yeah.” You tip your hips up invitingly, breaths like little pants coming quicker, too loud in the quiet. “It’s been so… so long since…”

You bite off a gasp as he crawls forward, lowers, deliberately splaying you open with the blunted, veiny drive of his shaft. He hisses at the pressure, the sleekness, the heat. You feel it too, the scorch of iron striking molten, and you tip your head up in search of some relief from the ache of it.

He stirs himself there, making no attempt to push in where he catches.

“Since what, sweetling?” His arms lock you in place, hand falling warningly to your throat as his teeth make divots in the lobe of your ear. “Since I touched you? Fucked you? Put my seed in your belly?”

“Yes!”

You nod furiously, clutching his fist around your windpipe tighter, squeezing so that you can feel the threat of it through layers of muscle. Grinding your hips up at him, your entrance tightens painfully as he once again slides above where you want him, knocking where you are most sensitive. Need drips slickly to the bedsheets beneath your core.

The enthusiasm of your agreement lures a noise of satisfaction from his chest. “Thought I was doing the right thing. Thought I was being a good husband, keeping my cock away from my poor little wife, scarcely free of the birthing bed.”

He reaches between your bodies with his other hand and grasps the root of himself to slap his cockhead against your petaled opening, the collision of skin producing an audible sucking sound. Your nipples strain to the ceiling, your reason tethered like wire to the churning of your belly.

Daemon grunts, grip shifting to wind against your nape, tugging sharply at the hairs there. “But I forgot, didn’t I? That you’re a whore.”

“I am,” you say, pitchy and breathless. “I’ve been waiting for you, kepus.”

He tugs again, grimacing as finally—finally—his girth aims true. The broad head of him slips inside, filling the empty spaces in you with weight and heat and heft until your cunny is as wide open as your lips are, a silent scream of sensation. Time slows and all the ages of the earth roll into the seconds that he piles himself inside you, forcing through the stubborn clench straight to the root. You wince, the fit tight like you remember, struggling to breathe at the deep-seated throb from somewhere below your ribs where he has engraved a path.

“Fuck.” He moans quietly against your shoulder, more to himself than to you. His cock digs deeper, harder, and you cry out, neatly unable to bear it. “Fuck, how are you still so tight?”

You squeeze around him at the words, revelling in the choked growl even as your body tries to curl in on itself from sheer stimulation, legs hitching up around his waist to drive him to your will. Embracing him, you bury your nose in his hair as he tilts you to his liking and withdraws, returning with a jolt that sparks uncomfortably in your gut. His mouth drags and leaves bruises along your neck as his thrusts start tentative, grow bold.

It is a testament to his own longing that he does not continue rattling off the filthiest declarations imaginable, fists clenched over your thighs and at the base of your skull with a strength that will mar you come morning. You smile at each throbbing plunge, bask in the squelch and judder of your forms moving in tandem, sweat smoothing the way. He pants, overcome, and you echo his sounds in a rhythm like ancient music.

Daemon’s lips venture lower, spine hunching atop you. He crows, jubilant, and you realise that your arousal is not the only fluid your body has released. Rising up, he takes you by both hipbones and settles you atop his thighs, tugging you over his lap and admiring the sight you make below him. He does not stop moving, length sluicing in minuscule revolutions, a constant bevy of sensation.

“Look at you,” he says again, palm smoothing flat over your stomach and gliding up over your breastbone, diverting to tweak one of your leaking nipples.

You squeal, feeling the rush of milk dribble down your breast. His nostrils flare, thumb stoppering the fall and chasing to its source before withdrawing and licking it from his skin with a lewd pop. You think he means to incite the other, only his digits venture lower and twist cruelly at your straining pearl. Tears spring to your eyes as something like the memory of peaking kindles in your stomach.

“Ah, there—all of you cries for me now, little girl. Isn’t that nice?” Callous satisfaction harshens the curve of his grin. “Eyes, tits, cunt… weeping for Uncle. And I’ll drink everything down.”

He presses the backs of your knees to the bed and descends, latching onto your nipple as his onslaught renews, pleasure in duality crystallizing at your chest and below and melding into one. You lose track of where you end and he begins, where the relief is greatest. He drags you to that elusive end in a swirl of writhing limbs and salt-musk sticking to the roof of your mouth as you call for him.

His thrusts come faster, shallower, making direct contact with the locus of feeling with each forward movement. The entirety of you gears toward the crest of the mountain, that moment of great and glorious bliss. When you finally reach it, you keen, bones and muscle coiling inward as a great wave surges outward.

You twist uncontrollably, fingernails scoring through his flesh as you come.

“Kepus,” you hear yourself babbling, clinging to his head at your other breast as you lurch discordantly across the mattress. “Harder, harder, more—”

You turn into a glutton desirous of this particular form of punishment, ravenous for the ache and the sting and the burn of it, and he responds in kind.

“Yes, yes, yes…”

Each plea for more meets with a plunge of girth that sets you to shrieking, pushing yourself into them though your body urges you to flee. More, more, more. You are drunk on it, greedy for the assault. He is ever obliging to fuck harder, harder, faster.

And then—

Daemon withdraws, climbing over you with frantic disregard, hand a blur between his legs. He pushes you down, wrenches your jaw up, apart, digging into the hinge.

“Open your fucking mouth,” he snarls, mean and monstrous with his cock aimed straight for your face, panting and slavering as he works himself over.

You stick your tongue out for good measure, straining against his hold for just one taste, but he does not let you. His fingers curl into the meat between your skull and spine, pain making you cross-eyed, and he shifts urgently on his knees.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—”

Seed spurts hot on the corner of your mouth, along your cheek, across your closed eyelids before he brings his length to your lips. You pull eagerly at him, rising to bring him further into your mouth even as his fist knocks unkindly against your teeth. His caustic flavour, familiar and missed, spreads across your palate, and you drink of him like a penitent come to worship at the altar of the gods.

Mindlessly, he grinds down at you, softening girth making you gag ever so slightly. Spend clings to your lashes and stings in your eyes as you look up at him, but you cannot care.

He stills, winded, chest expanding and collapsing with a thirst for air. Then, with a gentleness lacking in these last moments, he works himself free of you, flopping to your side with a sigh and a weak noise of contentment. He looks relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time in weeks. Moons, even.

You brush stray strands from his forehead, smoothing starlight from his weathered temples. He turns into the touch, mouth meeting the inside of your wrist.

“You really are too good to me, sweetling,” he murmurs.

His lips press to the tip of your nose, palm warm and comforting on your back. Fingers trace patterns into your flesh, at first seeming meaningless until you recognise the strokes, deliberate and sure, for what they are.

‘Avy jorrāelan.’ I love you.

“I know,” you say, answering both spoken and unspoken sentiment, your heart utterly full. In turn, you trace the same glyphs on the skin of his chest. From the smile that fills his eyes with light incandescent, he knows, too.

You lay in the quiet, basking in the surety of each other.

But it cannot last. You are loath to break the serenity, though you speak nonetheless, making a weak gesture to the pearly gleam that clumps your lashes, streaks your face.

“Do you mind… perhaps getting me a washcloth? I… cannot see.”

It is only now that he appears to notice the state he has left you in. With another kiss and an amused bark of laughter, he moves to do your bidding.

You settle back, content, watching your uncle stride fully nude to the wash basin to wet the cloth he has scrounged from its resting place. While you wait, you count all your many blessings: your babes, happy and settled and thriving. Your sister, skilful and kind in her confidence. Athfiezar, fierce and devoted and liberating when the walls feel as though they are caving in. Your tutor, your healer, your maester, your attendants, your life here on this isle, in this time and place and season. Your husband, your lover, the very benefactor of all you have come to hold dear.

Daemon kneels beside you, sponging away the worst of his deeds with a sure hand and steady smirk. “I’ll be sure to mind my aim next time, hm?”

Next time. An implicit vow.

You feel it again—a glow like the pinprick of daylight at a tunnel’s end, warming the chill from your bones and the frost from your heart, slow and sure and stubborn in the face of the complications that are yet to come. Something thawing, soothing, deadening the weight of grief and hardships past.

“Yes,” you murmur, eyes closed at the sensation of his frame moulded against yours, real and true and necessary. “Next time.”

Something like hope.

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aliaology · 6 months

Text

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY

summary: you used to date quinn, the relationship starting not long after him and his other ex broke up. she got mad, made drama about you, and in the end, it flared up by the time your relationship was long gone.

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader

warnings: death threats

thin mints. god you loved thin mints, and currently you craved them. actually, you craved the nice memories they brought. the memories where your ex told you he would have some guy get some for you. he ended up being that guy.

quinn hughes. your favorite past lover who will continue to outshine the rest. he treated you well, made you happy. he was perfect.

bonding over the black eyed peas and the smiths was something you found to be hard when it came to other people. but with quinn, it was easy. he made love seem easy and effortless.

but the downside, was his ex. she was pretty, but they had broken up about three months prior to you and him hooking up and then ultimately getting together. no one necessarily knew of their breakup. they didn’t post pictures often of each other due to quinn living in vancouver and his ex living in michigan.

so everyone assumed they were fine, until quinn decided to hard launch your relationship. you were fine with it at first. it was innocent, like the cuddling on trampolines you guys loved to do.

but now you were being called a slut. at this very moment, you were being called a slut and getting death threats. at the time, you were getting the same treatment.

it seemed his ex put the idea that he cheated on her with you, into everyones head. and they believed it. they believed it because of the stereotype against hockey players. the stereotype against girl best friends.

but that didn’t stop your relationship. you were so into it. you were there for everything, even his brothers… until you weren’t. it wasn’t like you both ended on bad terms. in fact, you both ended things, stating it was better to stay friends.

then she released a song. a song where she practically tore you apart, tore you down. you were the hot topic on her tongue.

she painted you out to be the bad guy. the manipulator. the one who made him take you to bed. you were just trying to hold him close and love him.

the only win from the whole situation was the fact he called you his favorite love. that you would always be the favorite.

but to everyone, you were the slut. you didn’t have a choice in that matter. you were the homewrecker. all because you liked a boy.

ynusername

liked by jackhughes, _quinnhughes and 625,737 others.

ynusername all because i liked a boy. coming out oct 14 (with permission). thinking of dating a boy with an ex? i wouldnt recommend it. especially if stuff happens after you had already broken up!

comments.

user and shes gonna eat 😜

user she alr did with ‘skin’ 🤭🤭

user DIE WHORE

_quinnhughes insanely proud of u y/n/n

ynusername thank u quinner 😪

jackhughes AND ALL OF THIS FOR WHAT⁉️⁉️⁉️

lhughes_06 WHEN EVERYTHING WENT DOWN WE’D ALREADY BROKEN UP 😱😱😱

user all hughes brothers being her no.1 supporters is so cute

jackhughes can i get you thin mints this time

jackhughes im exless!

jackhughes no im not but my ex forgot i exist!

jackhughes choose me instead!

_quinnhughes jack please this is embarrassing for u

jackhughes SHUT UP QUINN

user i cant tell if quinn is okay with this or not

ynusername he is 😭 me and him are best friends now and have no hard feelings or any romantic feelings towards one another anymore. plus jack will never have a chance 🤷‍♀️

user ITS GONNA BE A BOP LMFAO

user slut! homewrecker! cunt!

user banned!

user i love i live i laugh

user i alr know this will slap

trevorzegras @/jackhughes shes mine

user STOP.

user puckbunny ass bitch

user i know what im streaming when it comes out!

user i still prefer quinns ex over y/n

user then use her name instead of y/ns xx 😻

erm..! this lowkey sucks LMFAO

taglist (perm!) @hockeyboysarehot (just ask to be added for perm tags! <3)

#hockey #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #nhl #quinn hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes imagine #hughes brothers #all because i liked a boy

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kteezy997 · 1 month

Note

I’ve never seen someone do this with Timmy so :

Maybe reader is a masseur and when she massages timothée things get spicy

Oh fuck yes I love this

massage room//t.c.

warnings: workplace smut, handjob, male and female receiving oral sex, doggystyle, cumshot

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head when you looked at your schedule for the day. Did you read it right? Your last appointment of the day was Timothee Chalamet. As in uber famous Hollywood actor, Timothee Chalamet? Was this even real?

You peeked out into the lobby of the salon, and there he was. In the flesh. Like a tall drink of curly-headed water.

You couldn't believe it. Whoever took the call to make his appointment just jotted his name down, like it was no big deal? How was no one else among the salon employees aware of who was coming in? For he was the most beautiful and talented movie star since Elizabeth Taylor.

You were just stunned at the whole situation. But you had to get yourself and your massage room together, because his appointment time was inching closer.

You were anxious to meet him, as you had been watching him in movies and crushing on him for years now. But you drank some cold water and tried to calm yourself. You were a professional. He was only a typical client. A very hot and sophisticated client, but it did not matter. He would get the same treatment from you as any other person.

You walked out to greet your client; you saw him relaxing on one of the couches in the lobby sitting area. "Mr. Chalamet?"

He shook his curls out of his face as he looked up, smiling.

"I am ready for you. My name is y/n, you can follow me." you smiled politely back a him, trying to not dwell on his charm.

"Perfect." Timothee said, standing up from the couch.

You turned on your heels, leading the way to the back room.

...........

You entered the room, Timothee right behind you. "Thank you for coming in, Mr. Chalamet. I hope you enjoy your experience today."

"Oh, you can just call me Timmy. And the lady I talked to on the phone highly recommended you, so you must be one of the best here."

"Oh, well, I don't know about that, but I will do my best to make you feel better." you turned to face him, "Are there any problem areas for you that I need to give special attention to?"

"Ugh, yeah my back muscles have been really sore lately."

"Okay, sounds good. I assume you've been working on your feet a lot?"

"Yes," he combed his fingers through his hair, "feels like I've been working nonstop lately. Sorry if I seem tired, it's cause I am." he chuckled.

You giggled, "Hopefully I can get some of that stress out of you and you'll be feeling more comfortable. Now, you're scheduled for a one-hour massage, so I'll be working on your full body. I'll give you a moment in private to undress down to whatever your comfort level is. And I'll have you start out laying on your front."

"Is it okay if...I'm naked during the massage?" he crooked an eyebrow at you.

You nearly blushed at the thought of him naked, then you caught yourself, "That is perfectly acceptable. It is most important that you are comfortable. I'll be back in a couple of minutes, Timmy."

"Sounds great, y/n." he smiled softly, starting to take his jacket off, his eyes wandered down your body.

You almost forgot that you needed to leave the room. "Oh, sorry." you laughed at yourself, leaving the room quickly. You could hear him chuckle lightly at you.

Timothee Chalamet had checked you out. You were certain that's what he was doing. And you were going to put your hands on his body?? NO! You are a trained and certified professional. There was nothing sexual or erotic about what was to happen in that room. This was your job. You were providing an innocent service to this man. Right?

.........

You gave Timmy a short amount of time to get undressed and then get comfortable on the massage table, then knocked on the door.

"I'm ready, you can come in." he called from inside the room.

The sound of the calming spa music and the mist from the humidifier in the room brought you to your senses. This is what you did every day. Timmy was no different than any other client.

You found him lying on his stomach as you had instructed him. His cute little bubble butt exposed. You shook your head, getting rid of your filthy thoughts. You then took the blanket on the table and covered him up to his waist with it.

You didn't speak as you lubed your hands up with lotion. You almost always remained quiet during your massages, so that the client can be at their most relaxed state.

As you pressed your hands into his muscles, you said, "If the pressure is too much, just let me know."

Timmy hummed an, "Okay." underneath you.

You went into your massage routine, finding the hard and tender spots up in his shoulders. As you worked out his knots, you took notice of his smooth, pale skin, and his many sprawling freckles all along his back. He didn't make a sound or move at all as you got the deep kinks out, and you knew that they had to be painful. "Be sure to drink plenty of water this evening, to flush out all of those knots, Timmy." you said.

His body was built thin, but his muscles were firm. He was healthy and strong, you could tell. You moved around toward his feet to massage his legs. His calves were tight, so you gave them a good kneading with your fingers.

Next were his feet which were rather long and bony. But they weren't smelly or hairy, so you were glad. Timmy actually smelled quite nice, like soap and a little bit of musk.

"Okay, Timmy, you may turn over onto your back now. Take it nice and slow." you said, as thirty minutes had gone by, and you had finished his back side.

He did as you instructed, slowly turning over to lay on his back. As he settled comfortably, you tucked the blanket along his waistline again.

Timmy's eyes were closed, so he didn't see you bite your lip as he turned over. His chest and abs were super defined. You imagined your tongue running down the lines and valleys of his body, and flicking over his tiny, cute nipples.

You pumped some more lotion into your hands, warming the cream between your palms before spreading your hands over his chest.

You heard a soft, contented sigh leave his throat. You smiled, please with yourself at making him comfortable. Thus was the goal of the massage therapist: to soothe your clients.

"You're great with your hands, y/n." Timmy said, opening his eyes under hooded lids and looking at you.

"So I've heard." you answered, running your fingertips under his collarbones.

"Is it weird if I watch you work?" he asked.

You swallowed, continuing your hand movements along his chest. "No, this is your appointment, sir, you may do as you wish."

"As I wish?" he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk toying with his lips.

"I just mean you should do what makes you comfortable." you moved up, pushing your fingers into his shoulders. The more he talked to you, the more nervous you felt.

"Are you always so professional sounding, y/n?"

"When I am on the clock, yes, Mr. Chalamet." you answered, rubbing and massaging his upper arms.

"What if I paid you to stay after you got off the clock?"

You blushed, but kept your poise, "Well, if you're paying me, sir, am I not on the clock still?"

"Touche." he said simply, then rested quietly, closing his eyes for several minutes as you massaged his forearms and his hands.

You fought the urge to nibble and suck on his long fingers. As you circled your thumbs into his palm, you stared idly at his hands, wondering how his fingers would feel inside of you. Gently, you set his arm down on the table.

You moved down slightly to work on his abdomen, and then his lower body. You rubbed your fingers in your taught patterns along his abdominal muscles, mentally reminding yourself that you were a professional. Though Timmy's previous offer gave hints to something perhaps not so professional.

"What are you thinking, y/n?" came his soft voice, "And be honest." It was as if he had known you for years and could see right through you.

"Um, nothing, sir, I'm just working." you made a feeble attempt to resist the temptation of this man. He was winning.

"I think you're lying." his tone was slightly harsher now. "Are you thinking about my cock? Don't lie to me." He moved up, propping himself onto his elbows and looking at you.

Okay, it was time to play. "Hmm, maybe I am, Mr. Chalamet." You looked at him.

"Well, you should know that I can't stop thinking about your tits. Not even those scrubs can hide how nice they are."

"Really? You think so?" you teased, placing your hands over your boobs.

"Yeah." he replied, tucking his tongue between his teeth cheekily.

"Well, Mr. Chalamet,"

"Timmy." he corrected you.

"Timmy," pushed your hair back off your shoulder, trying to exude confidence, "you show me yours; I'll show you mine." you grinned.

"Take the blanket off me." he demanded.

"Hm." you hummed, leaning over and pulling the big, white blanket off of his lower body, leaving him totally exposed. His cock was long and half hard already. You were genuinely intrigued by the size of him.

"Now take your clothes off." he ordered, not making a move from the massage table.

"So bossy, Timmy." you teased, but shed your uniform and underwear anyway.

The instant your breasts were free, he groped them, "Fuck, they're so nice." He pinched each of your nipples between his long fingers.

You were turned on the second he touched you, and you started to get wet. "Should I massage your cock for you?"

"Yes, please." he answered, leaning back on the table again.

You got the bottle of lotion, and he watched you pump some straight onto his cock. You then set the bottle back down and wrapped your hands around his length. You worked your hands up and down on him, slowly at first.

You looked at Timmy's face as you stroked his cock. His eyes closed, lips pressed together, he let out a "mmm" sound. He began to move his hips upward to meet the rhythm of your hands.

You rolled your wrists back and forth, creating a tight friction on his smooth cock. The lotion worked wonderfully for a hand job. Timmy's cock got fully hard for you, and you had never seen a cock stand so tall. A tiny bead of precum seeped out of his tip. You felt desperate to taste it.

You leaned forward to put your mouth around the tip of his cock. You put your tongue on the saltiness of his precum, then swirled your tongue around him. You took your mouth off of him to lick a stripe from his base to the tip, then you put him back in your mouth to suck.

You moaned at how good his cock felt sliding in and out of your mouth. Timmy kept a firm grip on your hair. You gently massage his balls with your hands, then used your tongue on them.

"Oh, y/n." Timmy cooed.

You licked you hand and jerked his cock again, looking at his shiny, slick body all lubed up from the massage. You licked the head of his cock, then said, "You know, looking like that could get a man ridden to death."

"Yeah?" Timmy raised his brows, "Well, let's see." he made the "come here" motion with his fingers.

You took the invitation to climb onto him. You straddled his waist, and held his cock as you sunk your pussy onto it. His cock introduced a massive pressure inside of you. "Fuck, Timmy." you sighed.

He put his hands on your hips, digging his fingers into your skin.

You grabbed onto his abs, then softly started moving to and fro, getting a feel for his cock, letting it stretch you. You picked up speed, riding him fast, having an image of riding a bull in your mind. You whimpered at the pleasure his cock gave as it hit your g spot.

"Up and down, please." Timmy huffed out the request.

"Yes sir." you said, grinning as you bounced on his dick. You could hear the slapping of damp skin on skin, your ass hit his thighs over and over. You cursed again, tightening your hold on his body, probably scratching him, but he didn't seem to mind.

You felt Timmy's hand gripping your hips, and he slowly started to shake you back and forth as you were fucking him up and down.

The head of his cock hit your g spot with each thrust. It was immaculate. It was pleasure like you hadn't known before. You cried out, you squeezed your breasts, as you trembled on the brink of orgasm.

You knew you were coming, you stopped your movements, pressing your hands onto his chest so you wouldn't fall. You nearly collapsed onto him, huffing and puffing, trying to catch your breath.

Timmy put his arms around you and gave you a kiss on the side of your head. Without a word, he got out from under you.

You felt an instant sense of cold and emptiness once his skin was no longer on yours and you thought that he was going to leave.

Before you could even process it happening, Timmy grabbed you, pulling you to the edge of the table. You gasped as he brought your ass up.

He spread your pussy lips from behind you, and you felt his warm breath on your clit. He swiped his tongue over your pussy, his hands squeezing your ass as he did so.

Your body shook as you were overwhelmed with pleasure.

Timmy suckled your clit between his lips, then dipped his tongue onto it. He did it over and over again, in a pattern that drove you crazy. You moaned his name like he was God.

His mouth left your pussy, but he quickly replaced the sensation with a swift push of his cock all the way inside you, making your toes curl.

"Oh, my fucking god." you purred, taking a grip onto the blanket beside you.

Timmy held onto your waist firmly as he pumped his cock in and out of you. You could hear him breathing hard and grunting. "Do you fuck all of your clients, y/n?"

"No!" you cried. He thrusted deep into you, making you pause before you could say another word. "I've never done anything like this before."

He grabbed your ass by the handful, ramming you hard and fast now, "I knew you were a good girl, ahh, I could just tell." He leaned onto your body, pushed you down onto your chest, then drilled into you.

You moaned wildly; the legs of the massage table creaked as the table shook. Timmy might break the table, but you didn't care.

"Fuck." he muttered, pulling his cock out of you.

You raised up, looked behind you to see him jerking himself and he came in white streams on your ass cheek.

Timmy groaned in the most feral way. Coming down from his high, he looked at you.

You giggled as your eyes met, you couldn't believe the filth that just transpired in your workplace, and how much you loved it.

"I'll be coming back here for sure." Timmy declared.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @bitchyunknownuser @lixzey @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @mel-vaz @thatoneweirdgirl17 @iwishchalamet @jindongdongie @elloise0 @rennyd26 @briefkittenearthquake @that-one-fangirl69

If you have been on my taglist before, but I have left you out, please let me know. Or if you would just like to be added, you can also just tell me lol

#timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothée imagine #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet #timothee fanfic #timothee chalamet fanfic

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maidragoste · 1 year

Text

Another Man

Summary: Harwin discovers that there is another man in your life.

part 2 of this.

part 3

I'm just going to say that I don't regret anything and that I have many ideas to continue writing to this MC and her lovers 🥰💖

comments, reblogs and likes are always appreciated 🥰💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Harwin misses you. He misses your smiles, your kisses, your hugs, he misses how you took care of him every time he came back hurt or tired of his guards, he misses the talks until dawn, he misses waking up by your side.

Since Jacaerys's birth, the only thing he received from you was silent treatment and hateful looks every time they were alone. You had kicked him out of your chambers so he now slept alone but from time to time you made him spend the night with you just so as not to arouse more suspicion at court.

The first time you called him Harwin he had felt so hopeful thinking that your love for him was great enough to forgive him and give him another chance. He believed that your invitation to your chambers was the first step in making things right. He was disappointed and heartbroken when you didn't even greet him when he entered your chambers, all you told him, or rather ordered him, was that he come to your quarters every ten days. Before you sleep you always put pillows between the two of you. Sometimes he took advantage of your deep sleep to move the pillows and hug you, pretending that everything was fine between the two of you and that you still loved him.

Today marks ten days since he last came to your chambers. Despite your silent treatment, he was eager to go, it always calmed him down to see you sleep and he could hug you without you wanting to kill him, so he didn't even bother to knock on the door and went directly to your chambers. His anxiety turned into concern when he saw that the maester was with you.

"What happened?" he came quickly to your side. He didn't see that you had any wounds or cuts or that you were bleeding so he hoped that whatever your ailment was it wasn't something serious.

"Nothing to worry about, Lord Strong, I was just bringing your wife some tea to calm her nausea."

"Nausea? Are you sick?"

"Thank you for your help, maester" you nodded and waited for him to leave to answer your husband "I'm pregnant"

Harwin felt as if you had plunged a knife into his heart. Is that how you felt when you looked at Jaceaerys and realized that it was his son? Did you feel this pain when he confessed to you that he loves Rhaenyra too? He deserved to feel the same pain he caused you. He had been the first to break your heart by falling in love with the princess and getting into her bed. He was the one who ruined your marriage and lost your trust and love. He had no right to feel angry or betrayed. He had only caused all of this. If he had only been brave enough to talk to you earlier about his feelings for Rhaenyra, if only he had been honest with you, maybe they would have come to some kind of agreement, and maybe things would be better than they are now. Maybe he wouldn't have lost you.

You had already told him that he had lost you but he acted as if he had never heard those words and he hope that by some miracle you will forgive him. Now that you were carrying another man's child, he could see that you were serious.

Harwin wanted to ask you who you slept with and if you loved your new lover but he felt he had no right to know, but he didn't want to know either, he couldn't bear to hear that your heart now belonged to someone else. He preferred to believe that you had only let another man into your bed in revenge, that this was all about hurting him the same way he hurt you, and that there was no feeling involved.

"You can stop coming when I'm five months pregnant." You informed him as if he were a worker that you won't need his services anymore "If someone asks, I'll just say that the maester recommended we not share a bed until the baby is born" you took the cup of tea and walked away from him.

That night Harwin didn't move the pillows nor did he hug you while you slept. He couldn't even bear to stay in your bed all night and know that someone else was in the same place as him, he couldn't stop thinking about scenarios of you with your unknown lover.

•••••

The guard saw you and instantly turned away from the door knowing that the queen was already waiting for you. It wasn't a secret that you spent most of your time with her and her children.

"Sorry for being late" you apologized entering the room and interrupting the conversation between Larys and Alicent, first you approached her to give her a short kiss, you smiled at her when you saw her blush and then you went to kiss Larys "Your son doesn't wanted to get away from Sunfyre so it took me longer than expected to take him to his lessons with the maester," you said as you sat between the two of them, the affection you had for the prince in your voice.

“About Sunfyre…

You knew that tone in Alicent, she was worried and you knew why, you three had already had this conversation more than once. Ever since she found out you were pregnant she didn't want you to spend time in Dragon's Pit. She was afraid that one day one of the guards would come to tell her that one of those beasts had attacked you. You got tired of repeating to her that this would not happen.

You looked at Larys. You could tell from the boredom on his face that they were also talking about it before you got there.

“Aegon has to learn to care for and bond with his dragon. If his father doesn't bother to teach her then someone has to do it” you interrupted her and began to cut your meat with more force than necessary. Every time you think of Viserys you feel anger for the little attention she gave to her children but of course, he had time and attention for Rhaenyra's bastard. "A dragon would never harm its rider"

"But what about you? You are not its rider. It is dangerous. Especially in your condition” Alicent looked at you anguished. She didn't want anything to happen to you. King's Landing without you would be hell. You are the person she trusts the most. It hadn't been Alicent's intention to cling to you. But you're the only person who really cares for her, for Alicent Hightower, and not for the queen.

It all started when her engagement to Viserys was announced, Rhaenyra began to hate her and pushed her away. She thought you would support the princess and do the same. She was surprised that you stayed by her side and listened to her, you didn't call her a liar when she told you that she only did what her father ordered, instead you guiltily confessed that you were also in her position and that you believed that Viserys didn't choose you because you admitted to him that you were in love with Harwin Strong.

Alicent looked so lonely and sad without Rhaenyra. You didn't know if it was the guilt you carried thinking you should be taking Alicent's place but you started spending time with her. The first time you found her in the weirwood you pretended it was a coincidence, the second time you admitted you were looking for her on purpose, after the third time it became a routine to meet there at the same time. One day Alicent woke up and the first thing she thought about was that she longed for the time to come so she could see you. Every time she was with you she felt calm, she wasn't nervous thinking about what role she should be playing or thinking if she said the wrong thing she would push you away.

"Sunfyre won't do anything to me unless I hurt Aegon, which I never will" you took the queen's hand and gave it a squeeze "So you have nothing to worry about" you kissed her knuckles. "Now can we continue eating or is there something else to discuss?”

"Harwin was seen sneaking into the princess's chambers again," Larys informed you, and he carefully appraised you looking for any trace of sadness or disappointment in your eyes. He was satisfied to find none of it. The truth was that He hadn't believed that you had completely overcome your feelings for his brother, but it was more than clear from your face that you no longer cared what Harwin did.

"I'm not surprised, considering that I told him about my pregnancy last night," you admitted stroking your stomach with your free hand. "I don't care what Harwin does anyway because I have both of you" you smiled and Alicent felt her heart rise. She loved you so much and she was happy that her feelings were finally reciprocated. She shouldn't be happy that Harwin cheated on you but if it wasn't for your husband's infidelity then you wouldn't be with her and Larys now.

tag: @paolexsstuff @thefandomimagines @little-duck @jasminecosmic99 @green-lxght @hellmorozova @niki-is-a-thing

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veltana · 4 months

Text

Mafia AU prequels - Steve's break-up

✦ Pairing: Stucky/Fem!Reader ✦ Word count: ~1k ✦ Rating: Teen ✦ Warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, mild swearing, lots of fluff and feels, platonic cuddling, mention of peggy carter, sharing a bed. ✦ Summary: Steve is heartbroken and you're worried. ✦ Note: This is a prequel to No one as sweet as you set while they were living together in college, which focuses on their growing relationship and how Bucky and Steve started to develop feelings for Sweets as more than just their best friend. You don't need to read No one as sweet as you to get this but I recommend it. (Also posted on AO3)

Series masterlist

Masterlist | AO3

The door has been closed for five days, or at least not opened while you’ve been awake. You stare at it and chew on your thumbnail, so engrossed in worry that you don't notice Bucky coming up beside you until he puts his arm around your shoulders, startling you. “Sorry,” he frowns but you wave it away. "He hasn't come out yet?" You shake your head. "Have you knocked?" You nod. "What did he say?" "Told me to go away," you mumble.

At that moment Steve's door opens and his disheveled face appears. He hasn’t shaved and the stubble together with his bloodshot eyes and swollen face makes him ten years older. Seeing him like this makes your heart ache and you can’t help the small breath of his name that slips from your lips, out of instinct you reach out for him, but he pulls back and you quickly retreat.

"Leave me alone," Steve says with a tired voice and you take a step back but Bucky has had enough. For someone so wide, he moves quickly and you barely register it before it happens.

In a flash, he grips the back of Steve’s neck, pushes him down until he’s bent over, and grabs his arm to push it up against his back. "No," Bucky answers. "You have been in there for days, you smell like shit and you look even worse."

Steve tries to argue, “Buck, if you don’t fucking let me go right this goddamn second I’m going to fuck you up until-” You don’t think you’ve heard Steve curse so much through your whole friendship but Bucky is unfaced as he drags Steve out and towards his own room. You follow behind them, a little horrified by Bucky's treatment.

"You are gonna take a shower, eat dinner with us, and then we're all getting some fucking sleep." Bucky releases him inside the bathroom of his room and then closes the door behind him.

He glares at the door, daring him to open it but when the shower turns on both of you head to the kitchen. While Steve gets clean, you and Bucky look through the fridge for dinner. It’s not much for three college students but Bucky is excellent at making something out of nothing and you’re happy to assist.

“He’s so fucking stubborn,” Bucky complains. “Reminds me of someone else I know,” you murmur and then chuckle when Bucky gives you a sideways look, but you wave the carrot you’re holding at him threateningly and he smiles.

Steve steps out of Bucky’s room a while later, looking a little better, dressed in some of Bucky’s clothes. Without saying another word he steals a piece of the carrot you’re chopping and walks up to Bucky, who turns to him and opens his arms.

Steve doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist and bury his face in his shoulder. Ladle still in one hand, Bucky hugs him back and you turn back to the vegetables. They exchange low words that you can’t quite make out and you’re happy they can find comfort in each other.

Suddenly arms wrap around your waist from behind, lifting you and causing you to drop the knife, making it clatter on the counter. “Hey!” You begin but Steve doesn’t listen. Instead, he spins you around and puts you down so he can turn you towards him, before lifting you again to place you on the kitchen table.

“Bucky says you’ve been worrying,” his voice is soft as he cups your face, his eyes are red and tired, but also laced with concern. Tears burn in your eyes too, because you hate seeing him like this, but you won’t cry, not when he needs you. It’s so typical of him to worry about your feelings when he can barely keep it together. Taking a steading breath you explain, “Of course, it’s tough seeing you this heartbroken.” And place your hands on the outside of his.

“Can I-” Steve hesitates and you squeeze his hands, encouraging him. “Can I hold you? Just for a second?” He’s so timid when he asks but you smile at him and hold out your arms. “Take as long as you need,” you tell him.

Steve’s arms wrap around you again and much like he did with Bucky he buries his face in your neck. You caress up and down his back, his nape, run your fingers through his hair and don’t comment when you feel wetness on your skin.

Steve’s not always talkative when he goes through something, but if he’s tactile at other times, it’s amplified when he's sad. So when dinner is ready he sits between the two of you and makes sure your thigh is resting on top of his and that Bucky’s arm is pressed against his own while eating.

When all of you are done, Steve gets up first and grabs the dishes. Bucky and you follow and together you help clear the kitchen and it's like everything is normal for a few minutes.

It's not even eight but Bucky points toward his room. "Go." So you take Steve by the hand and he doesn't protest. More often you use Steve's bed because it's a little bit bigger, but his room is always littered with art supplies and since he's been in there for a while it's probably a bigger mess than usual. And your bed is too small to accommodate all three of you.

Lifting the covers you let Steve climb in first before dimming the lights and then sliding in beside him. Immediately he pulls you in until you're lying on his chest and that's how Bucky finds you. You can make out a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and you know it’s not because he’s happy about Steve’s situation, but because just like you feel, it makes him happy to see Steve find comfort.

It's a tight fit but Bucky tucks himself into Steve's other side and finds your hand, tangling your fingers together on top of his chest. A moment later Steve's breath hitches but you don't move, just share a glance with Bucky. Steve cries silently and then starts talking, about how much he misses Peggy and how it feels like he'll never be able to find someone like her again.

None of you try to tell him it will get better, because for him, right now, it will never get better. But with the help of time, you and Bucky will patch his heart until it's as good as new.

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onboardsorasora · 3 months

Text

I went to the dentist today for my post op and there’s something about going to the dentist and having your praise kink stroked when they’re working on you.

So naturally Max is a new patient at the dentist in his new city. Everything is great and fine, the sign up was easy, they took his insurance (an important reason for why he chose them of course) and the wait to get in an exam room was negligible.

Everything changes however, when his new hygienist walks in all sunshine and bright honey eyes. Max can’t see all of his face because he’s already wearing his mask but his eyes are beautiful and crinkly when he smiles. And Max knows he's smiling because the edges of his mask lifts with his cheeks.

His name is Daniel and his voice is lovely, happy and his accent is taking Max for a ride. His dark hair is curly and a little messy, as if he runs his fingers through it often and Max could see a few tattoos peeking out from the sleeve of his bright blue scrubs.

It's lovely, he details everything he’ll be doing for Max today. It's just an intro appointment to get a lay of the land so they can plan his dental journey with them.

“We’re not gonna get into anything too intense today, just a few x-rays, and pictures of your pearly whites and then the doctor will be in to go through his recommendations. And then you’ll be outta here in no time.”

Max can’t help but smile because he can hear the smile in Daniel’s words. Daniel claps and does some finger guns before starting to set up. He puts the radiation vest on Max’s chest, Max does not catalogue the feeling of his gloved fingers when they cup the back of his neck to make sure the vest wasn't digging into his skin.

Daniel tells him how they're going to x-ray and he puts the little device in Max’s mouth.

“You have beautiful teeth, Max.” Daniel says offhandedly, he was looking behind him at a screen. Max clenched his fingers underneath the heavy vest.

“That's it, perfect. I’m gonna move this to your left upper…bite down for me? Beautiful love.” Daniel murmured under breath as he worked. Max dug his fingers in the meat of his thigh.

The torture continued, punctuated with the beep of the x-ray machine when it went off and the fresh smell of Daniel’s cologne mixed with his own natural scent.

“There we go, I just need you to– good boy.”

Max clenched his toes in his sneakers.

“You’re doing so well for me Sweetheart.”

Max wondered what the maximum pressure the little x-ray device could take before the stem snapped in half.

“Perfect baby, just perfect.” Daniel breathed, typing on the computer off to the side with one hand and stroking Max’s cheek unconsciously with the other. Max inhaled sharply.

Daniel looked back at him quickly, worriedly.

“Let me get that out for you, your jaw must be a little sore.” Daniel sounded a little sheepish as he pulled the device away, Max watched the line of spit that still connected them thin away to nothing. He wondered if Daniel saw it too, if he maybe wanted to taste it. Taste what Max tasted like.

He was hard in his shorts.

Thankfully, Daniel took his time with putting back the x-ray extensions and taking off the radiation vest, Max was able to calm down a little. He was further able to refocus when his dentist came in, an older gentleman with shrewd eyes.

They discussed treatment plans and Max heard Daniel making notes whenever the doctor called out certain things. Daniel eventually left the room and his dentist continued to speak to Max about short term and long term goals.

He was out front in the waiting room when he heard a loud honking laugh. While the office assistant scheduled his next appointment, Max’s eyes strayed to a lithe man in bright blue scrubs that turned the corner. He eyed him appreciatively, hearing his voice as he teased another hygienist and they laughed together.

“Alright Max, your next appointment is–” Max doesn’t know when his next appointment is because at that same moment Daniel turns around and sees him and smiles. Max has never really been bowled over by a smile before, by a face. But Daniel’s is gorgeous. Max wanted to kiss him, feel his nose bump his.

If Max was an artist then Daniel would be his muse. As it was, he was simply struck dumb by the man walking over to the desk.

“Georgie, are you treating Max here nicely?” Daniel teased, Max saw George roll his eyes fondly.

“Of course I am Daniel. He’s your favourite patient after all.” George grinned teasingly and Max saw Daniel’s eyes widen a fraction before he settled into a grin of his own.

“That’s right.” Daniel murmured and Max watched the way his lips formed his words. He wished he hadn’t worn his mask earlier so he could have seen how beautiful, sweetheart, and good boy had looked coming from those lips.

Max couldn’t help it. He blushed.

#thought about saving this for Max Fest but I'm really excited to write something not depressing right now so I wanted to share #maxiel #max/daniel #my ficlet

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unboundprompts · 6 months

Note

writing a fic where blorbo is poisoned and blorbo in love with her has to take care of her, ideas for how i could get this across?

I would recommend doing some research on the poison involved so that it's as realistic as possible. In a fantasy/sci-fi setting you can probably make up your own poison and choose the symptoms and treatment you deem the best for the situation. Here are some ideas to help you with that:

General Symptoms of Poison

-> from this source.

Stomach Pain

Feeling Nauseous/Being Sick

Drowsiness

Dizziness

Weakness

High Temperature

Chills (shivering)

Loss of Appetite

Headache

Irritability

Difficulty Swallowing

Breathing Difficulties

Skin Rash

Blue Lips and Skin

Double Vision/Blurred Vision

Sudden, Noticeable Heartbeats (Palpitations)

Mental Confusion

Seizures

Loss of Consciousness

Treatment

-> seeking medical help is also a good idea. The best idea probably.

-> from this source.

If they are poisoned by swallowing something, try to get them to spit out anything that is remaining in their mouth.

If they are unconscious and swallowed something, try to wake them to encourage them to spit out anything left in their mouth. Do not put your hand into their mouth and do not try to make them sick.

If the poison is on their skin or clothes, remove their clothes and wash the affected area with warm or cool water. Be careful not to contaminate yourself.

Lay the person on their side with a cushion behind their back and their upper leg pulled slightly forward so that they do not fall on their face or roll backwards. (Recovery Position)

If vomiting, keep their head pointed down to prevent them from breathing it in or swallowing it. Do not give them anything to eat or drink.

If they have stopped breathing or their heart has stopped, perform CPR.

It is important to know what substances you think the person may have swallowed, when it was taken, why it was taken, how it was taken, and how much was taken.

Any existing medical conditions prior to being poisoned are important to be aware of, as it may impact their recovery/ the poison may have effects on their condition.

Activated Charcoal - sometimes used to treat someone who's been poisoned. It binds to the poison and stops it being further absorbed into the blood.

Antidotes - these are substances that either prevent the poison from working or reverse its effects.

Sedatives - may be given if the person is agitated.

Ventilator (breathing machine) - may be used if the person stops breathing.

Anti-epileptic medicine - may be used if the person has seizures.

Writing Prompts For a Character Being Poisoned

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

"Hey, hey, hey," she was lightly tapping his face, his head lulled to the side. "Open your eyes," she said to him gently, her heart sinking with each passing second. "Wake up, I need you here with me."

She had trouble keeping her eyes open. The room was spinning. She felt so weak. All she could hear was their voice, as if they were far away, telling her not to fall asleep.

They had this awful marking on their skin. It crawled across their shoulders and peeked out from underneath their shirt at the sleeves and neck. She thought it looked like it was getting worse every day, slowly blossoming across their skin. "It's not as bad as it looks," they said, trying to make her feel better. The raspiness of their voice and pale complexion did not fill her with hope.

"Your heart is pounding," she said, pressing a hand to his chest. His skin was feverish, warmth radiating off of him. Yet, he shivered as if he were freezing. "Only because I get nervous around you," he responds, a flirty tilt to his voice. They both knew that wasn't the only reason, but she smiled anyway.

"Will you eat something? For me?" They shook their head miserably. "I can't."

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider donating! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi!

#writing prompts #dialogue prompt #creative writing #otp prompts #writeblr #ask box prompts #hurt/comfort prompts #angst prompts #poison #prompt list #poisoned prompts #whump prompts

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honeesucker · 1 year

Text

Prelude -

Pairing: ProHero!DynaMight | Katsuki Bakugo x Puppygirl!Reader

Word count: 2,263

Series Content Warnings: Little bit of a slow start... Graphic Depictions of Past Abuse & Trauma Response | Profuse Usage of Pet Names / All-around Softness | Bakugo Experienced Work-Related Trauma (causing near deafness, being put on leave from the agency, PTSD) | Eventual smut™ (will be tagged in individual chapters - to include but not limited to KiriBaku, HybridxHybrid, Hybrid heat trope, sex toy usage).

*Not Proofread.

Next Part

Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t a fundamentally nervous person. Sure, even as a Pro Hero in the public spotlight under constant scrutiny and dissection by media outlets and fans alike he experienced a normal amount of anxious awareness, but he wasn’t nervous – not like he is now, with his right leg jumping up and down rapidly, rubber-bottom boot creating a soft squeak that filled up the sterile room of the Musutafu Hero Recuperation Facility. It had been just over a month since the incident that gave him nightmares and left him with such severe hearing damage that he was currently unable to perform even basic hero duties for his agency – which is why he is sat where he is now, waiting. Hoping the next steps are what could get him back out into the city on normal duty than having his medical leave extended.

He was losing his mind being left to himself and his thoughts each day, being told by doctors he needed to be still, and take is easy, and he was only losing his patience each subsequent doctor’s appointment that left him no closer to returning to Pro Hero work.

“Tch,” the blonde ground his teeth as the indignant noise stuck in his throat; he swallowed it down with a harsh gulp. His ears were ringing when the two doctors walked in, eyes unfocused as the room and people in front of him blurred in and out of clarity, everything around him sounded like it was underwater, and he hated it.

“Mr. Bakugo,” the doctor continued, Katsuki refocusing his attention on the man’s words, annoyed and thinking that Mr. Bakugo is my old man, not me... “we have some support specialists working with the latest auditory data set we took from you and they are getting closer to having a solution to get your hearing back to where it was before, and keep it there – even possibly making it better if all goes to plan.”

“In the meantime, it is recommended you follow the strict guidelines for allowing your body to heal itself naturally,” the other spoke. “You need to make sure you’re not exceeding the maximum limit for minimal exertion we’ve placed on your physical activity, so you have a better chance of getting back to your pre-incident status.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki sighed out, tired of hearing this same speech each visit. “Don’t overdo it, give my damn body time to heal – I got it.” The two doctors observed Katsuki with cautious eyes, but simply nodded their acceptance of his understanding. It was as good as it was going to get with him.

“Another suggestion,” one of the two added. “We have provided you with an email detailing a program we’d like you to consider – your colleague Red Riot actually participates and could be a good resource for you if you have any questions about it.”

“Please take a look when you have a moment and consider this a strong suggestion for helping you progress further in your treatment,” Katsuki eyed the two, irritated at the vagueness of the conversation, but swallowed down his disagreement and simply nodded.

“Yeah sure,” his chair slid back with a jarring scrape as he stood, moving toward the door to leave, “I’ll read your damn email, but I want progress updates from the support nerds.” He didn’t wait to hear their reply as he pushed through the door and hurried down the hall. He hated hospitals, hated the itch of memory in the back of his mind at the sterilized smell that gave him goosebumps and had him picking up the pace to rush out the side exit before heading to the sidewalk to wait for his friend to come get him after he shot him a text that he was all wrapped up. Another annoying outcome from the accident and the resulting toll on his body – he couldn’t drive himself as it was deemed too unsafe for him.

Bullshit.

“Hey Bakubro!” Katsuki’s eyes snapped toward the boisterous voice, seeing his red-headed friend waving his arm out the passenger window of his car. Katsuki ripped the door open and sunk into the passenger seat, Kirishima avoided asking how this appointment went the second he saw Katsuki’s demeanor. The two men drove in silence on the way to Katsuki’s apartment when the silence was cut.

“Doctors mentioned an email they sent me about this program,” Katsuki tested the water, being unsure what the program his doctors suggested he partake in he wasn’t sure if it was good to bring up with Kirishima at this moment. “They mentioned you’ve taken part in it before... Was curious what it’s all about,” Katsuki wouldn’t add the unspoken because I trust your opinion, but he knew Kirishima knew him and his nuances better than anyone since they’ve been side by side since UA.

“Program...?” Kirishima wracked his brain for a few minutes until it clicked.

The Hybrid Rehabilitation Foster Program.

A program that matches people with hybrids who have been rescued from inhumane circumstances with a person who needs support in their healing journey, and who is believed will benefit from focusing more on rehabilitating another which has been shown to have equally beneficial results with the healing person themselves. Kirishima had first taken part in the program after he was put on medical leave due to a villain fight that nearly left him dead – his body and his mind took almost a full year to heal, and he nearly gave up entirely. On Pro Hero work, on himself... on life. His doctors had mentioned the program and Kirishima wasn’t sure at first – how would he be able to provide a good home to someone who needed stability and support when he could barely pull himself out of bed? He got matched with a wolf hybrid, TetsuTetsu, who had been rescued from an underground fighting ring, having to kill other hybrids just to be able to get locked in a cage alive for another day. TetsuTetsu was surprisingly positive and open for someone who had gone through what he did, but he still had issues – Kirishima slowly helped break him of his more undesirable reactivity and in return TetsuTetsu gave Kirishima a reason to get up every day, make food, go for walks... talk about things that weighed on him, and before he knew it, he was making strides rebuilding his strength with his new training partner. Kirishima still had TetsuTetsu living with him, and Katsuki had met him several times now, but Kirishima never divulged how their relationship came to be – just alluded to him adopting a hybrid in need.

“Yeah! If it’s the one I’m thinking about it’s a pretty great program,” Kirishima finally spoke. “It’s a rehabilitation program for hybrids who were rescued from bad situations. They place them with a person who they feel would benefit from having something to care for while working on their own journey too.”

“Tch,” Katsuki snorted out, “sounds like a pain in the ass waste of time.”

“It’s how I adopted TetsuTetsu,” Kirishima stated out loud for the first time to his friend. Katsuki noted the stiff body language from his friend, knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel. “When I was out on leave for that year after...” Kirishima couldn’t finish the thought, the memory still a sore spot. “I was out on leave, and it got bad dude. I really came close to just giving up.” Katsuki had seen his friend in a lot of lights, weak and strong – but Kirishima never revealed what happened after that incident that left him injured when he was on leave for that year. Never thought for a second his life came so close to not having that shitty red hair and sharky smile in it, never thought he’d ever have that brotherhood bond ripped from him. Katsuki swallowed hard, the lump in his throat the size of a boulder.

“That bad, huh?” Kirishima just flashed a half-smile, watching his friend shift uncomfortably in the seat.

“Yeah,” Kirishima sighed, “it got pretty bad. I was against the idea at first, not thinking I could take care of someone when I couldn’t do it myself but it’s amazing how your mind overrides itself to keep going for someone else... and having TetsuTetsu around really helped me get back on track to be back where I am now.”

Katsuki had been chewing on the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed into a concentrated death stare before he noticed that they were parked in front of his apartment building. “I do like that annoying rockhead,” Katsuki finally said. Kirishima just laughed and gave a gentle punch to his friend’s shoulder.

“Just think about it dude,” Kirishima smiled, seeing the cogs turning in Bakugo’s head. “They provide a link to the rescue sight so you can see some of the hybrids they have in their facility right now – and look into next steps if you end up going that route...” Bakugo had stepped out of the car listening to his friends, and before shutting the door with a quick Later, dude Kirishima added - “it’s worth it Bakugo.”

Slam.

Kirishima just laughed, watching Bakugo enter his building before pulling away to head back home. Intending to text Bakugo later to see where his head is at and see if he wants to talk more in depth about the program.

Bakugo made his way up to his apartment – opening the door and stepping into the genkan to slip out of his boots and into his bright crimson and black Red Riot house slippers – a joke gift from his friend but functional enough that Bakugo didn’t mind replacing his old ones with them. He’d never outwardly admit it but he had a love for sentimentality even when it made him uncomfortable, and Kirishima always had such a shit eating grin on his face when he came over to Bakugo’s house and saw them still being used.

Bakugo’s apartment was wide open, a minimalistic space with deep chocolate colored wood laminate flooring and a traditional shoji style wall, some actual shoji, and some just styled in a more traditional way with wallpaper and wood accents. The whole living room wall facing out toward Musutafu was made up of large windows that lead to a fairly decently sized balcony with a bonfire and patio set, and down a short hallway was the spare room that currently housed his office where he could complete some more of the menial work from home, and a pull-out couch for guests. His bedroom was an equally large, open space but housed a King-sized bed with plush comforters and pillows, a wall dedicated to All Might memorabilia he collected since he was a child and was connected to a luxury bathroom with a deep tub and natural rock wall shower that doubled as a steam room.

Bakugo took his time getting showered, changed into loungewear and set to work through some of his most recent light work assignments, and finally his emails where one caught his eye immediately.

Musutafu Hybrid Rehabilitation Foster Program, LLC <[email protected]>

To: Bakugo, Katsuki <[email protected]>

Tue, Nov 8 at 10:26 AM

Hello Katsuki Bakugo,

Congratulations! You have been extended a conditional offer of consideration for adoption as a part of the Hybrid Rehabilitation Program per a request from your medical team at the Musutafu Hero Recuperation Facility. Please note that this adoption offer is contingent upon the completion of the necessary online paperwork and tasks, as well as your attendance to the required hybrid informational seminars prior to the adoption process. Additionally, your offer may be contingent on screening results (e.g., background check, reference check), as applicable for the adoption.

In advance of you coming to the facility, please follow the link below to complete required paperwork and tasks as stated above. You will also be redirected to our facilities availability calendar to choose a day to come in and tour the facility, speak with staff and begin the introduction process at your convenience.

Thank you for your cooperation. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact the facility and ask to speak to the Managing Director.

Best regards,

The M.H.R.F.P. Team

Bakugo stared at his computer screen for the longest time before deciding to click on the hyperlink that led him to the rescue facilities website. He was on autopilot as he filled out all of the personal information, required questions (both information-gathering and personal) and even wrote in his concerns in a concise manner in a provided box for additional comments before hitting submit and staring as the screen buffered with a loading wheel until it finally read ‘Thank you! A member of our staff will be contacting you shortly to confirm your appointment date!’ He didn’t know why he easily accepted this opportunity despite his growing hesitation, again unsure that he could or should be seeking to take care of something else when he could barely manage to care about himself beyond pushing himself into getting back to his normal Hero work... but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind told him this was something worth checking out.

“Hell, if shitty Broomhead can do this program then so can I,” he finally said, shutting his laptop and heading toward his bedroom to sleep.

Underneath the plush covers, in the darkness of his room, Bakugo drifted off into a dream of what awaited him upon meeting a hybrid.

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thewritingofamadwoman · 6 months

Text

Stress Relief

The way Roy Kent (and Brett Goldstein) live in my head rent free 24/7.

Pairing: Roy Kent x Fem!Reader (established relationship)

Warnings: Fluff, some making out, and Roy Kent being a cocky little shit

Enjoy!

You wiped your hands clean on a towel and smiled at the young man on the table.

“Okay Sam, you’re all done. Continue to work on those stretches at home and you’ll be in tip top shape for the game next weekend.”

Sam Obisanya smiled back at you, slowly getting up off the table.

“Thank you again, so much. I will do all the exercises you’ve recommended, and I will also look into Pilates classes.”

You gave Sam a quizzical look.

“You don’t have to do that Sam, it’s just a sprained ankle…”

The young man laughed.

“Oh no I know, I just am interested in Pilates. I’ve heard it does wonders for your body, core, and state of mind.”

Sam looked at you so genuinely, that you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. He was absolutely precious. Sam smiled at you again and waved goodbye before exiting the treatment room. Between Sam’s ankle, Dani’s knee and Jamie’s hamstring, you had been working nonstop all week, doing your best to heal them as best you could.

You were jotting down notes in Sam’s folder when you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in!”

Roy Kent walked in, shut the door behind him and let out the deepest sigh/growl you’ve heard in a while. You looked up and put the folder down on your desk, taking a second to admire the grouchy coach. Roy stood there, arms at his sides and shoulders back in his usual stance. His biceps bulging from underneath the short sleeves of his coach jersey, the watch on his right wrist gleaming under the florescent lighting in the treatment room. Your eyes trailed to Roy’s face; his brows drawn together in their usual frown and his lips following suit.

“Well hello to you, too,” you greeted playfully.

Roy raised an eyebrow at you and rolled his eyes warm heartedly.

“Hi,” he exhaled, his deep voice reverberating through you. God you loved his voice.

You waited for him to continue, seeing the thoughts running through his mind. Roy took another breath and let it all out.

“These fucks have got me more stressed out than the “girls nine under nine” ever did. Fucking shits.” Roy points a finger to the door behind him. I swear, if I have to hear Zava go on about his fucking avocado farm one more time, I’m going fucking quit and go back to being a fucking pundit.”

And there it was. You nodded sympathetically and moved off from the desk you were leaning on and waved your hand to the table in front of you, signally Roy to have a seat. The coach followed suit, letting out a huff of air as he did. You stepped on a mechanical lever underneath the table, causing the table to lower so that Roy was at a comfortable height for you. You placed your hands on his shoulders gently before giving them a tight squeeze.

“You’re not going to quit, baby. You just need a second to relax. You haven’t been to Maureen’s house in a few weeks now that I think of it. When was your last yoga session with the ladies?” You pressed down on Roy’s shoulders again, feeling the immense amount of tension he was keeping at the base of his neck.

Roy grunted at the feeling of your hands, slowly leaning into your touch.

“Maureen’s been dealing with her son’s upcoming wedding, and Carol’s neice is going through a divorce so we’ve all been pushing back our next yoga date.”

You smiled at how invested Roy was with his little yoga group. He always managed to melt your heart with the simplest of things.

“Well then, the solution is simple. You need a little bit of stress relief. You’re so tense Roy, all this pent up pressure isn’t going to do you any good. I’m going to take care of it, okay?”

You spoke as gently while beginning to massage Roy’s shoulders. You’ve been told by the team that you give the best massages known to man. And while it was part of your job as the team’s physio, right now you weren’t a PT. You were Roy’s girlfriend, ready to help your man relax. A few moments pass in silence, the only sounds in the room were of Roy’s deep breathing, and occasional moan whenever you came across a particular tender spot.

“Fuuuuuuuck” Roy groaned, relishing in the feel of your hands digging into the knots in his neck and shoulders. “That feels incredible,” he sighed, getting lost in the feel of it all. You smiled to yourself, glad to be able to help him in any way. Thirty minutes go by until you could no longer find any strained muscles under his shirt. You gave Roy’s shoulders one final squeeze, leaning down to give him a small kiss on the back of his head.

“All done. Hope you’re feeling a little less stressed, my love.”

Roy turns his head to face you, his eyes glossy as if he were in a dreamy state of mind.

“That was fucking mind blowing and exactly what I needed. Fuck you’re amazing. Thank you,” he praised, slowly turning his body and swinging his legs over the other edge of the table so that he was facing you. You beamed at his compliment, moving forward as well so that you were standing in-between his legs, the table allowing you to finally be able to stare directly into Roy’s eyes. Those deep, chocolate colored eyes that you’ve been in love with for quite some time.

“You’re welcome, baby.” You reply, leaning forward to give Roy’s a quick yet sweet peck on his lips. You loved the feel of his soft lips, plush and pillowy against your own. How something so soft could voice so many “fucks” in a day, you’ll never understand. But you loved it nonetheless. When you pulled back, you noticed Roy’s brows had softened significantly and there was a look of adoration in his eyes. You were sure it mirrored the look you gave him 95% of the time.

“Once Maureen and Carol get settled, and your yoga routine goes back to normal, your stress levels won’t be as high anymore. But until then, I’m more than happy to help you relieve it. Whether here or at home, you just come to me and I’ve got you. Okay?”

You gave Roy another little peck before you felt his lips twitch up into a smirk. You pulled back to find him looking at you mischievously. The hands that were unconsciously placed on your hips while you kissed began to slowly slide up your sides and back down to your hips.

“Going to help me relieve some stress, hmm? And at work no less? How naughty.”

The look he gave you in that moment set your insides on fire, and Roy took that moment to pull you closer to him, arms locking behind you to keep you in place. You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you wrapped your own arms around his neck, scooting as close as you could, your chest pressed up against his.

“Me? Naughty? I’m an angel,” you teased, drawing a pretend halo above your head.

Roy growled and leaned in, claiming your lips with his. You sighed into his kiss, your nails gently carding through his hair at the back of his head. Roy broke the kiss first but didn’t relent, moving his lips to your neck and planting wet kisses up and down the column of your throat. You felt your knees weaken, like they always did whenever Roy found that deliciously sweet spot right below your ear. You gasped, and Roy smiled onto your skin, kissing his way down slowly once more. His hands began to roam your body as yours found purchase on his shoulders.

“Oh God, fuck,” you whispered and giggled as you shivered when you felt Roy lick and suck at the base of your throat. Roy’s deep chuckle vibrated against you.

“Aww baby, you can just call me Roy,” he mused and rolled your eyes.

“Little shit,” you said breathlessly, pulling back as far as Roy would allow you, his arms still trapping you to him.

“As much as I’d like to continue this, I do have both Bumbercatch and Zorreaux due for an assessment soon. Buuuuut I can absolutely help you with your little stress relief issue at home later, okay?”

Roy smiled at you and nodded, grunting in agreement.

“Just one thing though, darling. You and I both know it’s not a “little” stress relief issue. Shall I remind you of last time, when you struggled to get all of me insi-“ you immediately cut him off, your hand cupping over his mouth, a blush engulfing your cheeks.

“Shuuuush! Shush! You know what I meant for fucks sake. Anyone can hear you, these walls are paper thin, you heathen!” You berrated, a giggle bubbling in your throat. Roy laughed against your hand and kissed your palm while you shook your head at him.

“Glad you’re feeling MUCH better, Coach Kent. Now shoo, send in Bumbercatch if he’s out there and I’ll deal with you later.”

Roy continued to smile at you and when you removed your hand, you got the full effect of his perfect smile. You couldn’t help your own smile as Roy hopped off the table and retreated to the door. You crossed your arms across your chest again as he turned around one final time before winking at you before exiting. You heard him loud and clear as he made his way back to the locker room.

“Oi! Bumbercatch! You’re needed in physio. Move!”

You shook your head and laughed to yourself before you wiped down the table and set up the room. This was going to be a very long afternoon.

#roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #Roy Kent x fem!reader #Roy Kent oneshot #Roy Kent imagine #Roy Kent fanfic

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allthegothihopgirls · 17 days

Note

A head canon I have for Jason is that his favorite rogue is Bookworm. Bookworm was really only ever in the 60’s show so he’s never canonically fought Jason to my knowledge but he’s basically the Riddler but for books instead of riddles. Any time Bookworm and Jason fight it basically devolves into book club so just like

I’m imagining Jason goes for his first battle with Bookworm as Red Hood and his comms cut out mid fight so Dick and Bruce run in for backup

And they kick down the door to try and free Jason

Only to see Jason and Bookworm sitting on the floor, drinking wine, and talking about the subtextual queer coding in Jane Eyre

yeah and he 100% gives him the same kind of treatment the bats give harley (in my head). knows he's harmless and will only act out if provoked, so he gives him the benefit of the doubt + trusts him to live freely 97% of the time. (he was also single-handedly the person who protested against him being put in arkham asylum for the rest of his life)

he genuinely meets up with bookworm over coffee, although partially to check in on him and make sure he's not going to begin a 100+ murder rampage again, he's also just having a chat with a friend about the book he recommended to him last time he had to hunt him down... and the political state of the world.

when he does find himself locked up, whether that be in a ward or arkham, although jason doesn't always visit (business and all) he always makes sure the facilities can provide him with something suitable to read.

news gets out to the bats about bookworm having a breakdown and going off the radar, and jason's more insistent than he's ever been when he says he's going after him alone. he truly believes he isn't evil by nature, and knows that all it takes to bring him down is a familiar face and a well-read intellectual conversation.

naturally when jason's out of reach and bruce + dick are tasked with stopping bookworm, they think it's going to be a piece of cake considering what they know about jason's history with catching him. but god are they so wrong. they get him in the end of course, but really have to take a second and ask themselves how the fuck jason not only enjoys working bookworm shifts, but has completely TAMED a rogue like that.

#ok i know he's definitely FAR from harmless but just pretend...#i love i love i LOVE #asks #hurdy-girly #!!!!!!!!#dc bookworm #jason todd #red hood #robin #batboys #batkids #dc comics #dcu #dc #dc batman #batman 1966 #gothihop speaks

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da-shrimping-station · 8 days

Text

Andrealphus with a human!SO who's curious about his scars

gender-neutral reader | slightly suggestive | mentions of sex and nudity | he calls his SO darling as an endearment | nonsexual intimacy (for the most part ig?)

MINORS DNI

i will take your kidneys 🧡

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

He can feel them staring intensely. It doesn't bother him the slightest, given that he's received far more hostile glares, but that doesn't mean he's not curious. It's rare for his darling to look at him like that.

"Is there something wrong?"

Andrealphus turned to where they are, senses acute enough to locate them despite their quiet. There was a rustle of cloth and soon enough a body pressed against his.

"You have a lot of scars..."

"Do they bother you?"

He was never one for vanity, before or after being blind. What only mattered was that he was, at the very least, clothed. Even when he became one of Niflheim's nobles. Black did well with bloodstains and a simple suit was all he needed. A tie was out of the question because no matter how much he practiced, he somehow could never get it right. And the only reason that he bothered to braid his hair was because it could be a liability in battle, what with getting tangled or grabbed if he let it be.

So, appearances were the least of his concerns. So long as his body functioned well enough to fight, that's all that mattered.

"They don't bother me," they reassured. "It's just that, seeing them makes me realise what you went through."

Their fingers gently tapped at his wrist before holding his hand.

"I never really cared for the scars." For the majority of his existence, all Andrealphus did was fight. "The doctors from Paradise Lost can't say no to me when I ask for their assistance."

He's a model patient to them, following orders and recommendations to hasten his recovery. Rushing things would be a detriment in battle.

There had been times when he'd been too zealous with fighting and outright disregarding his physical state in order to fulfill his bloodlust. It cost him and his comrades dearly.

Gusion's rant and Bathin's disapproving comments still ring in his ears to this day. Yet they still helped him, dragging him back to where Marbas was in order to receive proper treatment. He made sure to express his thanks by staying put and actually listening to the doctor.

"Still," his darling insisted, snuggling closer to him. "It makes me sad, I guess? That you had to go experience such pain. I know you can handle it and that you've gone through worse but..."

The pair sat in silence, the mid afternoon sun filtering through the window and the sheets rumpled over their bare lap.

Andrealphus thinks he understands. Humans are delicate after all and Niflheim demons are the hardiest of devils in Hell, followed by those of Tartaros. Not to mention he is a noble to boot. Suffice to say, his body can take a lot before he's down for the count. Yet he also understands their concern, he thinks. They've never interacted with devils before they got to Hell and what knowledge they have of its residents are only surface level.

Maybe he should accept Gusion's offer of tutoring his darling about the norms and cultures in Hell. There was also a suggestion from Bathin to give them basic training for self defense.

Maybe.

Are his scars that unsightly that his darling would go so far as to point it out? It's not that he's unaware of them. They're just a fact of life, given that the entirety of Hell was at war for a century now and he was constantly on the frontline.

"Are they that unsightly?" Enough for them to point it out?

"No. Not the slightest. In fact," they trailed off, sounding a little hesitant. "I find them attractive."

"Oh, I have no doubt towards that," Andrealphus said with a chuckle. "If I remember correctly, you jumped on me the first time you saw me shirtless—oof!"

His darling punched him lightly (to him at least), as they grumbled in embarrassment. He wrapped his arms around them, pulling them in for a kiss. They still haven't cleaned up from earlier activities, thought that's the least of his concerns right now. Not when his darling kisses him back with equal fervor and adoration.

"Andrea–" They gasped, moaning as Andrealphus set his eager mouth to their chest. Such music to his ears. "C-can I touch your– Ah! Your scars–"

Their nails dug into his shoulders, trying to steady themself as he set them on his lap properly. He growled as they yanked at his hair, halting his onslaught so they can catch their breath.

"Can I?" They asked, breath ragged and a face flushed.

"You can touch wherever," he said, giving them one last kiss as reassurance. He let them settle on his lap properly and patiently waited.

Hesitant fingers traced along his right bicep. He knew there was a scar there having touched it when he bathes.

"Where is this from?"

"Sparring with Bathin."

"Oh?"

"He is skilled with his sword. If I were any slower, it would've gone through my arm."

His darling let out a concerned hum but kept quiet nonetheless.

The rest of their afternoon went like that. Tentative touches on scar tissues and hushed voices asking questions as they explored the visible scars on his body. They used to be inconsequential to him. Just another notch on his body as proof of another hard won battle and further proof of him reaching his goals. But with how his darling touches them, even going so far as to give the bigger ones a kiss made him feel proud to have them.

Andrealphus thinks he'd found a slice of paradise, here in his humble home, with his darling in his lap, and the rest of the world so far away.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

A/N:

hiiii i've had a bit of a drink and when im drunk, i write (because i need me some of that dutch courage to stop being conscious about my writing)

gonna add this to my collection of "drinking drabbles"

this was all done in one sitting and definitely not proofread so,,,,,,,

also typed this all up on mobile so idk what's the word count or if the formatting is okay

eheheheheh 🦐

#what in hell is bad #whb #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#what in “hell” is bad?#whb andrealphus #whb andrealphus x reader #how do i tag this #anyway i was itching for some Andrealphus content #gotta #make my own damn food ig #and here we are #pls im gonna be embarrassed about this when i sober up #🦐:drabble

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thetravelingtyper · 2 months

Text

Our Shattered Heart Interlude (Part 2.25) SR (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Taskforce 141)

Loading Track 1 - Work Song by Hozier (SImon RIley One Shot) Kept awake by Soap, Simon takes the time to recollect on a few things close to his Heart.

Warnings: Possible OOC of Simon, Suggestive Content, Cursing, Jealous and Possessive Simon, Konig being slightly unhinged lol

Part 1, Part 2, Part 2.50, Masterlist

As decided by the poll! Here is Simon. You don't need to read the other two parts for this I think but I recommend you do for context! Enjoy - Ash :D

Boys, workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby

I'm so full of love I could barely eat

There's nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me

Simon Riley was a light sleeper if he got any sleep at all. Johnny helped but the Scot tended to talk in his sleep, disturbing him. Price had left that day to return to base but you and the men needed to remain for another two weeks. That day you gave the men an earful about their treatment of you.

You turned to Simon with a simmering fire in your eyes. You walked up to him, poked a finger into his chest, and cursed.

“You! Big trouble mister! You were the worst of you lot! Price got away for now but he’ll hear it soon!”

Simon nodded, giving a gruff apology and taking your hand in his. You blinked and looked into his eyes. There you found a swirl of emotion restrained by his nature. He set a hand to your face and tilted your head up.

“I’m sorry dove. I was angry at you, more myself, for not being able to protect you. I should not have left you.”

Johnny sets a hand between Simon’s shoulders.

You lean into his hand.

“It's ok Simon.”

And with that you let him be.

Simon shuffled out of his room quietly, making sure not to disturb Soap who rolled over, pulling into himself without Simon there. Stretching his neck, Simon red the clock, 2:46 am, he sighed, he was going to feel this tomorrow. The man padded down the hall, passing the sound of Gaz snoring in his room. He turned the corner into the kitchen. Opening the cabinet he reached for a glass and a bottle of bourbon. Sighing he poured himself a glass and leaned against the counter taking a sip. His memories kept him company.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

He and Heart were on a duo mission in the Alps running intel for a botched mission. Everything had gone to shit when Ghost got shot. The shot went clean through, nicking nothing important but he collapsed with a yell from Heart.

“Shit Simon!.” Heart yanked him up and fled.

The night was almost on you. You rushed to pad the wound the best you could, heart quivering. The kiss had changed things between you two but he didn’t speak on it. You had to think fast! Wait! Kortac!

You grabbed your emergency phone and dialed the only person you could quickly reach. König.

The operator had a safehouse in the Austrian Central Alps and you tried your luck…with success. König had picked up with a kurt,

“Who is this? How did you get this number.”

“König it's me! Heart, I need help!”

His voice changed immediately,

“Schatz! Where are you?”

You responded with your coordinates and set Simon down against a tree, his groaning sharpening to a gruff laugh. You turn to him with wide eyes, his bandage having bled through. You curse, putting your phone in his hand to hold while you repack the would, burying the bloody bandages as it begins to snow.

“Schatz!” Königs voice echoes from the phone drawing Simon's sharp eye.

You try to take it from him but Simon grips the phone tighter.

“You called the Austrian?”

It's sharp, venomous even, his eyes trying to focus on you. You just gape at him, the sting of his voice carrying something you couldn't identify. You yank the phone from him while König confirms your location, he could be there in an hour. You praise him with thanks and try your radio again as the weather worsens. Nothing. You pace before you hear a gasp of pain. You turn to see that Simon has pulled himself up to lean against the tree.

“What in the fucking world are you doing LT?!?”

He just glares at the phone. Arms reaching forward to jaggedly pull you to him. The tactical vests kept you inches apart but the glower of his combat mask took up the entirety of your vision.

“You called König?” Simon hissed, having set your rifles aside he cusps your neck and pulled your face as close as he could with your helmets on. You pause before you simmer,

“You’re bleeding like a stuck pig Ghost!”

You want to throw your hands up but his form entraps you. With strength you didn't know he could manage, he turns you both and pins you to the tree, breath heaving from the exertion. He grips the back of your neck with a gloved hand.

“I don’t like him.”

You gawk at the man who’s form starts to sway,

“You got freaking SHOT! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?

He chuckles deeply, caressing your neck, and his free hand reaching to lift his mask above his mouth.

“What is this about Ghos-” You are cut off when he slams his lips against yours for the second time.

Boys, when my baby found me

I was three days on a drunken sin

I woke with her walls around me

Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

And I was burnin' up a fever

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

She never asked me once about the wrong I did

You gasp into the kiss, Simon pinning you further and taking the moment to open the kiss. You shove against him and he grunts, parting with heavy breaths and dilated pupils.

“Simon! What, how, why? You've been shot this is not the freaking time!”

His head staggers to your neck, lips parting with a deep chuckle that reverberates against you. He presses a kiss to your exposed neck that has your legs quaking. Your hands push against him with a little more success, but he is stubborn.

“Stop.” It is a deep-voiced command you push anyway.

“You need to sit down Sir.” He groans at that, but your phone rings again igniting something fierce in Simon. You go to pull it out but he uses his free hand to pin yours back.

“What the fu-” He bites your neck and your head knocks back against the tree neck as the phone continues to ring. He tongues over the mark before tracing up your neck. You give a breathy whimper before looking into Simon's eyes. His pupils are blown but his face cripples in pain as the phone rings. You push him, finding he gives with, stumbling, his bandages reddening.

You dash for the phone, grabbing it as Simon reaching for you collapses, clutching his side. You rush to grab him, answering Königs questions.

“Simon!” He blacks out.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

König arrives in 30 minutes, dressed in winter gear, and helps you to rewrap Simon and take him back to the safe house. You both rush into an open area with two single beds. König and you set Simon down and you are panicking. König grabs medical supplies while you work getting Simon’s equipment off. You strip his top off peeling the bloody compression shirt off and leaving his scarred abdomen open. You rewrap his wound and lean him back against the pillows.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Simon faded in and out, lured to moments of almost consciousness by your laughter. His eyes momentarily open, muddy eyes from the shot you have given him earlier. As he comes to, unable to move he sees König and you close together, sitting at the table and eating. Something deep in his gut, not nausea nor pain, burned as he saw König reach an arm around you.

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the Lord don't forgive me

I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me

Night fell quickly as you rewrapped Simon and then used the shower, reappearing in a spare one of König’s shirts and your winter pants. You checked on Simon who was still out cold. Under the eyes of König you run a hand down his masked face, eyes tracing firm and scarred muscle. König then sees your neck his eyes darkening.

“Schatz”

You turn to him in question.

“Are you and the Ghost together.”

The question startles you and you look to the taller man with wide eyes. He takes the moment to stand, and to your surprise pulls off his sniper’s hood. Underneath was a handsome face, pale eyes, and dark brown hair. He reached back and undid his bun letting his hair fall. He steps forward, towering over you.

You stutter a no, a “I don’t Know.”

König nods looking almost sagelike. He reads your body and eyes.

“It's complicated ja?”

You just sigh and nod, a hand running through your hair. You then sit down on the other bed and he joins you as you just spill it out. Everything, Soap, Gaz, Ghost and then Price. You go on for an hour just talking with König listening. As you end he sets a large hand on your knee in comfort as you collapse onto the bed with a huff. Your eyes turn to you and he smiles, making your breath hitch.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Something in Simon's mind stirs, he shifts and feeling exposed his eyes open. He shifts up against the pillows he is propped against and his eyes seek you. What he sees makes him freeze. Your back is on the bed with an unmasked, lessly dressed König leaning over you. Your laughter chimed out. Simon's heart freezes seeing Königs hand on your knee before it lifts to hover over you. Ghost tears through him then something black and vicious. Simon practically throws himself up with a grunt, then he's on his feet. You shoot up, knocking into König whose eyes fly to the standing Lieutenant.

“Back the fuck off of them.”

He barks the order as he steps forward rage balling his fists up and tensing his muscles. König chuckles and stands, putting himself between you and Simon.

“What will you do Geist?” He says calmly, something in Königs brain raising in glee at a challenge. You wrap an arm around König and pull but the man doesn’t move.

“König! Stop!” But the man continues tempting Simon, like baiting a wolf.

“You can’t protect them, what can you and your team do if I..” König spins around and gives you a knowing look,

“Wha-”

He grabs your face and presses his soft lips to yours. With you in shock, he deepens the kiss in a mock way. Simon snaps, lunging forward and tackling the bigger man as you step back in shock. König is strong but Ghost tears through Simon as rage and pent-up emotional adrenaline rush through him. He flips himself on top of the man, falling on top of him to the floor. His hand grabs for his knife and he pins König to the floor with a growl and a knife to his neck.

“Simon!” You yell it out but the man doesn’t move, dark eyes staring into König as then König laughs, a hearty sound that rumbles under Simon. His ice eyes gleam with delight. He had been wanting to test the famous Ghost. Simon, mind clear and now awake sees this then and stabs the knife into the wood floor next to König. You rush forward then wrap your arms around his bare chest.

“Simon that's enough.” Those possessive eyes then shoot at you in Königs shirt. He surges up off of König and crowds you, backing you up until you fall back onto the bed. He follows, his knee bracing on the other side of your thigh and hands, arms, and chest caging you in. König stays sprawled out watching the show.

Simon's eyes burn into yours, something hot and possessive burns there. You gulp unsure what to do, but the position does something, sending a simmering heat to your belly. Simon breaths heavily, rage dissipating, his eyes catch the spot he marked on your next, and pleasure surges through him. His eyes flicker to König who watches with a smirk, he realizes then. It was a test. Simon’s eyes meet yours and you find your hands reaching for his face to try and comfort him, but he does something a lot more intimate. After pulling his mask up, His lids droop and he dips his mouth into you in a languid kiss. You moan into the kiss and he chases the sound, lowering his weight onto you.

His hands run at the edges of Königs shirt possessively, Jealousy burning at his fingertips as they skim your skin but don't go under. No. Simon parts from your lips, tracing a kiss down your jaw and then to your neck as your arousal builds.

“Si-” He sucks at the junction of your neck that has you arching your back under him. He pauses then kisses there and hums against your skin as his arms work their way around you.

König stands, turns, and enters the bathroom and Simon relaxes fully.

He then, grabbing you, rolls so you're on his chest. The position allows you to finally take a deep breath and still your wildly beating heart. Simon runs a hand through your hair as you stare at him in wonder. His eyes soften before he tisks in pain, You try to get off him but his arms shoot out, muscles pulling you back to him.

“No, please stay.”

His voice is soft, something tender and sweet. You look down at him and feeling a push from your heart, clenching so tightly it takes your breath, you kiss him. SImons eyes widen before closing as your hands brace his wound before traveling up tight muscle. You echo him earlier by then parting and tucking your face into his next in embarrassment.

“No Dove, let me see you.”

Simon murmurs and you pull back as he cradles your cheek. You see the adoration then, in a brief flash before the bathroom door has Simon's eyes becoming guarded again. You take the moment to roll off him and sit up. König reappears with the knife, standing with a smirk regarding you as Simon sits up. You stand to approach König but Simon stands and wraps you in his arms, pulling you flush against him. The Skull glowers at König but the man waves Simon off, offering his knife back by the blade. Simon reaches and takes the blade in silent agreement with the Austrian. You relax then in SImon’s hold as König flips off the light and gets into bed.

“Goodnight Schatz,” he says as he turns his back to you too.

Simon huffs, releasing you to lie down on the bed, pulling himself tenderly under the covers. To your surprise, he pulls his balaclava off. You go to get a wipe for his eye black but he just takes your hand and pulls. You sigh, murmuring a good night to König, and shuffle into bed minding Simon’s wound. He quickly pulls your back to him and engulfs you with his arms. You blush but as the actions of the day finally catch up to you you find yourself nodding off in your Simons arms.

He presses a final kiss to the side of your head and after you fall asleep he murmurs a deep,

“I love you.”

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

SImon finishes his glass of bourbon as there is a noise. There is a quick light as you shuffle out into the kitchen. You then notice Simon.

“Si,” you yawn, “Why are you up?”

He sets his glass aside. He opens his arms and you immediately come forward into them. You press a tender kiss to his jaw and he embraces you.

“Just thinking Dove.”

He pulls you in for a secret kiss, fingers dancing down your arms and intertwining your hands,

“Just thinking.”

End Track

Taglist:

@ghostlythots, @00ops1e, @rafaelacallinybbay, @iloveslasher, @character---obsessed, @ashy-kit , @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @my-amazing-nerdyness , @star-struck-universe , @br0ken-rec0rds , @buckysjuicyplums , @cod-z

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