#yes she hogs the bed

[ricekrispyjoints]

people who don't let their dog or cat sleep in their beds... how does it feel to be so heartless

[ddejavvu]

Omg could we get another part of animagus cat reader and Sirius? Maybe they’re napping together and the boys try to take cat reader as a joke/because they’re curious while she’s sleeping and she suddenly transforms back as they pick her up LOL. Sirius is grumpy to be woken up/have their special time now exposed hehe

part 1

--

Sirius's bedcurtains are drawn, a clear sign that James and Remus should grant him some privacy.

Unfortunately, James Potter has never been one to take hints, and Remus strictly stays out of their shenanigans. It's only when James gasps with the entire capacity of his lungs that Remus peers curiously over at the bed in the corner, intrigue piqued when he finds a newly familiar form curled up on Sirius's chest.

"That cat!" James hisses, and he's particularly lucky that Sirius is laying on his side with your chin nuzzled over his ear, or the boy would have heard him. Instead, it's you that wakes, eyes blinking open wide as you stare at the men staring back down at you.

"Hi, darling," Remus hums softly, reaching out a tentative, scarred hand to hover it near your nose. You don't need any time for inspection before butting your head up against the heel of his palm, and he grants you a warm chuckle and scratches behind your ears. When you're not transformed, the feeling of someone toying with your hair is entirely unwelcome. But now you lean into Remus's touch, slumping relaxed once more over Sirius's ear.

"Stop hogging her," James urges, sticking his own hand less ceremoniously beneath your nose, "I want a turn."

Remus concedes with an exasperated grimace, but lets James take over anyways. He's lucky that you're you and he doesn't even know it, because if he'd tried petting any other cat by jamming his fingers into their neck, he'd be walking away with several scratch marks on his arms. But you forgive him as he tries petting you too similarly to how he pets Sirius in the man's own animagus form, all riling strokes and heavy-handed pats. You let out a soft mewl of protest when he tries picking you up, and Remus mutters something about you being the most patient cat in the world.

"Just leave her alone, James," Remus warns his friend, "Her patience is gonna wear out."

He listens for only a second, then decides he knows best.

"S'alright, Moony," He promises his friend, over-confident and too eager for affection he hasn't earned yet, "She's layin' all over Sirius, clearly wants a cuddle. You snooze, you lose, now it's my turn."

James's hand slides to your underbelly, an area you're not fond of being handled at in this form. Annoyance surges through you, prickling at your fur and making you long for the smooth expanse of your human skin again, an urge that you give into without much thought when James tries prying you off of Sirius's face.

There's a lot of noises at once. A pained yelp from Sirius, when you form suddenly weighs a lot heavier on him than it was when you'd laid down. A 'woah!' from James as your fur gives way to soft skin beneath his hands which he quickly retracts. A soft gasp from Remus who hadn't been expecting the rather unpleasant sound of transforming between bodies.

Two sets of eyes regard you with incredulity, and one blinks slowly beneath you, laden with drowsiness.

"It's you," James breathes, an air of amazement in his voice that shouldn't be there; after all, he's an animagus as well. Surely he should have noticed shifty behavior or a change in mannerisms from you. All of a sudden your preference for Sirius's softer, fluffy sweaters makes sense.

"Yes, it's me." You huff exasperatedly, perched precariously on Sirius's once-sleeping form. He's not pushing you off but you're sure it's not comfortable, so you slide yourself in front of him instead, easing back against him and letting him spoon you.

"Cat's out of the bag," Sirius rasps sleepily beside your ear, and you don't have to look at him to know he's grinning at his rather pitiful joke, "Did he try to pick you up?"

"Right around the stomach," You gripe, glaring at James while Sirius wraps his arm around the very portion of your body you'd just forbidden James from touching, "Like a toddler."

"For the record," Remus calls, "I was nice to you."

"I was nice too!" James gawps, "I just wanted a cuddle."

"Get your own girlfriend," Sirius drawls lazily, his face buried against the back of your head, and maybe it's a biting statement considering one Lily Evans is still firmly opposed to the presence of James in her life. Sirius knows, and amends it, "Or crawl into Moony's bed. I don't care, "Jus' keep your hands off m'girl."

[a-hazbin-reader]

HII

Could you do some hcs of alastor with wife!reader who ABSO(LUTE)LY adores dogs? (alastor hates the dog with his entire life)

I mean...he kinda has a good reason not to be a dog person...

😡

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor Vs Doggo 🐶 Cannibalism, Vox getting owned by dog

Description: ☝️⬆️

Look, Alastor loves you deeply and would do anything for you, absolutely anything

Except let you have a dog

Absolutely not, he won't have a dog running around in his hotel and creating problems

He can already see it

The dog using the hotel as it's personal bathroom, gnawing on his hooves and ruining all the furniture

Humping everything in sight!!

You can have anything else, you can have Niffty! She makes a good pet don't you think?

No

How about Husk? He's basically a cat

"Fuck you!"

You want a dog, you even have one picked out already

You what? When did you even have time to go look at dogs? He's been purposefully keeping you busy anytime you mention one

The bite marks all over your body are evidence of it

Totally doesn't believe you're actually bringing home a dog until you do, then he's spitting out his tea

"Y/N, darling, what is that?"

"A smoothie."

"You know what I mean."

"Oh this? Our new dog, isn't he cute?"

You can't have a dog in the hotel-

Charlie and everyone else already agreed to it, even Husk said yes just to piss off Alastor

So everyone is on your side and you'll have adequate help, Alastor won't hardly ever even notice the dog

Except he does notice the dog, like all the time

The damned beast is always trying to hop up next to him, only to be shoved off by Alastor

"No furry beasts on the furniture~ The hair is a nightmare to clean up. Disgusting really..."

Not Husk and Angel giving him dirty looks for that one

After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to sit next to him, it simply settles for resting by his feet

At least it makes a decent footrest

Or the dog is always hogging your attention, sitting in your lap, laying with you in bed, following you around

How is a man supposed to sleep with his wife when there's some mutt in his spot???

You've caught Alastor glaring at your dog a few times, especially when you're giving him scratches and pets

He wants to be the one to hog your lap and be pampered by you, maybe you could even try giving him a belly rub or two

It certainly looks appealing

Alastor at least thinks he can get time alone with you outside of the hotel but nope, you insist on taking the dog with you

"He needs the fresh air and exercise, Alastor!"

But your husband needs some alone time with you! He's not being dramatic!

Or he's trying to enjoy his breakfast?? Guess who's paws are on the table, begging and slobbering over the idea of a bite

"Absolutely not, you can just forget abou-HEY!"

Looks like his breakfast now belongs to the dog

You definitely make him another breakfast and apologize over and over again

Kiss him and sit in his lap, then maybe he'll consider forgiving you~

Sometimes, when you're sleeping, Alastor and the dog will be locked into a staring match

"I don't like you."

Whine

Rosie tries to sell him on the idea of just maybe liking this one dog, even she's taken a liking to him apparently

Traitor

You make Alastor promise that he won't ever get rid of the dog, OR EAT HIM, OR HURT HIM

And he can't break a promise he made to his darling wife

But he hates this fucking dog with a passion so when the dog suddenly gets out one day? He's perfectly content to let him run off

Until he realizes how upset you would be that your beloved pooch is gone and that gives him pause

Fffffffffuck

Not him spending all day trying to find a dog he doesn't even like, asking everyone if they've seen him

Nope, no, sorry no, ect

Just when Alastor has just about given up and started to contemplate trying to replace the mutt, he hears a familiar yell

"IS THIS DOG FUCKING PISSING ON ME!?"

Vox

Following the sound, Alastor is greeted with the sight of your dog running circles around Vox, who's standing in a puddle with wet pants

For some reason, the delightful mutt has taken to terrorizing him, biting at his limbs only to jump just out of reach of Vox's claws

Maybe it's something he's picked up from Alastor, you certainly didn't teach the dog that

The sight is too funny for Alastor, who doesn't even try to stop the dog, only laughing maniacally

Maybe this mutt isn't so bad

Later, when he comes home with the dog, you notice they seem much fonder of each other

Alastor goes and picks him out a fancy new leash, he starts giving him table scraps and he even invites the dog to be his footrest

Quit putting your feet on my dog

Stop giving the dog fingers!!

You catch him giving the pup a few scratches here and there, almost in an absent-minded manner

He starts calling the dog by his name instead of calling him beast, mutt, hound, monstrosity, ect

He even gives the dog his own room at the hotel with his own fluffy doggy bed

Okay, that last part might just be him wanting his marital bed back

We love dogs in this house!!

[lundenloves]

DAD SIMON AND THE 141 VISITING TO CHECK THE KID OUT FOR THE FIRST TIME PLAPSSLSLSPSLSLSK AND HE GETS SO JEALOUS WHEN OTHERS HOLD HIS SWEET BABY PATOOTIE PRINCesss

↳ no warnings | f!reader | 1.6k

dad!simon masterlist | taglist

Anon, I may have strayed from your original thoughts a little. I hold my hands up. At this point, he has been back and had time with her already this is just 141 meeting her. And it's very? Thought-provoking? Possibly not how you imagined? Alas, voila.

Having a newborn allowed for zero quiet. Nothing of the sort was even imagined, sleep was out the window and tiredness was the new trend. It became tougher when Simon had to go back to work, leaving you behind with a long apology and his credit card. What was the card for? You weren’t sure, but made sure it was used like fuck. £17.32 on McDonald’s delivery didn’t seem as painful with his money.

And that’s exactly what you were doing, happily. Baby sleeping on your almost bare chest with a haul of food around you in bed. It was only seven but you had no reason to be up and about, and the reality tv wasn’t going to catch up on itself.

In fact, you were about to reach the episode climax of Love Island. Someone had been mugged off and the producers were keen on making a drama of it, issuing a re-coupling. But. Right before you could skip the credits and fast-track to the next episode, the bedroom door swung open and you screamed. Waking your daughter who naturally began to cry.

"Fucking hell." You frowned at Simon who had quickly shut the door behind him upon seeing you. He wasn't due back till tomorrow. "Scared me.” The scold in your voice was one he ignored, picking up a milk-stained shirt from the floor.

“Put something on, christ.” His voice gruff as he shrugged his jacket off and reached for another t-shirt after wearily tossing the other back to the floor, holding it out. “What, Me?” Black-painted eyes narrowed at you upon holding his child out to him, asking for a trade.

“No. The other person in the room.” You deadpanned, widening your eyes in silent effort for him to take her. “Yes, you.” He did as told, looking down at his daughter blankly. “What’s the rush anyway.”

Although, your question was answered by a loud echo of laughs from downstairs. “All of them?” In reference to the only three men it could be.

“I didn’t agree.” He met your eyes, holding the baby back out to you for the brief second you passed him. Sauntering out to the hallway before he had called your name stiffly, eyes pleading relief of the absolute fucking threat that was his baby. “Take her.”

“You’re fine.” You waved a hand, walking downstairs with him reluctantly following.

It was a shame really, you couldn’t help but snort at the way he held her so high up his chest. “Don’t let Johnny hog her.” Was the only instruction you gave, wandering through to the kitchen where his unit were stood.

“Alright?” The Scot rubbed your shoulder in greeting, “Solid birth n’ all that?” His brows furrowed in genuine care although the question was worded oddly.

“Solid. Johnny.”

He tsked, clutching a hand to his opposite bicep. “Tends to be like that, ae.”

“Speaking from experience?”

He laughed although his eyes fell from yours to over your shoulder. Price held his hand on your back in acknowledgment, his eyes softening with a nod your way. “Christ.” He muttered at the sight in Simon’s arms, taking his hand back and removing his hat. “Congratulations.”

Gaz wrapped an arm around you, leaning his head atop of yours on his shoulder. “It’s mad.” He said more to himself than anyone else, catching eyes with Soap who for once was lost on what to say.

Simon’s eyes were stuck on the baby in his arms, refusing to look up and see the group reaction. Her small hand reached upward, and his finger met her halfway, face unchanged as she wrapped her hand around it. No one said or did anything, only Price who took a step forward to pat the lieutenant's shoulder. The moment was tender, and understood by everyone as such a thing even by Johnny who crossed his arms over his chest and contrastingly pout his bottom lip out to you. “You wanna hold her?” You spoke to him, crossing the space to Simon who had finally looked up. 

“Go on, then.” He pushed his jacket off, hanging it on the back of the kitchen chair. Simon’s eyes met Soap’s, a look of trust, threat and relief spread across his face when you had prompted him to hand her over. “Just a wee thing, ae?” He comfortably took her from Ghost, gently bouncing her and smiling when she had cooed.

“Tiny.” Gaz added, looking to Simon who shifted in his spot - looking around the room, finding comfort in anything other than the tiny being. He was still so unsure of himself. Arms crossed together over his chest in anxious replacement of the tac vest he would usually slot his thumbs into. “Fresh to the world.” 

“Five weeks old.” You looked at Gaz. “Brand. New.”

He shook his head at the idea of a baby, looking to Price who was subtly enough fixated on his lieutenant. “How’re you doing, Simon?” He asked firmly, in a tone Simon wouldn’t ignore or sigh at, one he recognised as important. A tone of order.

“Fine.” He kept it brief, locking eyes with Price who nodded slowly. 

It was hard to read Simon. Period. Even after years being with him, you still couldn’t predict the way he was feeling or what he was going to say about a situation. He distanced himself from his daughter the first few days, intentionally waiting until you woke to sort her out instead of facing himself and his past in the form of the harmless baby.

His allowed paternity leave wasn’t granted extension of more than a week, therefore he left you. And admittedly, although he wouldn’t ever say it, he was glad to get some time away. It had only been a week and he was already itching to be alone, no words you spoke could comfort him. Only the mindless living of a deployment. His desired remedy. 

Ghost was dead silent that whole mission. The unit knew why, although they were tightly instructed by Price to keep their mouths shut. Not to even ask about the kid. So they didn’t, not until today, when it was brought up by the man himself. “Ask about the kid, then.” He said gruffly, unlacing his boots and stomping his feet wide of each other, eyes darting between the three men opposite him.

“She alright, yeah?” Soap asked, receiving a dull nod. 

“We’d love to meet her sometime.” Price continued cautiously, looking to Simon who then nodded, eyes dropping to his boots. There was a moment of silence before he had spoken up in answer to Price, elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped together and rubbing against his mouth. “You don’t live too far from base do you?”

“An hour.” He cleared his throat, “I live an hour away.” 

“We could stop by,” Price was the one to suggest it, dipping to reach a bag behind Soap’s drawer. “This is, from, us.” He rubbed the back of his neck, holding the small gift bag out to Ghost who only looked up at it. 

“I’m going home tonight.” He said matter of factly. “Just.” A sigh. “Tail me and hand it in to her, she’ll appreciate it better than I will.” Soap smirked at Simon’s falsified reluctance, a hidden invite into his lieutenant's domestic life was on the table and of course he jumped at it. 

And you? You knew Simon had given a skeleton of an invite. It was obvious. 

So now, as your daughter had been passed to Price from Gaz, it felt oddly comforting to you. For Simon, you couldn’t tell as much from the way he was constantly sighing and moving in his spot - obviously discomforted by the idea of his unit being in such an intimate space of his but it was blown over by the end of the short visit. “She’s going to be tall.” Price tilted his head at the baby, thumb swiping across her small arm.

“Oh aye.” Johnny nodded, nudging Simon who stared down at her. “Think she’ll have your eyes?” His efforts granted a shrug from the man next to him.

“The colour keeps changing, but,” You caressed her head in Price’s arms, “They are his shape.” The tone of your voice warming Simon enough for the thought of a smile, the side of his lip curling just enough. 

Gaz nodded to a bag Soap had left on the counter, “There’s some stuff. We didn’t get much time.” He reached for it, holding it out to you. The purpose of the trip.

“And there’s a card with some money.” Johnny added, “See yous’ round the New Year for the wee yin.” The bag had generic baby gifts inside, although it swelled your heart to think of three large military men shopping around for each thing inside

And the card was a treasure in itself, one you would certainly keep, handing it to Simon so you could hug Gaz and Soap, receiving a kiss to your cheek from Price after taking the baby back. “Maybe see you lot closer to Christmas?” You asked, bouncing your daughter when she had begun to stir.

“Course.” Price nodded to Simon, following the other two out the door. You heard them talking about the baby from the threshold, watching as they piled into their respective cars and pulled off with waves and a single salute from Soap. Because, Soap.

Simon sighed once the door was shut, looking down at you. There was something between warmth and sympathy in his eyes, wrapping an arm around the back of your neck and kissing your temple. “You putting this up?” He mumbled, holding out the card before pressing his thumb and pointer finger together against his daughter’s tiny feet in sudden affection. 

“On the mantel for now, probably.” You rubbed his arm, following him through to the living room. 

There was new lightheartedness around him after they had left. Like having his unit meeting his daughter was somehow a weight that had finally been shrugged off after the fact. Even prodding a few more kisses than you would usually receive from him. His brain worked in mysterious ways, although you were not complaining. 

Not now anyway.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @freakonfilm @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @abbugadu @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy

[russellsppttemplates]

Lando being obsessed with poking your baby bump cause he just loves how matilda always kicks his hand when he does it🫠

Cw: reader's pregnant

"I had to spend the whole meeting standing up because she kept kicking if I sat down", you groaned as Lando poked your baby bump, fingers tapping the skin as Matilda kicked back.

"She's a very excited little lady, aren't you?", he spoke just above your belly button, kissing the skin as she kicked everytime he touched you somewhere, "but you have to behave for mummy, okay? She's doing such a great job at making sure you're growing well and she's keeping you safe. So no kicking, okay? At least no kicking unless daddy is near", he said as she kicked into his palm that settled near your hip.

.

"Enough of hogging my wife, please!", Lando said to his mother, who as soon as she walked into your living room proceeded to hug you and ask you all the questions.

"We're not hogging", Flo defended them, "we just want to know how our two favourite Norris are doing", she teased him, sitting next to you.

"Me and baby girl haven't even had our greeting today", Lando recalled. Because he had picked them up from the airport, he left you asleep on the bed, not touching the baby bump because he knew it would cause you to wake up, and right now, you should get all the rest you could get.

Landing his palm soflty by your belly button, the baby was quick to kick, wiggling around at the voices around her, "Oh, look at that!", Cisca cooed, noticing the movements since the strappy top your were was thin enough for them to see the movements, "Hi, Matilda, good morning, beautiful girl", Lando cooed.

.

Lando made sure that you were as comfortable as you could be in the garage so you could watch the race from there. The chair had padding everywhere you needed, a cup holder for your bottle of water and strategically placed so the fan would keep you cool but not cause you to get a sore throat or chills.

"LANDO!", one of the mechanics called, "we need you in the car in two minutes!". It was enough for him to approach you, letting you kiss his lips good luck along with him kissing your left ring finger, a little pre race tradition you started on the first race you watched on the paddock.

"And you, little one, one last kick and wiggle before daddy goes and wins this race for you and mummy, okay?", he said as he poked your baby bump, Matilda kicking back immediately, "daddy loves you so much, Tilly", he cooed, kissing the top of your head one last time.

"Is she having a dance party of her own again?", Adam asked you as he replaced your bottle of water with a new one, "thank you, and yes, yes, she is. She actually slows down a little when the cars start going on the track, but until then it's Matilda Norris' dancing and kicking party, isn't it, my love?", you poked your bump back.

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

[clockwayswrites]

Not So Imaginary

Parts 1-3 Parts 4-6Parts 7-8 WC: 1177

“I brought you some more books to read,” Jason said as he entered the room.

After Danny had shown that they were clearly a person (a kid at that) and answered a few questions, they had been moved to an actual room on the Watchtower. Jason was pretty sure part of it was how he refused to leave the cell until Danny was moved, but he didn’t really care as long as it got his friend safe.

Danny looked up with a grin. They were pretty solid today, sitting cross-leg on the bed with feet and everything.

“You’re back,” the artificial voice spoke out from the tablet like device in Danny’s hands. It was a version of something called a SGD, Bruce had said, and was used by people who had trouble with verbal sounds. They didn’t know if Danny would always need it or if they’re vocal cords would come back as they continued to solidify.

“I am. B said I could stay a whole three hours today too as long as I ate a snack while I was here,” Jason said, holding up one of the bags he had.

Three hours still wasn’t a lot, but it was better than the one it had been the rest of the week. It took a lot of begging, but B finally agreed that Jason was well enough for a test to see how it went. Danny was still draining life force from Jason, and only Jason, which made certain Leaguers nervous about letting the two of them close. Jason had done everything he could to let it happen: he’d begged and argued, he’d eating everything Alfie wanted him to, he rested whenever Bruce wanted him too which was all the time, and he even agreed to stay benched for as long as it took.

That last one had really helped convince Bruce and Dick that Jason wouldn’t back down from helping his friend.

“Good. I am happy. What do you have?”

“You liked the Hardy Boys, right? I have a few more of those and I found you some science mags you might like,” Jason said as he flopped onto the bed next to Danny. He could feel the odd tingle travel up his arm as he leaned into Danny.

“Thank you,” Danny said with a wide smile. The tone of the electronic voice didn’t match the brightness of that smile, but it was alright. Jason could also feel how happy Danny was.

“You’re doing okay?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause as Danny found the right words. They were pretty quick already with preset phrases, but odder things still took longer than regular talking would. “WW took me to observation deck. We watched stars. She told me stories of stars from her home.”

“Yeah?” Jason asked, trying to keep his voice from hitching around the word. He couldn’t bug Danny with that yet. “You like her? Wonder Woman?”

“Yes.” The reply was quick, but Danny was watching Jason with furrowed brows. They pushed a sense of question through their bond.

“I’m fine. Just thinking through some shit,” Jason said with a wave of his hand. “But Wonder Woman is really cool. She’s my favorite too.”

Danny set the tablet aside so that they could run their fingers through Jason’s hair. It felt odd, what with not all of the fingers always being all of the way solid, but a good sort of odd. It seems Jason couldn’t just Danny’s concern aside.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”

Danny let out what for anyone else would have been a sigh and gave a little nod. They shorted through the bag of books Jason had brought and found a Hardy Boy’s to hand over to Jason.

“What me to read to you?” Jason waited for the nod. Apparently it was really important to let Danny choose things right then, or so the adults said. “Okay, move over a bit, yeah? You’re hogging all the bed.”

Danny placed their hand to their chest, face screwing up in an affronted expression. It didn’t work though when Jason could feel the amusement through their bond.

“Yeah yeah, I’m a brute, now shove over,” Jason said with a laugh. He worked his way up until he was lounging against the head of the bed.

Danny didn’t move.

“You’re a brat,” Jason accused.

Danny gave a silent laugh, humor bumbling up in their bond, before they flopped over right onto Jason’s chest. Jason let a huff of a sigh, but ran his fingers through Danny’s hair like he knew they liked before he opened the book to start read about another adventure of the Hardy Boys.

It was easier to feel the drain like this, when they were so close to each other and touching. Jason had tried to avoid spelling that out too much to Bruce. He got that his dad was just worried, but he was afraid if B knew he’d tried to keep Danny away.

As it was Bruce was trying to send Danny away.

Jason brushed the thought aside, focusing on doing his best to give the characters good voices for Danny. At least it was a distraction from all the rest of Jason’s thoughts. Two chapters later the stopped to ask, “Want a break or do you want another chapter?”

Danny rolled over and off Jason’s chest to flop onto the pillow next to him and Jason froze. His shock must have been clear because Danny scrambled up off the bed until they were floating above Jason.

“No! It’s a good thing. Just… you’re getting some of your color back,” Jason explained. He should really stop staring. He should take Danny to a mirror to see or something, but it was just that… Danny was beautiful right then. He found himself reaching up to brush his finger tips of the bright freckles that were scattered across Danny’s cheeks and nose like a galaxy of stars.

Bright teal eyes blinked back at him.

Jason cleared his throat. “Right, sorry, let’s go let you look.”

Danny floated to the side, landing on their feet as Jason stood, and followed behind behind to the small attached bathroom. Jason guided Danny in front of the mirror. White was spreading into their hair now.

For a moment Jason was worried that Danny was frozen in shock, then the other leaned in close to the mirror, touching the surface before bringing their hand up to their own face. Suddenly Danny was moving, spinning weightlessly around Jason as they gave a soundless whoop.

“I know,” Jason said with a grin of his own. “Look at you! You’re really coming together now! I knew you could do it. I knew that you could come back.”

Slowly, Danny drifted back down so that the tips of their toes brushed against the floor. They rested their forehead against Jason’s.

He didn’t need words to understand what Danny was trying to say.

“Don’t have to thank me, stardust. I’ll always come for you just like you’ll always come for me.”

--- AN: Oh ho, is Jason starting to realize he has a crush? And what isn't he telling Danny? Hopefully this part is good, the weather is giving me such a migraine/making me super dizzy so my eyes are crossing some! (Yes, I'm resting, on the couch with a cat!)

I really should have made an update post for this... this supposed ficlet just keeps going! 7K now! Aaaah well. Anywho, stay delightful, darlings!

[dannyricsmirrorball]

fifth wheel • ln4 part 3 ੈ✩‧₊˚

ੈ✩‧₊˚ pairing || lando norris x reader

ੈ✩‧₊˚ genre || social media au

ੈ✩‧₊˚ summary || y/n is always fifth wheeling george, carmen, alex, and lily.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ a/n || final part yay! also perf in time for lando’s p2!!! not proof read.

part 1 part 2

liked by lorenzotl, patriciooward, and 762,871 others

alex_albon monte-carlo padel masters

tagged georgerussell63, yourusername, maxvertsappen1, landonorris, richardpardon

username1 max has friends?!

username2 zandvoort front two rows

charles_leclerc oh!

⤷ pierregasly it’s ok mate, we’ll play together

⤷ yourusername sorry 🥱 maybe if u brought alex and kika w u

username3 ok but how did they play if there was 5 of them, did they take turns?

⤷ username4 nah i bet y/n just sat on her phone and watched them play

alex_albon also P.S. y/n did not actually do anything

⤷ yourusername WDYM?! me and lando subbed 🧐

⤷ georgerussell63 he kept playing for u y/n?

⤷ yourusername HOW IS THAT MY FAULT, HE’S A BALL HOG!

⤷ alex_albon u forced him to play for u y/n.

⤷ yourusername this is defamation. i will not take this slander!

⤷ username4 called it

username5 maxverstappen new hyoerfixation incoming

f1 who won tho?

⤷ yourusername me ofc 😇

⤷ landonorris us*

⤷ yourusername sorry yes ofc team work makes the dream work!

⤷ maxverstappen1 but yourusername u didn’t even play?

⤷ landonorris i played for the both of us. she transferred her energy to me so i could play w our combined powers

⤷ username6 lando and y/n aren’t being hostile. we are so back!

liked by danielricciardo, mclaren, and 632,091 others

landonorris my 🌟 girl

username7 this soft launch will be the death of me.

username8 the day we find out who she is, is the day that i die

danielricciardo watch out she’ll take over lando.jpg

maxfewtrell yuck right in front of me

yourusername whipped

⤷ landonorris sns

⤷ username9 i’m sorry? is that meant to mean sorry not sorry 😭😭 they’re actual children

username10 idc how many ppl call me delusional, it’s y/n FS

⤷ username11 ok grandma let’s get u to bed

liked by romeobeckham, mickschumacher, and 97,032 others

yourusername spicy salmon nigiri u rock my world 🍣

username12 ok yeah rip my lando x y/n fantasies

username13 final confirmation we needed

username14 how long is this soft launch gonna last

landonorris gag

⤷ username15 someone sounds jealous 👀

⤷ landonorris sushi makes me sick

⤷ maxfewtrell such a baby

lilymhe gets a bf and forgets her best friends

⤷ alex_albon it’s ok lily just relax

⤷ lilymhe NO YOUVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS UR WHOLE LIFE ALEX DONT EVEN PRETEND

⤷ username16 i just know alex is so relieved that he doesn’t have share lily anymore

username17 does anyone else find it funny/weird that y/n will let rumours circle abt her and other drivers and lando will do the same w random ppl he’s talks to and they both just follow this kind of philosophy of just ignoring it bc it’s baseless but as soon as someone so much as hints to the idea of them together they go ham at squashing it

⤷ username18 maybe it’s bc they’re actually friends so they don’t want ppl to ruin it w all the rumours

⤷ username17 but that’s what i mean like they don’t mind the rumours abt their other friends but when it’s each other it’s like NO THATS NOT TRUE

⤷ username19 i will stand by that alex and george tried to set them up on that golf trip and they started taking but one of them or both fucked it up and now

⤷ username20 and i will stand by that they are actually together

⤷ username19 it’s ok to be a little delusional

liked by username81, username4, and 18,409 others

f1wags y/n with lando recently… wonder how their partners feel about this…

tagged landonorris, yourusername

username21 nah no way they aren’t dating

⤷ username22 they’ve made it so clear they’re just friends

⤷ username21 bro look at how much they’re together, she’s literally in the paddock w him

⤷ username22 they’re friends??? makes sense that they’d hang out.

⤷ username21 yeah but she’s always been friends w him but is always in either williams or mercedes merch and motorhome but is suddenly a mclaren girly

username23 what a slut. she literally has a boyfriend and he has a girlfriend.

⤷ username24 she’s just mad that she can’t use alex and george anymore bc they probably saw her for who she is and is now leaching off lando

username25 ahhhh they’re so cute 🥹

username26 nah but i do feel lowkey bad for their partners bc if my s/o was acting like this w another person…

username27 imagine being his gf tho… like he’s refusing to show her face but is parading another girl around the paddock

liked by carlossainz55, olliebearman, and 809,762 others

charles_leclerc tbt good times 🌊

tagged arthurleclerc, lorenzotl, alexandrasaintmleux, carla.brocker, charlotte2304, alex_albon, georgerussell63, yourusername, lilymhe, carmenmmundt, heidiberger, landonorris, danielricciardo

georgerussell63 …mate

yourusername party rockin 🤙🐚🌊😮‍💨🌅🏝️🏖️🏄‍♀️

⤷ username30 my girl is overcompensating bc she knows she can’t get out of this one

⤷ username31 what?

⤷ username30 i mean this pretty much confirms that y/n and lando are actually dating, like w all the photos of them and now that we know that they actually did see each other during the break

alexandrasaintmleux CHARLES what did i say abt posting w/o showing me first 😭

landonorris lol

⤷ username31 they are sweating

username32 you’re telling me that the leclerc family, all their gfs, lily, alex, george, carmen, daniel, heidi, y/n, AND lando ALL stayed in corsica together during part of the break AND WE DIDNT KNOW UNTIL KNOW

alex_albon at least i’m not THIS bad lilymhe

lilymhe charles…

danielricciardo LOL MATE

⤷ heidiberger_ don’t even danny

username33 IM SORRY BUT THIS IS SO CONFIRMATION ABT Y/N AND LANDO… I MEAN LOOK AT EVERYONES COMMENTS, THEYRE ALL STRESSING AND THIS WAS SO OBV A COUPLES TRIP

⤷ username34 i mean idk still like their comments to eachother are so passive aggressive and george, alex, and charles are really good mates w the both of them as well y/n is famed for being the biggest grid couple third wheel so maybe they were just being massive third wheels OR they also brought their partners but charles just didn’t tag them to keep it private

⤷ username35 or u guys hate to admit that y/n and lando are together and lando isn’t going to get w u 🤷‍♀️

username36 charles really came in w a bang

username37 the way charles’ silence is SOOOO loud

⤷ username38 yeah he is fs getting it in the gc

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, lilymhe, alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt, landonorris, georgerussell63, alex_albon, heidiberger_

liked by georgerussell63, alex_albon, and 320,918 others

yourusername fuck it we ball

tagged landonorris

username42 OH

username43 ITS HAPPENING ITS HAPPENING Y/N LANDO HARD LAUNCH

lilymhe i knew you’d cave. all those soft launch photos i took and FOR WHAT. lasted a month 😐

charles_leclerc 🤍

⤷ yourusername this is ur fault

⤷ charles_leclerc whatttttt idk what ur talking abt

heidiberger_ i just heard danny let out an audible sigh

⤷ danielricciardo no more stress 😮‍💨

⤷ yourusername did better then i thought u would danny

⤷ heidiberger_ don’t be fooled… i think he told the entire rbr faculty

alex_albon see you’d think that this would mean they’d leave us alone…

⤷ yourusername never getting rid of us albono 😊

⤷ landonorris now why would u want that mate?! 😘

username57 the caption. she really said fuck it lets hard launch!

username58 they really squashed the slander

landonorris absolute legends i reckon

⤷ yourusername ballers

landonorris my girl 🧡

⤷ yourusername 🤭🫠

carlossainz55 finally

username34 what?! no way?! i’m shocked 😦 we are so shocked 🥱

mclaren we’ll take it from here williamsracing mercedesamgf1

team_quadrant the real boss 😌

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 570,398 others

landonorris cute.

username42 i can’t. they’re too cute.

username43 did he take her to his family home omfg 😭

maxfewtrell whippeddddd

⤷ yourusername 😐

⤷ maxfewtrell sorry y/n mb

danielricciardo cutsie

⤷ landonorris 😘😘

georgerussell63 double trouble

⤷ alex_albon god george u don’t have to say everything that comes to ur mind

lilymhe she’s so pretty

⤷ landonorris she is 😍

⤷ yourusername i love uuuuuu baby

⤷ landonorris i love u too love

⤷ yourusername oh.

⤷ landonorris oh.

⤷ lilymhe I LOVE U TOO LOVERRRR

⤷ alex_albon u get used to it landonorris

liked by yourusername, lilymhe, and 126,090 others

lando.jpg my girl

tagged yourusername

username42 god i am not ur strongest soldier

danielricciardo peep the merch 😌

⤷ yourinstagram enchante danny 😉

yourinstagram shop the look enchante 🩷

⤷ enchante 😍😍

username43 they’re everything

heidiberger_ where’s mine? daniel3.jpg

⤷ daniel3.jpg COMING RIGHT UP

username44 lando is the standard

⤷ username45 never thought i’d see the day someone described lando norris as the standard

yourusername obsessed much 🤭

⤷ lando.jpg with u? always

⤷ yourusername oh 😳

yourusername my own jpg post?! i must be special

⤷ lando.jpg the specialist 🧡

⤷ yourusername oh 🤭

username46 dead at y/n being taken aback my lando’s comments

lilymhe my girl 😍😍😍

⤷ yourusername my girl 😘😘🤭🤭

⤷ lando.jpg pipe down miss alex_albon come collect ur girl

⤷ alex_albon don’t fight it mate

carmenmmundt prettiest girl in the world

⤷ lando.jpg that she is

username47 she’s come so far from her third wheeling days 🥹

⤷ alex_albon has she?

bonus!

liked by williamsracing, carmenmmundt, and 228,460 others

alex_albon proof that it changed nothing 😐

tagged yourusername, landonorris, lilymhe, carmenmmundt, georgerussell63

yourusername boohoo 🙄

landonorris u love us ❤️‍🔥

hope u enjoyed 🤍🤍

[ventique18]

Papa 🐉 with triplets HCs

When going overseas for official duties, he prefers not to be cooped up in that weird iron bird creature (it's an airplane, hun). So he instead flies to the country in his dragon form. Imagine people's awe when this gigantic, magnificent creature lands gracefully, lowers his head down carefully, and out of his mouth hops not one, not two, but three little dragons. They're so tiny you could swear they're cute little dogs.

He always goes to meetings clad in heavy robes. More often than not though, his mysterious cloak has a peculiar feature: it produces three sets of giggling voices every once in a while, especially when the room goes deadly silent.

Once an hour passes though, three little tykes get magicked out of the cloak like how a bunny hops out of a magician's hat. The wyrmlings like to climb on and off papa's back and munch on his horns. Everyone could only glance in amazement at how strong their Majesty's neck muscles must be to withstand the weight.

The three siblings still have very small wings but would always attempt to fly. 🌸 always almost has a heart attack when they inevitably come crashing down from their disproportionate weight, but 🐉 would save them the last second with his magic. He'd laugh loudly and hug 🌸 to reassure them none of their babies would get into accidents while he's alive.

I say accident because the three would frequently get hurt on purpose anyway. Their parents don't understand why, but one of their hobbies seem to be beating each other up in any way they could think of. 🐉🌸 would often wake up in the dead of the night because one sibling hurled another off the bed, simply because he/she was hogging 🌸's chest apparently. 🌸's chest is their favorite snuggle spot.

While 🐉 frankly doesn't have all the time in the world, he strictly employs a 8-5 work hour like a regular person. He doesn't really mind working but ever since he's started a family, he believes this is finally his god-given grace so he'll do it properly. His spouse is very capable in assisting him so they never really had problems with this arrangement.

So he likes to be closer to his babies and feeds them personally while it's still normal. He kinda just force-feeds them mashed food with a spoon in a row though. "Can't you make it more fun? Like, open wide, here comes the flying broom!" "I am simply not a sappy person." "You feed me while saying cheesy shit though..." "I cannot very well say those kinds of things to my children."

When he bathes them, he makes them line up and dunks them into a pool one by one. When they're in their dragon form, he scrubs them with a brush like he's doing laundry.

He hangs them on a clothesline to dry them on a sunny day lmao. "What are you doing to our babies??" "What? They enjoy it." Fair enough, the little gremlins are giggling.

When 🐉🌸 gets one those snazzy refrigerators with a water faucet and ice dispenser in front, the siblings like to sit on top of each other's shoulders so they could steal ice cubes for themselves. Or lap at the running water like thirsty dogs.

Grim has dedicated water bowls all over the place because he finds it hard to pour from a pitcher, and the feral siblings actually prefer lapping from those than go to the refreshments table to fetch a drink. The first time 🐉🌸 saw this, they were so shocked they kinda just stared blankly.

"Are... Are they actually dogs..." "I do not know, at this point." "Did you do this too when you were little?" "We did not have any semblance of a pet so I do not think so." Lilia reveals later though, that 🐉 drank from the damn toilet once.

He likes teaching them all manners of things. He gets a bit too intense sometimes though, what with them failing over and over again on what he thinks to be simple tasks, so 🌸 has to remind him gently that they are not him and shouldn't ever be him. He lets up and smiles. Yes, this is what children are supposed to be.

He legitimately doesn't have any ounce of experience with fatherhood and was suddenly thrust with three, so 🌸 honestly thinks he's a bit clumsy when it comes to taking care of them. Really clumsy and callous, actually.

But when 🌸 chances upon their three babies curled up against him, with him napping soundly and still holding an illustrated book on gargoyles and their history (goodness, he never changes), they thought he wasn't so bad after all.

Thinking harder about it though, what with him carrying the weight of the country while carrying the weight of three chubby babies and a feral cat, he might be the best father ever, after all.

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

sos smp is going great guys (transcript under the cut)

Oli: I was just telling them how- how-

Sausage: Huh?

Oli: I'm not- they were like "Be PG!" and I was like "You watch Sausage and you ask me to be PG?"

Sausage: I am PG, what're you talking about?

Oli: Sausage, I've- we've all seen the salmon.

Sausage: What're you talking about, "the salmon"?

Oli: Why do you think the salmon is funny, Sausage?

Sausage: [overlapping, taking out a noteblock] This guy?

Oli: Yeah, that guy.

Sausage: [placing a salmon head on the noteblock] Why do I think this is funny?

Oli: Yeah.

[Sausage starts hitting the noteblock, it makes the sound of a Minecraft salmon flopping out of water repeatedly. This plays for the rest of the interaction.]

Oli: [overlapping] Yeah, could you explain the co- could you explain the joke?

Sausage: [overlapping] It's a funny n- It's a funny sound! It's a funny sound!

Oli: [overlapping] Yeah, but could you explain why it's funny?

Sausage: [overlapping] It [unintelligable]

Oli: [overlapping] Lovely h- lovely hog behind you, fella. Lovely hog.

Sausage: Oh, yeah, do you have- do you have good cinematography? Do you have a good angle on my booties?

Oli: [overlapping] Oh, I do, I've got you nicely in the background, yeah, yeah.

Sausage: Ok, yes. The reason that I love this sound, Oli, is that it reminds me of my childhood.

Oli: Of your- [music stops] What?

[They both laugh]

Oli: Sorry?

[Music starts again]

Sausage: Yes! Growing up, y'know, I come home from school, I'm like a 13-14 year old boy, coming home from school, watching a little bit of TV in the background-

Oli: [overlapping] TV, yeah.

Sausage: Waiting for my mum to come to pick me up from, uh, from work. Y'know? And I'm- I'm at my grandma's house, I'm just hanging out. Door closed, she's in the other room, just watching her telenovelas, right? Her little Spanish soap operas.

Oli: [overlapping] Of course, of course. Très bien!

Sausage: And I'm just, y'know, in my room, nothing to do. I'm there- Just- I pick up a, uh, like a nice magazine or something, and I just start going through and just looking through it. [Music stops] And- uh- and then- [stuttering] Just one thing leads to another and leads to another and I have to go take a shower that.

Oli: [laughs]

Sausage: And then I go- and I go home.

Oli: [overlapping] Yeah? Cause you spilt your Pepsi. You spilt your Pepsi Max. [Music restarts]

Sausage: I spilt- I spilt my juice, my juice, all over my bed.

Oli: [overlapping] Your juice! Your delicious juice!

Sausage: All over my bed, Oli!

Oli: I can't stop them, chat, you know I can't stop him, chat. You- You've been in his streams! He can't be stopped! I just have to let him run! I just have to let him run his bit until it's too late and then what? Then what? What am I supposed to do? I'm sorry- to- to all of the chats watching. But what am I supposed to do about him? I can't- He's got more subscribers, he gets to choose what happens here. I don't have the power to stop him!

[Sausage is laughing the whole time Oli talks]

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

How They ...

A/N ::: I probably should have done these in different order (bedtime first) but oh well. I'm in a very HC headspace right now. I hope you guys enjoy. Horrific typos? lmk. Thanks!

C/W ::: Oral sex (nothing TOO graphic though - I think)

MDNI Under The Cut, Please

⊰ Go down on you

⊰ Draken ::: Is either slow and methodical or will devour you.

⊰ Mitsuya ::: Prefers to take his time and do it "correctly" (hint: "correctly" is how you taught him through your non-verbal cues. God help me, I'm so in love with him)

⊰ Mikey ::: For real, whatever, however, wherever, whenever he wants. But you always walk crawl away with newborn deer legs.

⊰ Baji ::: Sloppy. Sloppy sloppy sloppy and it's the most marvelous sound in the world, you think. It's so loud and wet and squelchy (shut up, it is a real word) that you don't know if you're getting off to the sensation of him rockin' your world, suckin' on your clit and tongue-fucking you or the lapping noises he's making.

⊰ Chifuyu ::: Prim and proper until you're about to cum. Then he has fun with it. Gets a little sloppy but that's only because Baji told him that you like it so much so he tries it out on his girl and "I'll be damned," he'll say to Baji, "she came all over my face, man!"

⊰ Hanma ::: Wild card. Sometimes the two of you will be laying in bed watching tv and he'll shimmy up over to you and push your shorts/panties aside and lazily finger and lick you. Sometimes he will throw your dress or skirt over your head and eat you like a man on death row. Sometimes he will eat you so thoroughly that you're sure you'll be sensitive for a week. But most of the time you can count on it being from behind. As I've said in the past, Hanma likes you face down, ass up.

⊰ Kisaki ::: Is surprisingly good at this. But he won't give you what you want right away. He likes to take his time with you; to tease you. On a few occasions he's gotten crazy with it (I'm talkin' glasses-fogging-up-and-crooked-on-his-pretty-face crazy). You're just so damn happy when he looks up at you and starts crawling backwards that you don't even care how he does it ... just that he does.

⊱ Get Ready for Bed With You

⊱ Draken ::: Makes sure you don't need anything else before he lowers his towering body down next to you and tells you "Yes, I made sure the doors are locked. But baby, I don't know why you're afraid. I'm here." He smiles at how you flipped the covers back for him and slinks down onto the mattress, scooting over as close to you as possible. He sleeps on his back mostly so you can rest your head on his chest, under the warmth and safety of his left arm.

⊱ Mistuya ::: Likes to brush his teeth at the same time you do and will use the other end of the towel you're using to dry his face off (at the same time). Follows you around to make sure things are locked up and turned off. Puts his hand on your lower back as you climb over the bed to your side and pull the covers back. Likes to sleep with his right arm and right leg draped over you in the winter (the extra heat and closeness never hurt anyone, right?). In the summer lays on his back, sprawled out, like he's in the beginning phases of making a snow angel.

⊱ Mikey ::: Likes to watch you do your routine before bed. He likes it even more when you're feeling playful and smear a little of your nighttime lotion on his face. He will joke about how he's really noticing a change in the elasticity and evenness of the skin on his face. You both have always kind of gone to bed at the same time/together, unless his boys are over. In which case he will come climbing into bed later and that's ok with you because baby boy is a bed/blanket/pillow hog. He 100% of the time always has to have his cheek pressed to your chest. Says he likes how soft and warm your boobs are and that the sound of your heartbeat is the most pretty lullaby he's ever heard. *Still shares his favorite blanket with you.*

⊱ Baji ::: Purposely waits for you to finish brushing your hair so he can start to brush his hair with your hairbrush. Then he will come pouting and stomping into the bedroom where you're already settled and comfy, whining about how his arms are tired from fighting and can you please brush his hair (you do it better anyway, something about less split ends). He has literally fallen asleep on top of you. And no, it's not like that. He just loves being super close to you and if that means behaving like a cat, so be it. Also really likes how it feels when you're sleeping on him (anywhere/any part of his body. his legs, his chest, his shoulder. He loves that you trust him enough to be unconscious around him - that's never happened with anyone before. I mean, you can't entirely blame them - no offense, Baji!)

⊱ Chifuyu ::: He will use the time that he's waiting for you to clear out of the bathroom to feed the cats that hang around your place (he knows you like to have a little time to yourself at the very end of the day to unwind in peace and quiet). But once that's out of the way, he likes to walk around with you and talk about your days/what you have planned for tomorrow. He will ask if you packed your lunch for work for the next day and if you haven't he will ask if you want him to help you or if you'd like him to bring you something when he closes the pet shop on his lunch break. "Maybe we can have lunch together?" His green eyes and sweet smile are so potent that you can never say no to him (you even offer to buy when you two meet up the next day at the place you both agree on - damn, he's good0). Once the two of you are all snuggled in bed, he will ultimately change his mind about how he is laying and roll over, throw his arm over your waist, kiss your shoulder and tell you he loves you and he hopes you have sweet dreams.

⊱ Hanma ::: He doesn't really have any routine at bedtime other than one more smoke, pissing and making sure you're coming in "sometime soon." He likes to hold you once you're both in bed but I think he likes to be held a lot, too. For all of his bravado, there's definitely a part of him that wants to be wanted for more than a pair of fists. When he's deep in sleep, he thrashes around like a drowning drunkard. Is a human furnace. Likes to have fanS (yes, plural) pointed at him from all different directions.

⊱ Kisaki ::: Has a more in depth bedtime routine than even you or your girlfriends combined. He showers every night. And don't count on or even try to join him unless he gives you "the look." He takes cold showers and is in and out in less than 5 minutes. It's just to wash the day off of him before climbing into bed - which we all know, is a sacred space - and such spaces should be kept tidy. He has a glass of water on his nightstand and a case for his glasses to rest in while he isn't wearing them. Prefers to keep to himself mostly unless he knows you're having a bad time of things or he just wants to cuddle with you. It's ok, though, because his hands and feet get freakishly cold (regardless of the season) and if he were to touch you in the night, it would startle the hell out of you.

@viburnt @darkstarlight82 @kazutora-kurokawa @arlerts-angel @southside-otaku @katkitkats

[sionisjaune]

George/Alex sex shop meet cute, ft. George's questionable customer service skills and unquestionable knowledge of inventory:

Alex finds himself in the sex shop because he has decided, after great deliberation, to face up to the fact that he is a bisexual man, and his occasional hookups require more equipment than he has in his flat. 

He tugs open the door which boasts a cheery little welcome sign that is quite possibly adorned with an anthropomorphized, ejaculating penis, and tries not to flinch when his eyes meet row upon row of phallic objects in glossy packaging. The bell on the door jingles as it swings shut, and Alex crams his hands in his pockets, surveying the aisles. 

Choosing to get the job done quickly, Alex rocks up to the first aisle and strolls past the shelves decisively. He chooses a dildo at random and pulls the box off the rack to examine it. The packaging reads EXTRA LARGE HOG in graffiti letters with a grinning devil waving a pitchfork underneath the logo. The dildo itself is grossly fleshy in a shade that would imply that the phallus’s owner (if it had one) was suffering from jaundice. 

Alex flings the dildo back on the rack, repulsed. God, maybe his own cock will have to do. He doesn’t know if he has the stomach to stay in the shop for long enough to make a purchase.

He’ll call Lily, he considers, backing away from the shelves. He’ll ask her where she bought her cute little rose thing and then order online with a hand covering his face, peeking through the cracks between his fingers. People have told him he’s good in bed, right? He wouldn’t get any less ass if his nightstand drawer remained empty of dildos and cock rings and butt plugs and whatever other horrifying—

While Alex spirals about the state of his sex life, someone down the aisle coughs. 

Alex’s heart skips a beat, and he nearly springs backwards, his trainers squeaking on the floor while he regains his balance. 

“You really shouldn’t buy that one,” says a pale, pinched, and actually rather fit employee standing two metres away from Alex. His hair is floppy and a rather ordinary brown, and his collared shirt is buttoned to the throat. His name tag reads George. 

“Beg your pardon?” says Alex, and nearly chokes swallowing his own saliva. 

“I said you really shouldn’t buy that one,” says George, sweeping a hand through his hair and frowning. “If you’re shopping for a missus, studies have shown that thermoplastic elastomers can disrupt reproductive health.”

“Missus,” says Alex, rolling the word over on his tongue. “Thermoplastic elastomer.” 

George blinks owlishly. “Yes. And if you’re shopping for a mister, TPE is porous, so it’s very difficult to properly sanitize,” he explains.

Alex shakes his head. He glances at the wall of dildos in their gaudy packaging and then back at George. His lanyard seems to be patterned with the same little walking, grinning pensises that the welcome sign bore. 

“What’s TPE?” says Alex, for lack of anything better to do with his mouth.

“Thermoplastic elastomers,” says George. “I just said.” 

“And those are?” says Alex. 

George runs a hand through his hair again and sucks in a breath. He steps towards Alex—which causes shivers to course down Alex’s spine, for some reason—and points towards the EXTRA LARGE HOG box. 

“Look,” he says, pointing to the corner of the box which bears writing so small Alex can barely read it. “TPE. Not body-safe.” 

“So,” says Alex, information whirling in his head. The fluorescent lighting is giving him a headache. The glare glancing off all the clear plastic packaging gives the sex shop a dream-like quality, like any second Alex will wake up erect and sweating through his covers. “So, why would it be on sale if it’s… not body-safe?”

“You see,” says George, his eyes lighting up. “Since sexual enhancers are classified as novelty items rather than therapeutic medical devices, manufacturers are able to exploit a gaping loophole and produce products for cheap using unsafe materials. For example, our top-selling Starbright Bangers—” George gestures to a display of pale, jellylike dildos of increasing length and girth. “—contain phthalates which have been shown in male animals to precipitate a greater risk of malformed penises, and—” George’s jaw snaps shut. 

Alex inhales, his hands balled in his pockets, staring straight into George’s giant eyes. “You can keep going,” says Alex. 

“No, I—” says George. “No. I’m done.” 

“So,” says Alex. He pulls his fists from his pockets and forces his hands to hang limply at his sides. “So I’m looking for a dildo.” 

“Ah,” says George, blinking again. “What kind of dildo?” 

Alex swallows. “Any kind? I’m not exactly an… experienced buyer?” 

“Okay,” says George, tilting his head back and forth. “Alright. Do you know what you like?” 

“It’s not for me,” says Alex, quickly. “It’s just that I want to… spice things up, in the bedroom.” 

“Ah,” says George, again. “So we’re looking for something versatile.” He spins to face the aisle, scanning the wall of dildos. He glances towards Alex, his dark brows furrowing. He really is rather pretty, Alex thinks. Pretty in that prim, poncy way that boarding school fantasies are supposed to be. Not that Alex has ever had any of those. 

“You never did tell me whether you’re looking for a missus or mister,” says George. 

“Either. Both,” says Alex, throat dry. 

George hums, tapping his foot. He squats to the floor, tugging a box off the lowest shelf. “Try this,” he says, handing it up to Alex. 

Alex turns the box around and squints at it meaningfully. The packaging is rather nondescript, offering a photo of the product (slim, blue, rechargeable) and the product name (SKINNY SATISFIER). 

“Great,” says Alex, pinning it under his arm. “Perfect. I’ll get this. Thanks for your help.”

George unfolds from his squat, rising to a height that’s maybe just a millimetre shorter than Alex. “You don’t want anything else?” says George, making his big owl eyes again. 

“I’ll just be on my way,” says Alex, stuffing his hands in his pockets again. “Thanks a bunch.” 

George’s mouth opens and then closes, a bit like a fish. Then it opens again. “You should probably get an anal plug,” says George. “Very popular. And you can get them without rhinestones on the bottom, if you're worried. We have all sorts. Hold on a second.” 

George dashes down the aisle while Alex remains frozen, dildo under his arm. When George returns, he’s carrying an armful of boxes. “Here,” he says. “Pick the one you like.” 

Alex eyes the mountain of boxes and the product images he can see. Some of them are rather feminine. He supposes he could use them on a girl. Or on a boy of a particular persuasion.

“They’re all… body-safe?” says Alex. 

George rolls his eyes. “Stainless steel. So, obviously.” He makes meaningful eyes at the heap of boxes in his arms. 

“Great,” says Alex, plucking one at random off the top. 

George lets out a breath and dumps the remainder on a shelf strewn with bottles of novelty lube. “I can ring you up over there, if you like.” 

“Oookay,” says Alex, fisting his dildo in one hand and his butt plug in the other. He follows George up to the cash where a scary-looking girl with teased hair and a lip piercing is ringing up a complicated leather harness. 

“Here you go,” says George, when he’s finished scanning Alex’s items and has presented Alex with a (thank God) plain paper shopping bag to carry them in. George plunges his hand into a jar beside the register, pulls out a handful of foil packets and drops them in Alex’s bag. “Every customer gets a free scoop of lemon sherbet flavoured prophylactics with a purchase of thirty pounds or more,” George explains. 

“Brilliant,” says Alex, wondering when he’ll wake up. 

George waves, his lanyard swinging against his shirt. “Shop again soon!” 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 7: Keep Quiet, Nothing Comes As Easy As You]

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading and loving this fic. 🥰 We are now officially halfway done with WTWICD, can you believe it?! I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. 💜

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, the smallfolk having a bad time everywhere you look, Aemond being a menace, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), discussions of pregnancy/babies, dragons, murder, some new perspectives! 🥰

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

In the Eyrie, Rhaena is praying for one of the three dragon eggs in her keeping to hatch. In the shadowy ruins of Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are bathing in rooms thick with steam, while outside by the lakeshore Baela brings plump goats to Moondancer. In King’s Landing, Rhaenyra’s Master of Coin Bartimos Celtigar is levying heavy taxes on the smallfolk: taxes on wine, taxes on ale, taxes on inn beds and shop goods, even taxes on the bittersweet parody of love purchased in brothels, taxes on every possible distraction from the ceaseless bloodletting that has infected the world like plague. In the North, Cregan Stark is following the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin and imagining what you will say to him when you are rescued from the clutches of the Usurper: Oh my love, my champion, my savior, my lord. But south in the Reach, Daeron is flying.

Tessarion’s scales are a blue sheen like light on the ocean; the flapping of her wings is a deafening, roaring wind. She is nimble in the air, lethally quick, banking seamlessly when Daeron asks her to turn towards the Hogs Head, an inn from which torrents of men and women run shrieking. They do not run fast enough. Tessarion’s flames are an electrifying cobalt blue like lightning. Flesh melts away, bones are charred black, screams evaporate as lungs are singed, consumed, destroyed. Daeron’s own lungs work perfectly fine; he is cackling, almost loud enough to hear over the wings and inferno of his dragon. After the inn, Tessarion burns the sept, the marketplace, the castle that is the seat of the disloyal House Caswell. There is a stone bridge, after which the town is named, traversing the Mander River. People are fleeing across it. There are children on the bridge, but this does not stop Daeron. Maelor was a child when these traitors ripped him apart with their bare hands. Jaehaerys was a child, and so is Jaehaera, who may be alive in Storm’s End or may be dead but in any case has suffered the decimation of her family, her brothers and her mother and her grandsire. Daeron is burning Bitterbridge for the Greens, yes. But he is also doing it for himself. And in the wake of Tessarion’s fire, Lord Ormund Hightower’s forces pour into the rubble of the town to seize whatever treasures it has left.

In the Riverlands, Aemond and Vhagar are setting fields of wheat ablaze and incinerating cattle, pigs, sheep, forests that can no longer be used by the Blacks and their supporters for timber. In the Citadel, white ravens are being sent out to the great houses of Westeros to proclaim the end of summer. And on Dragonstone, the Beggar King heals.

He spars with guards that Larys found, is tended by maesters that Larys recruited from the turncoat houses of the Crownlands, rules over a microcosm kingdom that Larys built for him. Aegon tires quickly, sleeps often, aches and collapses and bleeds, gets sunburned when he is outside too long on those rare clear days. But he always rises again. “Perpetual Resurrection,” he says, grinning through the pain when you caution him to be patient, to be careful. “I’m not dying. I’m becoming brand new.”

You hunt for softshell crabs together on the rocky shoreline, fill a basket with them, bring them to the cooks to serve the skeleton crew of the castle for supper. You walk through the gardens, a pine-smelling woodland of towering coniferous trees, thorny rose bushes, blood-red cranberries, indelicate creatures that can thrive in the thin, inhospitable earth here. You study the books of the castle library—an impossibly vast, ancient collection, safeguarding texts from Old Valyria—while Aegon swims in the ocean with Sunfyre, laughing and diving as the dragon glides around him in large, lazy circles. Sunfyre can fly, but only a very short distance at a time; he is ungainly when he walks on land with his improperly-healed right wing. But in the water, he and Aegon are both unbroken again. Soon they will be ready for battle. Soon they will have to leave this island, this mist-and-smoke haven, to rejoin the war effort; soon they will have to leave you.

You crave Aegon like some people need wine, rum, gin, gold, power, violence, milk of the poppy. He is ecstasy, he is consolation, he is a spell. He is your home; and any place you’ve ever mistaken for home was only an echo of the truth that you would one day find him. Even on that very first night, as the storm raged outside, you whispered to Aegon when you both woke long before sunrise: “I want you again.”

“You’ll be sore,” he warned, a warm murmur against your forehead. “We can wait. I can wait.” But already his hands were moving, and your thighs were opening, and he followed your body and your words when they told him yes, now, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day too.

You smile when Aegon calls you insatiable, but you know that’s not quite it.

You are acutely aware that nothing lasts forever, not even him, not even you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are the days getting shorter?” you ask, your bare feet ankle-deep in wet sand. Sunfyre is out in the waves eating dolphins; a slippery-looking grey tail hangs from his snaggletoothed jaw.

“I think you just want the nights to be longer.” Aegon winks up at you. His head is in your lap, his arms linked around your waist. You are weaving his little braid for him. His hair is just above shoulder-length and as choppy as ever. He periodically takes his dagger to it and hacks away haphazardly, determined to never look like Aemond, Daeron, Daemon, his father. He burrows into the softness of your belly and shuts his eyes. “Perhaps winter is coming.”

In more ways than one, you think bleakly, picturing Cregan Stark on the Kingsroad with snow in his long dark hair and dirt on his hands. “We should ask Lord Larys if he’s heard anything.” As the Citadel—and most of the rest of Westeros—believes Dragonstone to be unoccupied, they would not have sent a white raven here. But several times each week Larys receives visitors from Eagle Harbor, and they bring him rumors in exchange for gold coins and promises that when Aegon once again sits the Iron Throne, their faithfulness will be generously rewarded.

Aegon hums agreeably; he is dozing. After a moment he says: “I keep dreaming of her.”

“Who?”

“Helaena,” Aegon says, his voice lethargic and eyes still closed. “She brings me things. Butterflies, crabs, snakes. Things that are reborn. She puts them in my hands or in my bed and won’t take them away when I ask her to. She keeps telling me: Don’t fall, don’t fall.”

You finish Aegon’s braid and comb his unruly hair back with your fingers, soothing him, listening to him. You try not to think of the way Helaena died, crushed and hemorrhaging on golden sandstone. Instead, you picture her living: strange yet gentle, tragic but kind. You see her children as well, white-haired and beautiful and doted on not by their parents but by Alicent and Otto and you…and Aemond. You remember Aemond’s quiet resentment, his simmering and dangerous envy. You recall Aegon’s half-flippant accusation: You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine. Targaryens have wed brothers to sisters since long before the Conquest, but that doesn’t mean they always got the combination quite right. “Aegon, was Aemond…was he in love with Helaena? Did he desire her?”

“No. Not like that. He cared for her, but I don’t believe he had any lust for Helaena. He just thought he would have been a better husband to her than I was. That he would have caused her less misery. That he was more worthy of carrying on the bloodline, of being the children’s father. And he was right, of course.”

“What happened to Helaena is not your fault,” you say. “And neither is what happened to Jaehaerys or Maelor.”

“I’m glad Daeron burned them all,” Aegon says quietly, meaning the people of Bitterbridge, a tale ferried to Larys from one of his numerous, nameless informants.

“I know you are, Aegon.” You can’t bring yourself to agree with him. Does one dead child bring back another? Does each swatch of flesh burned away from a supporter of Rhaenyra replace one that was sheared off the bones of a Green? No, of course not, but the wheel goes around and around and around.

In the sky, another sort of wheel: a sun that burns cool and muted behind a thicket of iron-colored clouds. High above where you and Aegon are entwined on the beach, something crosses in front of the shrouded sun, casting an impossibly large shadow. You gasp; at the sound, Aegon bolts upright onto his palms and knees and follows your gaze. There is a profound, archaic rumbling, something old and intractable like thunder, earthquakes, floodwaters rising.

A dragon, you know immediately. You try frantically to determine whether you recognize its voice. Too large to be Tessarion or Syrax, too deep a roar to be Caraxes. Sheepstealer?? Vermithor?? But no, you have heard this beast before after all, it’s—

“Vhagar!” Aegon shouts, and scrambles to his feet. As the massive swamp-green dragon disappears behind the castle, soaring rather sluggishly, Aegon sprints as fast as he can up the stone steps towards the entranceway. You follow Aegon into Dragonstone and there the visitor meets you both, sailing down a staircase with eerie lightness, his boots hardly making a sound, his long silver hair secured in a single thick braid. Larys arrives as well and stands in the dreary, torchlit chamber, appearing as he always does: face servile and tactfully intrigued, hands laced together overtop the handle of his cane, back stooped as if to make himself smaller, less threatening, more invisible.

“I got to thinking you might be here,” Aemond tells Aegon. He sounds pleasantly surprised. “You look better.” Then he notices you. “Oh. Perhaps that accounts for some of it.”

“Where’s Criston?” Aegon asks. Meanderingly, so it is sufficiently subtle, he takes several steps until he has placed himself between you and Aemond.

“Somewhere near Saltpans.”

“You left him?” Aegon is incredulous, furious.

“Temporarily,” Aemond says. “It is not the first time. Between battles Vhagar and I raze the farms and villages of the Riverlands. Criston and his men are more than capable of fending for themselves. I’ll be back in a day.”

“You’re supposed to stay with Criston,” Aegon insists, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child who might have difficulty understanding. “You promised that you would. The war is on the battlefield, not on goddamn farms.”

“And what feeds Rhaenyra’s forces? Is it not grain and cattle? And so if I destroy their food supply—while our own soldiers are still receiving regular shipments from the Westerlands and the Reach—am I not inflicting catastrophic damage to the Blacks?”

“You’re burning…civilian property?” you say to Aemond. “You’re killing women and children and old people? You’re laying waste their homesteads?”

“It’s total war.” Aemond stares at you defiantly; there is no suggestion of self-doubt in his face. “It is a well-documented strategy employed across continents and centuries. We kill soldiers on the battlefield. We endanger their families back home. Many men will desert to return to their imperiled wives and children. Others will starve. All are broken. All are rendered ineffectual to our enemy’s cause. And thus we will triumph.”

You and Aegon gape at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing what is right or wrong in a world where children are slaughtered and grown men murder with impunity. When will this war be over? How can we end it? Will any of our souls survive the choices we’ve made with our backs to the wall?

“My prince, you chose an excellent time to pay us a visit,” Larys offers diplomatically. “I have just received news that may be of interest to you. And you can bring it back to Sir Criston and his men when you return to the Riverlands tomorrow.”

“What news?” Aegon asks.

“Wait,” Aemond says; and he smiles, dark and hungry like a wolf, like a dragon. “I want to see the place where my ancestors made their war plans. I want to sit in Rhaenyra’s chair.”

On the top floor of the Stone Drum, the main keep of Dragonstone that booms and growls during storms, servants light the candles beneath the Painted Table and bring wine, ale, bread, cheese, honeycomb, jam, candied walnuts, red cherries and violet grapes. The map of Westeros, older than the Conquest, is striped with snakes of fiery luminance like lava. Aegon twists the gold dragon ring on his finger, its jade eyes sparkling. You gave it back to him the day after you arrived on Dragonstone; he says that when he wins the war, he will have a matching piece made for you, but with a crab in place of a dragon.

Larys cautions before he begins: “I cannot tell you the perfect truth. I can only tell you what I’ve heard from the whispers that make their way to me.”

“And what have you heard?” Aemond says. Aegon glances petulantly at him, as if debating whether to remind his brother that a prince regent is not quite a king.

“The Dragonseeds known as Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White—and with them, Vermithor and Silverwing—have officially declared for the Greens.”

“Yes!” Aegon beams and raises his wine cup. He refuses milk of the poppy, even on his worst days; he does not want to be senseless, he does not want to leave you unprotected. But he drinks red wine often and grows ill if he is without it for long. Aemond is laughing victoriously. The brothers are momentarily united.

“There was a battle at Tumbleton in the Reach,” Larys continues. “Lord Ormund Hightower was slain by Roddy the Ruin who, allegedly, managed the feat after one of his arms was severed clean from his body. These Northmen are formidable beasts, to be sure.”

Aegon looks at you, a fleeting, fearful look.

“The people of Tumbleton believed the battle to be over, but then Vermithor and Silverwing joined Tessarion in torching the city. All the Blacks’ commanders were killed, along with most of their soldiers. And the city was sacked. There are reports of looting and…well, all manner of indecencies being committed against the civilians of Tumbleton, mostly women and children. Even septas and silent sisters.”

Now an awkward silence settles over the Painted Table. Ruin, heartbreak, agony, death; but somebody else’s. It could have been yours instead. Perhaps tomorrow it will be. Perhaps there is no end to suffering, only a reallocation of it to people who you do not know, do not love. Perhaps the debt can never be satisfied but only passed to another.

Larys goes on: “The people of King’s Landing are petrified that the Greens and their dragons will descend upon them and subject the capital to the same atrocities that Tumbleton experienced. Rhaenyra had to order the gold cloaks to seal the city gates to keep her supposedly loyal subjects inside.”

“The smallfolk’s support for her continues to weaken?” Aemond says.

“It does more than weaken. Many people there detest her. Bartimos Celtigar has imposed heavy taxes upon the city. The smallfolk fear that Daemon has abandoned Rhaenyra, and therefore that they cannot expect protection from Caraxes and Sheepstealer. And…” Larys peers around the Painted Table apologetically.

“…And?” Aegon presses.

“Rhaenyra’s youngest son…Viserys…” Larys sighs, an anemic, perfunctory breed of sympathy. “He is dead. Of illness, it seems. The luckless lad.”

“He was always sickly,” you say, remembering his unwaveringly watery eyes and dripping nose. And you almost say Poor Rhaenyra, but then you remember how the Blacks celebrated Maelor’s death with cheers and rare, bloody boar meat.

“Yes,” Larys concurs. “That is what the people believe, that he perished due to natural causes.”

Aemond is watching the Master of Whisperers closely. “What does Rhaenyra think caused it?”

“She suspects poison,” Larys tells him. “She is convinced of poison, I should say. She raved and she threatened and she spewed accusations. She executed a dozen people, none of whom could be connected to the death of the boy with any certainty. The smallfolk feel she has gone mad. And there is one more crime the people have branded her with.” Larys turns to you.

Your heard pounds wildly, hot blood thuds in your ears. “Has something happened to Everett—?”

“Not him. The Celtigars themselves are safe from her wrath. Bartimos is too near to the throne, and Rhaenyra trusts him. But the servant girl—Autumn, you called her—she went into labor a month early and was delivered of a boy.” Now Larys’ eyes flick to Aegon, whose face goes pale and panicked. “A boy with blue eyes and silver hair.”

Aemond rocks back in his chair and shakes his head.

“Oh,” Aegon moans. “Oh.” He clutches his chest with one hand and looks to you. He says weakly: “I’m so sorry, Angel. It didn’t mean anything. The child…it…it will never really be mine—”

“It won’t be anyone’s,” Larys says. “Rhaenyra had him run through with a sword.”

“What?!” Aemond exclaims. “A baby? An infant? In her own castle, in the Red Keep?”

You are horrified. “Did Autumn witness this?”

“I’m not certain, my lady,” Larys replies. “What I have heard is that Rhaenyra proclaimed it vengeance for agents of the Greens murdering her youngest son. She declared all bastards of the Usurper to be enemies of the realm and thus sentenced to death. She has offered rewards for anyone who brings a white-haired child to her for execution. And the smallfolk are absolutely, viciously appalled by her. The Street of Silk in particular is rife with people plotting the so-called queen’s downfall. She is surrounded by enemies. And she has only two male heirs left.”

“Two more than Aegon,” Aemond mutters.

“Is Autumn alright?” you ask Larys. “Did Rhaenyra harm her?”

“Your brother Everett attempted to advocate for Autumn and the child. He was ignored; your father and eldest brother were vehemently in support of the murder. Shortly after the baby was killed, Autumn disappeared from King’s Landing. I’m sure Everett facilitated this escape. No one knows her present whereabouts.”

“She’s just gone? No signs whatsoever?”

“Nobody ever knows anything.” Aemond waves at Aegon. “They think he’s in Dorne.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon whispers, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Rhaenyra is destroying herself,” you say. “She is doing the work for us. If you try to take King’s Landing with dragonfire raining down on Green supporters who are effectively held captive, there will be ill-will against you in the capital that will last for generations. But if they overthrow Rhaenyra on their own, you can reclaim the city bloodlessly.”

Larys taps his fingers meditatively against the Painted Table. “I do wonder if Daemon would intervene to support her. His present motivations are…somewhat nebulous. To Blacks and Greens alike. But he controls their most powerful assets.”

“You haven’t crossed paths with Caraxes and Sheepstealer in Riverlands, I assume?” Aegon asks Aemond.

“No. We are locked in a dance of sorts. I’m not certain that Vhagar can win against two dragons of that size; they must know that it is almost certain that at least one of them would be killed in the struggle even if they defeated me. This Nettles girl’s dragon riding skills are unclear. Perhaps Daemon is training her, perhaps he is now sufficiently attached that he does not want her in combat. So we avoid each other. But when the girl is gone—when Daemon tires of her, or when Rhaenyra sends assassins to murder her, or when she is removed from the board by some other means—I will meet Daemon in battle and end him.”

“Your priority is protecting Criston,” Aegon orders; but there is trepidation in his large, ocean-blue eyes, there is defenseless worry there. “Wherever Criston goes, you go with him. I’ll be ready to fight again soon. I’ll be able to help you.”

“Daemon is mine. I want to face him alone.”

“I am the king!” Aegon thunders, and you can see the strength leaving him like birds taking flight from cold, bare winter trees. “You will not behave recklessly. You will not abandon Criston. We are winning in the Reach, and we are winning in King’s Landing without even being there, and we will win in the Riverlands too if you don’t sabotage us with your relentless fucking pride.”

You and Larys study Aemond. He examines the flame-colored light of the Painted Table, tracing the etchings of rivers and mountains with his fingertips. “Fine,” he concedes, very quietly.

“And one more thing,” Aegon tells his brother.

With great reluctance, Aemond meets his gaze. “Yes?”

“If you have the opportunity to burn Cregan Stark, take it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Aegon collapses into the bed you share, you curl up against his scarred chest, listen to his heartbeat, breathe in heat and rose oil and the salt of the ocean. He does not ask you what is wrong. He does not speak of Autumn or her child, his child, no matter how indifferent or remorseful he might have been. He holds you knowing that there is nothing he can say to make the world whole again. He can only rest until he is well enough to fly into battle, where he might be further maimed or taken captive or murdered. And what then? What was this all for?

“Somewhere there are people just living,” you marvel. “They’re reading books, they’re having supper, they’re getting married, they’re tending to their crops and their animals. And none of them are thinking about war or massacres or dragonfire.”

“Yes,” Aegon says simply, pulling you in closer, one palm pressed to the small of your back and the other brushing your hair away from your face so he can kiss you, soft and slow. “But they’re not us.”

When Aegon is on the edge of sleep, you tell him that you love him, as you do each day. He has not heard it enough in his life; you are trying to remedy that now. And as always, Aegon does not say it back. Instead, he murmurs something in High Valyrian that you cannot understand. Now you commit it to memory, repeating it silently to yourself again and again until Aegon is sleeping deeply and you can rise from the bed without disturbing him. You go to your writing desk and scribble it down on a small piece of parchment: the way this word sounds in the letters of the Common Tongue. You have no way to translate it. There are books written in High Valyrian in the castle library, but you do not know the alphabet of the language, and you have yet to find a text that can teach it to you. When you ask Aegon for lessons, he demurs and says that he doesn’t know High Valyrian well enough to teach you. You think he just wants a way to say things you won’t be able to comprehend. You squirrel the parchment away in the pocket of your gown and slip out of the bedchamber you share with Aegon.

It is far too early for your mind to stop racing, only sunset. You wander down halls of shifting shadows and iron dragons, fantastically high ceilings and narrow slits of windows. Questions fill your skull like rushing blood in the chambers of a heart: Where is Autumn? Is she alright? Is she safe? Is Everett, is Jaehaera, is Alicent? Are Criston and Daeron? Are any of us?

When you cross through the doorway and onto a balcony that overlooks the ocean, Aemond is to your left. He is nursing a cup of wine and leaning over the stone wall that separates you from a long, treacherous fall onto black rocks that jut out of the sea like the hilts of daggers from a corpse’s back. You whirl away from him and towards the craggy staircase that leads down to the beach.

“Now you’re going to pretend you didn’t see me?” Aemond calls out.

You halt mid-step, consider it, then return to him. “You’re just so undistinguished in appearance. So easy to miss.”

He gives you one of his enigmatic, teasing smirks. His hair blows in the breeze that tastes like salt and sulfur and mist. He wears a dark, lush green. Then he peers avoidantly down into his wine. “I…I don’t think I ever adequately apologized for what transpired regarding the brothel. The Pink Pearl.”

“You didn’t.”

“It is a place…” Aemond pauses. He chooses his words cautiously, like handling something that could easily break, a glass goblet, an egg, a butterfly in an open palm. “It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. I made assumptions about where your loyalties lied. I felt that you had hurt me, that you had caused me to suffer. And I wanted you to suffer in return.”

“It was a horrific thing to do,” you say pitilessly. “It was cruel. It was evil.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that now. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

“Then do it properly.”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. It takes some effort. “I was wrong.”

“You were.”

“And I’m glad Aegon was able to haul himself out of bed to rescue you. It’s not often that he gets to be the noble brother, the gallant one.”

“It happens more often than you’d think.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow. Beneath his eyepatch, you know, is a winter-cold sapphire in a bed of mangled flesh, a treasure steeped in corruption. “How long have you been here?”

“Two months.” No, more than that. “Two and a half, or thereabouts.”

“And I assume there has been no shortage of…horizontal activities with my brother.”

“Not exclusively horizontal,” you snap, to make him regret being so forward, to make him uncomfortable. “We are more inventive than that.”

It works; Aemond flushes a gory mottled pink. Still he manages: “And you have not yet conceived?”

You glare at him, ice and fire at once. “No.”

“Why do you think that is?”

You shrug, exasperated, dismissive. “Aegon has been through so much physical trauma, perhaps he is no longer capable of having children. Perhaps I never was. Perhaps it will happen in a month or six months or a year. Perhaps it is not meant for us. Only the gods know.”

“You aren’t at all concerned?”

In truth, no; you are so consumed by whether Aegon will survive the war with any vestige of humanity intact that anything beyond this seems hopelessly distant, a constellation, a shadow on the moon, the silvery gleam of a comet. “It’s not something I spend much time thinking about.”

“It should be,” Aemond insists. “If the Greens expect men to go to war for us, for women to give up their husbands and sons to us, we should have a stable succession to offer them in return. Jaehaerys and Maelor are gone. Jaehaera is a girl and cannot inherit even if she is alive and well in Storm’s End. Aegon needs an heir.”

“Aren’t you next in line for the throne, Aemond?” you say cuttingly. “And isn’t that the role you believe yourself best suited for? Being king? Proving how worthy you were all along?”

He is uneasy, perhaps ashamed, evading your eyes. “Regrettably, I cannot begin trying for my own sons until the war is over and I marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter, as I pledged to in return for his support for our side. Daeron will not be able to marry for several years. In the meantime, there is this…disquieting lack of certainty. To complicate matters, Aegon has bastards in King’s Landing, I’m sure. The red-haired girl was far from the first whore to lie with him. If he does not have a trueborn son, claimants will appear to challenge mine or Daeron’s for the throne.”

You search yourself—unspoken longing and ancient cobwebbed fears—for any desire for a child of your own. You cannot find it. You are fond of children, you find fulfillment in caring for them, but the need to carry and deliver one yourself? It is not something you can remember ever yearning for. It always felt like yet another way in which your body would be used to further some man’s legacy, to give him pleasure at your expense. “Can you tell me what this means?” you ask, handing Aemond the folded piece of parchment that you’d tucked into the pocket of your gown. He takes it with one long, lithe hand. “I’ve probably spelled it wrong. I’ve never seen it written, only heard it spoken aloud.”

Aemond opens the parchment. His river-blue eye narrows; thoughtful creases appear in his brow. “Aegon has said this? To you?”

“More than once.”

“What prompted it?”

“Does your translation depend upon the context?”

“Hm.” Aemond skates his thumbprint over the dried black ink. Then he looks at you. “It means: To your misfortune.”

The alarm must show on your face.

“Not like a threat,” Aemond clarifies. “It is a common expression. It suggests that someone has entrusted something of value to the undeserving. It implies naivety. Unwise benevolence. But it is certainly not malicious. It is usually said fondly, like a backhanded compliment.” He returns the parchment to you. You rip it over and over again until it is only scraps that vanish in the wind, Aegon’s voice speaking to you: I ruin causes. I ruin people.

“Why did you kill Luke?” you ask Aemond, not accusingly but with hushed, weary wonder. “There was very little strategic advantage in it. There was great peril as a result. Rhaenyra will never surrender, never negotiate. You will forever be known as a kinslayer. You could have taken him captive. You could have humiliated him, you could have shown the world how weak he was. Why did you have to kill him?”

Aemond says nothing for a long time. He stares out over the ocean where the sun is setting, dolphin fins cut in swift arcs through the surf, Sunfyre dozes on wet sand, the sky glows dream-lavender and blood orange. He sips his wine and contemplates things that are mysteries to you. Aemond keeps his thoughts like untrustworthy animals: in cages, in darkness, turning fierce and feral, snapping jaws and rattling chains. At last he says: “They’re all dead anyway. They were from the moment Aegon was born and my father refused to name him the heir. It’s all of them or all of us. You think there is any scenario in which Aegon reigns as king while Rhaenyra’s children survive? No, no. Someone will always be willing to fight and die for them. Just like Green loyalists would have been willing to fight for Jaehaerys and Maelor.” Something shifts in his face like the breaking of a wave, and for a second you can glimpse the deep well of dark, helpless misery inside him, filling up drop by drop since he was a boy. Then Aemond is steely again. “Luke had to die. So did Jace and Rhaenys and that eternally sniffling toddler Viserys. And all the other Blacks will follow. Unless you care to see Aegon’s blood spilled. And mine, and Daeron’s.”

“No,” you say softly, an agonized little whisper that understands, that surrenders. “No, that cannot happen.”

Aemond takes another swallow of his wine and drums his fingertips restlessly against the cup. “Any heir our side puts forth must have undisputed parentage and Valyrian features. Aegon’s wife is dead. He can marry you. You are a Celtigar, you share our blood, you carry the memories of silver hair and rare magic in the marrow of your bones. These attributes are dormant in you, yet could be passed on to a child. A son of yours could secure the succession and one day inherit the Iron Throne. But the father has to be a Targaryen.”

You turn to Aemond, perplexed and wary. His wording is strange. “Well, it has to be Aegon.”

Aemond is impatient, irritated. You have not been keeping up. He says, his eye on the darkening horizon: “There are other Targaryens.”

You stare at him. You don’t understand, you don’t understand, and then suddenly you do. “What?”

This is not the reaction Aemond had hoped for. He gulps down the last of his wine, leaves the cup on the stone wall, storms down the staircase to reunite with Vhagar and resume burning the noncombatants of the Riverlands to ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

He finds her at the shore of the Gods Eye, rippling blue like a vast mirror. The Isle of Faces—forbidden, undiscoverable—is a faint mirage in the distance. Moondancer is circling overhead. Baela is perched on a large rock by the water’s edge and fishing; she is intrigued by tales of the strange creatures that dwell here, the hungry currents, the way this corner of the world has only a translucent, threadbare veil between our world and the realm of spirits, ghosts, demons. She has always been curious and bold by nature. She has always been his most beloved child.

“You found your way out of Nettles’ bed,” Baela pitches, a jest but not a judgment. She is already developing an appetite of her own that renders monogamy woefully lacking. She mourns Jace, but not the woman she would have had to pretend to be for him. “I’m shocked.”

Daemon smirks, tilting his head to the side like a wolf does as it’s listening. “You know how sheets have a way of getting tangled. Around ankles, around wrists…sometimes it is difficult to free oneself.”

“You were fighting hard, I’m sure.”

“Yes, all morning.”

Baela chuckles, reels in her fishing line, recasts it. She cares deeply for Rhaenyra and is loyal to her still, but Baela shares her father’s pathological aversion to weakness. She feels that Rhaenyra has driven Daemon away with her moodiness, her melancholy, her unmooring from the fearless, ardent woman she once was. Daemon says that being with Nettles is like being with a young Rhaenyra again. It would not be just to condemn him for seeking out what Rhaenyra took from him and has no intention of returning.

Daemon says: “I want you to go to Dragonstone.”

Baela is aghast, betrayed. “You are getting rid of me?”

“I am entrusting you with a vital enterprise.”

Now she is intrigued. Now she is considering it.

“Moondancer is too small to fight Vhagar, Tessarion, Vermithor, or Silverwing,” Daemon says. “If Caraxes and Sheepstealer meet Vhagar in battle, you cannot go with us. Nor should we leave you here unprotected. And I know you have been impatient for an opportunity to play a more…consequential role in the war.”

“I long to be useful,” Baela agrees. “More than anything.”

“Go to Dragonstone,” Daemon says. “It is vacant, it is safe. But it must remain under the Blacks’ control. Patrol it and ensure the Greens do not try to take the island and find riders for Grey Ghost or the Cannibal. Rhaenyra will return to Dragonstone if she is ever forced out of King’s Landing. I have tasked you with making it ready for her.”

“And I have permission to execute any traitors who might appear there?”

“Yes. You may swing the sword yourself. Or feed them to Moondancer, whichever you prefer.”

Baela smiles, a slow, toothy grin that spreads across her face like plague, like fire. “When can I leave?”

[eveningepiphany]

hotel room | H.S

summary: harry & Y/N are friends but it’s a love hate relationship with so much tension you can hardly breathe. this tension isn’t any better when they get stuck in a hotel room together for the night. and it only has one bed.

warnings: SMUT! hand job (f+m receiving), PIV unprotected, sloppy morning sex, teasing, swearing, praise, friends to lovers.

A/N:I have opened my requests! and I’d love to write some from you guys, so send them in here <3

———

“So there’s only… definitely only one room for us?” I say slowly, and the lady behind the counter nods.

“Y/N,” Harry says, “we’ve shared a room before—“

“I’m so sorry the inconvenience— Since the multitude of delayed flights from the storm we’ve had an unexpected influx of last-minute bookings…” her hands are zipping along the keyboard as she is clearly under the pump.

“You’ve been booked under a single room.” She glances up, face turned up apologetically, confirming.

I nod, knowing there’s so many other people needing somewhere to stay right now, there’s no point being picky.

It’s just one night.

Because Harry and I live in the same part of the UK, we usually catch the same planes to and from when we get short breaks from touring with the band.

So of course we flew out for our Australian leg of the tour several hours ago and got stuck at our layover destination, Abu Dhabi.

The storm rolled in quick, putting hour— even day long— delays on flights. So now people are scrambling to book hotels for the next few nights.

Luckily our management got on it as soon as we’d called them about the delay of out flight, but I suppose they only could get us the one room for two.

We get our room key and head up the elevator to the 7th floor.

When we walk into the room there is a single queen bed in the centre of it, and I glance at Harry out the corner of my eye. We are always close to one another being in the band, but never “share a bed” close.

“Don’t stress.” He says.

“I’m not stressed.” I quip.

“Yes you are, don’t try and bullshit me.”

“Harry, we’re adults it’s fine.”

“Hardly adults.” He chuckles.

I scoff at his constant digs, there is a fineline of how much Harry I can tolerate in a day and we are really pushing it.

“Well if you think that then I implore you to take the couch.” I know just by looking at the couch he’d hardly fit on it, and I’m not that much of an asshole to let that happen.

“Oooh, you’re just trying t’get the bed all to yourself? Bloody bed hog.”

I open my bag up, pulling out fresh clothes and my toiletries, “Was just providing you the options. I’m going to shower.”

“Too bad if I wanted one first.” He sighs dramatically, with a little smirk that usually indicates he’s teasing.

“Too bad indeed.” I smile sarcastically at him as I shut the door.

It’s so nice to wash away the gross feeling that sticks to your skin after long flights like we just had.

When I come out of the bathroom he’s laying in the bed, crisp white doona pulled back.

“Dude you’re getting airport germs in the bed.”

He glances up from his phone, eyeing me for a split second— I’m just in sleep shorts and a plain tshirt.

“It’s fine, I’ll just have this side.” He replies, a smile breaking out over his face.

He leaves me no room to respond as he stands up, “im gonna have a shower as well, and then we can order room service, how’s that sound?”

I nod, “I’ll get the menu and have a read through.”

It’s weird how we one minute can’t stop sarcastically niggling and the next we’re back to being normal friends.

I browse through their relatively large menu as the shower runs in the background. If I strain, I can hear Harry gently humming.

I’m happy to see my favourite foods on there… and heaps of deserts.

He comes out shortly after while I’m still reading the menu, and he’s clad in only grey sweatpants, adorning damp hair.

I choose to tear my eyes away from his bare chest, “I’ve figured out what I want to get, have a read through.”

I chucked him the menu and he comes to sit down next to me on the bed.

Im surprised we don’t end up in another debate about the sleeping arrangements, but I think we’re both so exhausted from the flight. The 8 hour plane trip settling deep into our bones.

“They have y’favourite.” He says with a smile playing on his lips.

“Yea, I’m so glad. It’s all I’m craving right now.”

“What are you gonna get?” I lean to look over his shoulder at the menu.

“Maybe I’ll try their tacos?”

“I’m gonna order some of the desert stuff too.”

“Y’gonna be so full.” He laughs.

“It’ll be worth it.” I say, as I stand up to go over to the phone on the desk in the corner of the room.

I ring up and order an unnecessary amount of stuff before giving them our room number and hoping back into bed.

It’s so cozy, and if it weren’t for the food I knew was coming, I’d probably curl up and fall asleep straight away.

We lay together, talking about the plan for the next few days until the food gets delivered with a knock on the door.

I get up to open it, taking the trays of food from the kind waiter.

He groans, “God it smells good.”

We both spread the dishes of food on the bed and quickly start eating.

The TV starts playing reruns of friends, the episode where Ross makes the paste with his leather pants, trying to get them up.

We’re both tearing up with laughter, stuffing our faces with our first proper meal since dinner on the plane over 5 hours ago.

“Holy shit.” He says, and we’re are letting out fits of giggles, as Ross says “—and the lotion and the powder have made a paste…”

“I swear— why did he listen to joey.” I scoff, shoving a bite of food into my mouth.

“No, because the way it just keeps getting worse.” He buries his face into his hands with a pained grin.

We watch a few of the episodes that were playing, sharing the last of the chocolate cookies that I’d ordered.

I stood up to move all the trays our food came on over to the small kitchen bench, leaving them for the morning.

“That was so yum.” I sigh out, content and full.

I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and finish up my night routine, ready to honestly just go to sleep.

I come out with a small smile on my lips, excited to get back into bed where it’s cozy. Slipping back under the crisp white sheets, Harry turns off the TV.

The room is now dark, “fuck… can’t see now— I gotta brush m’teeth as well.”

“Have my phone.” I chuck it in his general direction, and clonk him straight in the side.

“Ouch.” He huffs, grabbing it and turning the flash on.

He pads over to the bathroom while I roll my eyes at how dramatic he is.

He turns the lights on in there, coming back over to give me my phone now that he can see.

I text a few of my immediate family members to let them know we’d settled into our hotel, choosing to leave out the fact we’re sharing a bed.

I mean assuming that’s what the plan is. I highly doubt he wants to sleep on the couch.

Being the only female in a band of boys leads to lots of assumptions throughout my family unit. Especially with Harry.

They mistake our arguments as ‘pent-up sexual frustration’. Which is far from how I like to think of it.

He steps out from the bathroom, and I turn my torch on so he can flick the light off.

He scrapes a hand over his face, looking to me with tired eyes.

The hotel was relatively quiet now, only a few drunken laughs echoing down the hallway as it nears 12am.

He climbs back into the bed, pulling the covers over himself.

I tug my pillow down a bit before turning off my flash.

“Y’tired?” He asks quietly, sounding already kind of groggy.

I hum in agreement, rolling to face him. It’s quiet a few beats.

I can just make out his outline next to me,

I can feel the warmth of his body from where I’m laying. And it feels like I’m being enveloped by it in a strange— yet lovely way.

The thought floats around in my head, images conjuring from the darkness.

I blame this on the 8 hour flight and sleep deprivation.

Usually I can ignore it, but as much as he’s a proper pain in the ass sometimes, I’d have to be visually impaired to say he wasn’t good looking.

And hell he’s laying in the same bed as me without a shirt on.

“Y’staring at me.” He chuckles softly, and I startle a little.

“How can you even see me?” I ask, amused.

“I can’t, can just feel it.”

“As if you can feel it.” I scoff, “I’ll roll over if my eyes being on you makes you too uncomfortable.”

“No, no, wait come back.” He whines as I start to move.

I huff out a laugh, and roll back over to him.

I keep my eyes shut, “better?”

He whispers a yes, and I smile.

I keep that very smile as I drift off, listening to Harry’s slow breathes from beside me, allowing them to lull me to sleep.

———

I can only half remember waking up.

I was warm, heavy, and I felt his body before I saw it.

My eyes had only opened a tiny bit—there was light creeping through the thin curtains, making his unruly hair just visible.

My leg was thrown over his hip, and I was pressed right into his chest. We were fully intertwined, and fuck did it feel nice.

I close my eyes again, I can feel his morning wood. My heart jumps a little in my chest. Maybe I can just roll over— pretend I didn’t feel it, and go back to sleep.

I carefully strain to make the movement, but I instead get pulled closer to him.

He pushes himself against me, a sigh slipping from his nose, and I realise moving may have been a bad idea.

“Fuck…” I hear him mutter against my hair, bucking his hips up again.

“Harry.” I say, voice croaky with sleep. Of course this does nothing.

I have no idea how awake he is, I’m not even fully awake yet. But Jesus, this feels better than it should.

I feel like a horrific person for enjoying the way his clothed-length is pressed into me. But by god I am not strong enough to remove myself from this situation.

“Harry, wake up.” I groaned, squirming a little in his grasp.

He seems to come to it, just enough to realise whatever the fuck is happening in a couple seconds.

“Y/N…? Fuck. what is—“ I feel his body tense underneath me as it hits him, and he probably feels his boner pressed between my legs.

His hand flys up to my thigh that’s resting on his hip, “Holy shit—“

“It’s fine, H.” I whisper, and I’m not really sure why I say that, or what I’m implying by doing so.

Or what it means paired with the fact I haven’t protested to his dick practically grinding against my cunt.

“What do you mean?” He asks, groggily.

“Not sure.” I confess, whimpering a little as he still is hard underneath me. I push into him a bit out of unspoken desire and I hear him swallow.

He doesn’t say anything as he slides his hand up my leg, cupping it on my ass.

I glance up to see his face, his eyes still half-lidded, and his cheeks have a gentle flush to them.

I feel myself getting wetter as he keeps rubbing himself along my thin sleep shorts.

He moans a bit, and I slip my hand between us to palm his cock through his sweatpants.

“This ok? Want me to help you out a bit?”

“God— yes please…” he groans.

I push it underneath his waistband, tugging him out.

He’s heavy and hot in my hand. Glancing down, its bigger than I expected. The tip is flush and red, glistening with the damp beads of precum. Hardly surprising he’s got such a pretty cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ— look at y’little hand wrapped ‘round me.” He swears.

I slowly squeeze the head of it, and that quickly has him bucking into my palm.

His own hand travels between my sleep shorts, “Mind i return the favour?”

I hum in agreement, but he doesn’t do anything, “Gotta hear you say it, tell me what you want.”

I roll my eyes, of course he’s like this in bed, wants to hear how bad I want him.

“What do you want me to say to you Harry? How bad I want your fingers in my wet cunt right now, or how I want you to fuck my clit with your tongue?”

“Want my tongue do you? Because yes that’s exactly what I’d like to hear.” He says, smirking as he dips his hand under my shorts, running his fingers through me.

“No panties… been next to me all night with your pussy so easily accessible. Such a little slut.”

He collects my arousal, carrying it up to my swollen clit. I moan with the action, trying to keep my hand pumping rhythmically.

This proves to be a challenge, as he’s very clearly skilled with his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Hardly even touched you.”

“Been grinding your dick into me for a bit, actually.” I hiss as he slips a finger into me.

“Sorry, Baby. Did my hard cock get you all worked up?” He teases, and I hate the fact that he’s right.

I give a particularly hard squeeze and he grunts, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He quickens the pace of his fingers, fucking them in and out of me.

“Hard to hate me when I’m making you feel so good, hm?” He kisses my forehead, curling his fingers in me.

I cry out. Fuck— I was going to come.

“Wait, wait, wait— don’t wanna come yet, please…” I clench my thighs around his hand and it stills.

I look up at him, his green eyes burning with desire.

He doesn’t say anything, just leans his head down and places a wet kiss on my lips.

He keeps his fingers pumping slowly in and out of me as we start to kiss.

He brings me close to coming again a few times, just to tease me, but he keeps his focus on my lips— pulling my bottom one between his and sucking on it.

It’s messy and sloppy, edges of it blurred from the morning haze still over us.

“Harry.” I say into his mouth, legs shaking a little.

“Want you in me.” It comes out of me as an unbridled thought.

“Jesus…” he murmurs, stunned by hearing the words fly out of me so openly.

He pulls his lips away, cock twitching in my hand, “you want…”

“You want me to fuck you?”

I nod, grabbing the hem of my shirt and slipping it off.

He’s enamoured by me, it’s clear in his eyes.

He reaches his hand up, out of my sleep shorts and he cups my breast with it gently.

He moves his mouth down to place gentle kissed over them.

“You’re perfect, yknow that?” He says against my skin, tugging me closer to him as I smile at the flattery.

“I’m on birth control too.” I state.

He glances up, and it appears I’ve shocked him yet again, “you wanna take me raw?”

I haven’t gone without I condom in ages… but I trust him.

“We’re both clean, right? I trust you.”

He smiles, “I’m clean. As long as your sure.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been surer of something.

He pulls my sleep shorts off, and I help shuck his sweats the rest of the way down his legs.

We’re warm between the sheets, and he’s peppering open-mouthed kisses along my neck as he lines himself up with me.

He locks eyes with me as he pushes in, and both of us moan at the feeling.

“Fuck— you’re tight.” He squeezes his hands on my hips.

I am blinded with the pleasure of him filling me up, I can’t even think about how bad an idea this could be.

“Feels so good, H.” I groan, scraping my nails along his chest.

“Can feel you clenching around me.” He reaches a hand down to play with my clit.

He’s gonna make me come embarrassingly quick— especially considering he sort of edged me a bit while we were kissing.

He was thrusting into me, a perfect pace to have me squirming in his arms.

I can tell he’s getting close, my name flying out his mouth paired with vulgar words and moans.

“I- fuck- I’m not gonna be able to drag this out if you keeping squeezing m’cock like that.” He pants.

“I’m close, so just come with me.” I plead, the thought of him finishing with me adding fuel to the fire in the pit of my stomach.

“God H, I’m gonna come— hard.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, keep talking.” He says, his skin slapping into mine, chasing his orgasm.

“You’re so pretty.” I blurt, spewing the first thing that comes to mind as I look at him.

He really is, his hair is tousled from sleep and my hands, his eyes half lidded from pleasure and tattooed chest slightly damp.

He swears, bottoming out and coming hard without warning. His hand circles my clit fast, bringing my crashing down with him.

“Harry!” I cry, burying my head into the crook of his neck as I ride out the waves of pleasure.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He groans, still thrusting into me trying to prolong his orgasms.

The high slowly ebbs away, and he stays in me for a bit. Nothing but the sounds of our laboured breathing filling the room.

I think we don’t know what to say, after something like that happens— when it all comes on instinct and you’re without any clue on what it changes.

Our dynamic, though it was a love-hate kind of thing, it was a consistent one. You knew what to expect. Now that this has happened…

“I have no idea what you’re thinking right now.” He whispers, “and that kind of scares me.”

I lay quietly for a few heartbeats, “just… that was really good. And I’m not 100% prepared for what might happen after this, y’know. To us I guess.”

“Well. To keep it simple, I really like you— and that was some of the best sex I’ve ever had so…” he trails off, unsure where to go with the sentence.

“Ok— so this isn’t gonna ruin our friendship?” I sigh in a bit of relief.

“Of course not,” he pulls back to look at me, and a smile spreads across his face, “after all, we are adults.”

———

[h34rtz-co]

“I'm cold, can we cuddle please?”

Honkai Star Rail : Asking the Astral Express Crew if you can cuddle them, because you're cold.

Content: Implied relationship or feelings , fluff , romantic , gn!reader . . .

——— ‘ ❄️ , ———

. . . D A N H E N G . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Your question left his face a bit rosy, but he accepted your request for warmth. He sat up on his sleeping mat, and patted his lap. Once the two of you were all situated, he would wrap a blanket around you, and lie the two of you on your sides. He wouldn’t want you to be cold, goodness no. He wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable either, so he accepted the position, and stayed respectful and calm.

He was like a living heater, yet very calm and gentle. He would hold you as long as you needed. Even if he suspected you had intentions of staying the entire night.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . M A R C H 7 T H . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

March knows her room is warm, her bed especially. Because of this, she had no qualms with this question. “Hehe, sure! Come on! We can have like—a sleep over!” She would squeal, taking both of your hands, dragging you in with her. While you got cozy beside her, she’d talk and talk about everything that’s happened to her all day, and just in general. She’s a bit of a rambler.

She wouldn’t have realized it, but she would have had her arm around your waist/shoulder, to try and keep you warm, yet completely forgot. Mid ramble, she’d realize you fell asleep, and try to go to bed herself, making sure to keep you warm as well. Letting you hog the blanket!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . W E L T Y A N G . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“You’re speaking to me? Well… alright.” He isn’t used to being asked for such things, especially intimate relations. When you asked it did warm his heart quite a bit. As he sat on the velvety red couch, his legs now laid across the couch, he helped you onto his lap. He is very stiff for a while, and a little awkward. You can tell he is very unsure how to feel. Though, when he notices you start to relax and warm up, he starts to calm down.

You may even feel him peck your cheek to bring you comfort. He will be very displeased if anyone (march) tries to speak to him at this time, risking you being disturbed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . H I M E K O . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Of course, dear. Come here.” She'd respond, gesturing for you to come and rest beside her in her room. She is sat up in her bed, a warm mug of fresh hot chocolate on her night stand. She would watch as you slipped under the covers, and laid next to her, clinging to her. She would let you adjust, and eventually start to stroke your hair, or play with it. She would him as she read a book, or looked out her window.

She is very gentle and motherly, and wants you to feel comforted by her. She is happy to warm you up… despite her being cold as well. Even if she suspects you just wanted to cuddle up with her for the sake of it. She never gets upset.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . C A E L U S . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He just simply shrugged upon your offer. He would just wrap his arms around you, and drag you with him, from behind. You’d just be in his lap, coddled, and a bit restrained. While he was a bit blunt and hard headed… he did seem pretty happy to accept your offer. He is like a Human heater!

He will rest his head against yours, and make sure you’re warm, occasionally asking if you are okay, or if he is hugging you. He doesn’t let go, and decides it’s is his duty to keep you warm. He seems a bit embarrassed though, underneath how blunt and bold he was.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . S T E L L E . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Well—alright, come on.” She'd open her arms, and let you decide if you still wanted to be cuddled. If yes, she would wrap her arms around you, and rock the two of you from side to side. She had the expression of a “sleepy” cat. She would talk to you the entire time about her adventures, etc.

Like Caelus, Stelle is a human heater. She seems proud and cozy knowing you asked her, and not someone else.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Thanks for reading<3

. . . Read b4 int . . .

[breanime]

When Lip got home from work, the house was a mess. Frank was knocked out in the yard, smelling like a dumpster on fire in the Chicago summer heat, Fiona was passed out on the couch, a huge bottle of vodka cradled against her chest, Mickey, sporting a black eye, was smoking in the kitchen, not saying a word. Ian was sleeping in his bed wearing sparkly gold shorts, Debbie was awake and making spreadsheets for some reason, and Carl was sleeping in a broken down van with some random hood girl in the backyard.

A regular Gallagher summer.

Lip couldn't deal with any of it, once he checked on Liam--who was thankfully just playing video games under the bed--he went to sleep. You were in bed, and Lip wrapped his arms around you and joined you in your slumber.

You were gone when he woke up.

Donning a simple black tank top, Lip got up and made his way to the busiest place in the house--the kitchen. As he turned the corner through the living room and into the kitchen, he stopped at the sound of your voice, peering into the kitchen.

"--and Ian, if you don't take your meds, you know what happens. Come on, man, you were doing so good," you said, concern clear in your voice.

Lip heard Ian sigh before giving you a reluctant, but genuine, "I know... I'm sorry."

You had your hands on your hips when you turned to Mickey, "And you."

Mickey looked away, "I ain't do nothin'..." he murmured.

"You can't keep punching pervy old men," you continued, "Look at you. At least use a bat or knife, you know better."

Lip chuckled, crossing his arms as he listened in.

"FI!" You yelled, and Lip turned to see a grumbling Fiona descending the stairs into the kitchen. You stared at her, and she glared back. Lip watched from his spot in the doorway, wondering how this would go down. "Fi," you said, your voice softer.

Lip watched, surprised, as Fiona deflated.

"Yeah," she sighed out, nodding, "yeah, I know..."

You nodded, going over and giving her a hug. "Go back to bed," you said softly, "I got the kids. You rest up, and we'll talk later."

Fiona gave you a little smile and went back upstairs to rest and sober up, and you turned to address the others, "Ian, Mickey--you're going to clean the upstairs and both bathrooms," you turned your glare on Ian when he groaned, "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing. Yes, sergeant," Ian mumbled.

"Debs, you've got the kitchen. And you're in bed by 11 tonight," you put a hand up, "I don't want to hear it, bed by 11." Debbie sighed, but nodded her agreement. You turned to Carl, who was shoveling Poptarts into his mouth like a wild bear. "And you."

"Mmf?" He looked up, cheeks full of sugary pastry, and Lip couldn't help but laugh at the look on his little brother's face.

"I was dead tired last night, but I'm wide awake now. If you ever," you took a step towards Carl, who shrunk down in his chair in response, "sneak a girl into this house again, I will cut. It. Off. Do you understand me? Do your hoe shit at school or the park, but not here."

He nodded, eyes wide.

Lip couldn't take it. He laughed, turning his body to try to mask the sound, but there was no use. You turned and saw him, and you smirked at his obvious appreciation of your way of handling things.

"And you," you said, a hand on your hip as you looked at your man.

Lip raised an eyebrow, "Me?"

"Oooh, Lip's in trouble!" Carl chanted around a mouthful of food.

"Yeah, get 'im, Y/N!" Debbie added in, happy to be out of the hot seat.

"You," you went on, walking over to Lip, "Work too hard," you pulled him closer by the front of his shirt, "and you hog the covers," you grinned, stepping up and kissing him.

Ian, Debbie, Mickey, and Carl all booed at the show of affection, while Liam cheered you on. When you pulled back, Lip was grinning back at you.

"Won't happen again, boss," he promised, kissing you again.

You smiled, rolling your eyes, "Yeah, okay," you said back, not believing him in the slightest. You turned, pointing to the others, "Hey--this ain't a free show. You've got your orders, now move it. Chop chop, Gallaghers--and Milkovich."

The offending persons grumbled as they made their way to get their chores down, except Liam, who happily bounced up the stairs for some playtime, earned by his good behavior. You turned back to Lip, and he kissed you again.

"You know," he said, mouth still on yours, "I got in so late, barely had the energy to take my shoes off. Much less shower... So... How about we have some food, let Ian and Mickey get the bathroom clean, and then," he smirked, "I'll wash your back if you wash mine."

********************************************************************

Thank you for reading! Lemme know what you think! I feel like this one got a little long, haha!

[sanjisboyfie]

one piece smau: married to robin edition

— kinda implied that robin is some "celebrity" but i kind of just enviosioned her just being a really successful writer or smth LOL

— male reader ! ! !

liked by nico.robin, nrs.husband, and 12k others

uso_pp: bro is definitely a mama's boy

tagged: nico.robin and nrs.husband

nrs.husband: well i call her mommy in bed anyway so it checks out

-> uso_pp: DEAR GOD.

dni_nami: they're both so whipped for each other, true love is real igggg

[liked by nico.robin, nrs.husband, and 90 others]

freeluffy: is it normal to be this clingy with your girlfriend...[name]'s behavior seems concerning guys ://

-> roro.zoro: it kills me how serious u seem about this

princesanji: IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MEEEE

liked by nrs.husband, dni_nami, and 30k others

nico.robin: my husband is so thoughtful - he's never forgotten to give me floewrs whenver my older ones die <3

tagged: nrs.husband

nrs.husband: if my baby loves flowers IMMA GET HER FLOWERS

-> nico.robin: and i'll treasure them each time my love

princesanji: robin, i too, remember that you love flowers - do you love me now :3?

SUPERCOLA: i thought im the ways of being a SUPPPERRR husband well

-> nrs.husband: SUPPPPEERRRR

dni_nami: were these from your garden?

-> nico.robin: yes :) he has been tending to them ever since he planted them for me so now that they're grown, he made them into a bouqet

[liked nrs.husband, roro.zoro, and 100 others]

-> dni_nami: UGH I DONT KNOW WHY I BOTHER ASKING it's too cute i might kill MYSELF

liked by nico.robin, princesanji, and 20k others

nrs.husband: before and after the event, so proud of my beautiful girl

tagged: nico.robin

nico.robin: your support means the world to me <3 i love you so much

-> nrs.husband: if you have 1000 fans, i'm one of them. if you have 100 fans, i'm one of them. if you have 10 fans, i'm one of them. if there are no more fans of nico robin in the world, then i'm dead. i love you so sososososo much more my love

uso_pp: someone check up on sanji-

-> roro.zoro: i just heard a thump from the room over, i'm gonna assume he just fell to his knees

skullnsoul: such an elegant couple - YOUNG LOVE IS SO BEAUTIFUL

-> nrs.husband: brook you're like ten years older pls ur not an old man yet LMFAO

-> nico.robin: thank you brook :)

liked by nrs.husband, dni_nami, and 20k others

nico.robin: my favorite place in the world is his arms

tagged: nrs.husband

nrs.husband: i'll start crying right now.

nrs.husband: I DONT DESERVE YOU UGH

uso_pp: photo creds robin?? cmon now my work aint free

princesanji: what did [name] do in a past life to deserve a goddess such as yourself, robin-chan?

-> nico.robin: sanji you need to move on <3

[liked by roro.zoro, dni_nami, and 400 others]

freeluffy: mama y papa :DDDD

-> nrs.husband: LUFFY LMFAOOAA

liked by uso_pp, nrs.husband, nico.robin, and 11k others

dni_nami: the one time we get to see robin and he's hogging all her attention....wtf

tagged: nico.robin and nrs.husband

nico.robin: dw nami i reserved us a girls day at the nearby resort <3

-> dni_nami: mommy? sorry, mommy? mommy? sorry...mommy??

-> nrs.husband: hello????

uso_pp: as if he doesn't get to spend eveyr waking second with her like cmon bruh

-> nrs.husband: my BADD for loving my wife jfc i cant win w u guys

nrs.husband: omg send me this photo she looks so cute here hehehe

-> dni_nami: stfu.

nrs.husband's story:

i love lovelovelovelove my beautiful wife. everyone is just jealous she's mine <333

nico.robin replied to your story: i wondered why nami just texted me she hated you — you're very cute with this story, [name]. i love you too and am glad that i can call you mine as well <333