“Hey Y/n… are you alone right now?” Eijirou’s tentative voice came from the speaker of your phone, quieter and softer than you’d ever heard it before. Admittedly, the automatic secretive nature of the conversation sent a bolt of panic through your nervous system.
You leant back in your office chair, doing a scan of the room. “Uhm, yeah. Why? What happened? Is everyone okay?”
Eijirou let out a squawk of awkward laughter, high pitched and concerned. “Well…” He started, straining out a chuckle. “I mean… Kind of. Katsuki may or may not have been hit by a quirk that erm… well… he’s — I guess you could say a cat.”
Stillness followed his words, your eyebrows clenched in the centre. “Like– like a full on cat? The– the animal?”
“Hah! No! No, he just has ears… and a tail. It’s kind of cute actually. It suits him. But he has been hissing at poor Kaminari for about an hour now because he keeps trying to touch his ears.”
You snorted.
“But uhm– we took him to the doctor and y’know, they said it’s temporary. So that’s good! Katsuki is a little bit worried about how you’ll see him.” Eijirou’s voice teetered between laughter and nerve as he spoke to you, you could hear him shifting on the other line.
You looked at the time on your laptop. “Eiji, I get off work in 10 minutes. Do you want me to meet you at my apartment?” You questioned, pressing your phone between your shoulder and neck to start closing down all of your tabs.
A sigh echoed. “That would be good. We’ll see you then!” the red-head ended the line cheerily, you laughed to yourself and continued to pack up to go home.
⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆
Katsuki was shoved through the door of your shared apartment about five minutes after you got in. He appeared timid, almost out of place as you approached him.
“Oh Katsuki… What happened?” you cooed, reaching your hands up to his face. The blonde man did nothing but grumble in reply, avoiding your gaze and swatting your hand away.
“Just ignore it.” He muttered, cheeks flushing a shade of pink.
You sighed heavily, following Katsuki as he moved throughout the apartment, tail swinging behind him lazily. “You look cute though, how am I supposed to ignore it? Like a giant kitty cat.” You closed the bedroom door behind you, Katsuki spun on his heel with a look of distaste.
“Don’t.” He grunted, flinging his jacket across the room before settling onto the mattress, he patted his hand at the pillow by his head. “I feel so stupid — And sparky keeps tryin’ to touch my ears.” Katsuki pouted as you sat up against the headboard.
With a snicker you grabbed his forearm, tugging on it to pull him closer. He scooched up, pressing his face into your thighs. “Aww… I'm sorry baby.” You replied, stroking the back of his head softly, spiky hair flattened under your hands.
You could’ve sworn you heard him purr, tail swaying gently against his thighs. You giggled, causing the blonde to glare at you through his eyebrows as you ran your nails over his scalp, threading your fingers through the hair by his ears.
Katsuki shifted his head, unknowingly placing your hand closer to his ears. You snickered, testing the waters and running your finger along the edge of the extra body part, he murmured something incoherent. Taking that as a good sign you gently pet his ears, feeling the soft fur carefully.
“So pretty, baby. Does that feel nice?” You whispered, feeling your boyfriend’s nails graze your thigh in pleasure. He hummed, meeting your eyes with a look of content. You grinned at him, “Wish you could stay like this longer.”
The lazy smile on his face faded, katsuki pouted, rolling away to the other side of the bed. He lay on his back, arms folded over his chest. You burst out laughing, reaching out to him. “Shut up, you’re having too much fun with this.”
Snickering lowly to yourself you realised, quirk or not, Katsuki was more cat that he’d ever admit.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
diary entry: Catsuki Bakumeow :3 lowk yes this is my summer comeback
Taglist : @kamislop @simbaruto @ibbybelle @braunrot@theemoong1rl @ihearttenkoshimura @somethingwebs @tiffi26 @napbatata (Send an ask or comment to be added <3)
Requests are open! Drop by some time? , maybe...you could check out my masterlist too? ^.^
Do not repost any of my works, or feed them to AI. - jeanmarcosno1 2026
now carrying his child, your prince dotes on you with the devotion of a man utterly enamored with the woman he loves
genre/warnings:
fluff, pregnancy, protective!valarr, lots of romance bc valarr is devastatingly in love, lover's quarrel, mentions of curses, hurt/comfort, childbirth, overall very self-indulgent
notes:
a continuation to in one's heart of hearts but can also be read as a standalone. *sigh* i'm so in love with him
“My beloved, from this day forth, this heart of mine… is yours to keep.”
That was his wedding vows to you. And those sweet words would be carried by singers and spun into countless songs and verses afterwards.
They would have the realm believe you ensnared Prince Valarr Targaryen with some enchantment that he tumbled into love with you overnight and chose you as his princess consort.
But the truth is far sweeter.
He was the one who fell first, and he fell hard. In watching him love you so fiercely… you found yourself falling too, drawn by the love that had already chosen you.
In all the years you spent by his side, he never once gave you cause for disappointment. Through every joy and sorrow, Valarr remained steadfast, his love unwavering even as the two of you endured even the most painful heartbreaks.
And now, as he pressed his face against your growing belly, smiling giddily and mismatched eyes sparkling—
“My little one,” his voice was warm with affection. “Will you look more like your mother or me, I wonder?”
—you found yourself falling in love with him all over again, as you had done countless times before.
You let out a chuckle, your fingers slipping into his hair, gently combing through his white strands.
“I wish he’ll have your eyes,” you said, your voice fond. “A little prince who resembles you... yeah, I’d love that.”
At that, Valarr lifted his head that was on your lap, his gaze finding yours—bright, almost boyish. “My eyes?” he echoed, amused. “On the contrary, I think a princess like you would be nice too.”
“A princess?” you hummed, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “She will have you wrapped around her little finger the moment she is born.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m already hopeless where you are concerned. What chance would I stand against a daughter of yours?”
“Then you are doomed.”
“Gladly.”
You giggled and your husband only rolled his eyes, caressing your belly in slow, absent circles as though he could already soothe the child within.
“Did you hear that? Your lady mother loves having me doomed… and you haven’t even been born yet.”
Valarr had been overjoyed when he knew you were with child again, but he also worried. After two stillborns, he had sworn he would not see you suffer in childbed again, but now that his seed had taken, he was determined this was to be the last.
The heir of Dragonstone pressed a gentle kiss against the swell of your belly, his voice dropping to a soft whisper meant only for the child you carried.
“Prince or princess… it matters not. As long as you come safely to us.”
His protective hand lingered there, before he glanced up at you—his expression gentler now, threaded with the love he had for you.
“As long as you keep your mother safe too,” he added quietly, the cool blue and warm brown of his eyes blinked then, almost like a plea.
Your heart lurched at his words. He had always feared for you, and though there was something endearing in the way he held you so dearly, you could not bear seeing it weigh heavily upon him.
“Valarr…” You cupped his cheek, guiding him to look at you fully. “You must not carry that fear alone.”
For a heartbeat, he said nothing—only leaning into your touch, his hand moving to cover yours where it rested against his face.
“I would bear far worse, if it means keeping you safe.”
You knew he would.
For if there was one thing all of the Red Keep had come to know, it was this: Prince Valarr was utterly protective of his princess consort.
At your smallest call, he came. At your faintest discomfort, he was already at your side. There was no hesitation or manly pride that stood in the way. It was sweet to see really, but the servants scarcely had time to breathe before he was giving them instructions of more cushions, warmer cloaks, cooler drinks, softer linens—
And it wasn’t just the servants who noticed.
“Gods, nephew,” Prince Maekar grumbled. “She is with child, not made of glass.”
One afternoon in the gardens, as Valarr hovered just a step too close while you walked, his hand always ready at your back, his uncle, Prince Maekar, watched the display with a raised brow.
Valarr did not so much as glance his way, his hand settling securely at your waist in response. “And yet I would rather treat her as such than risk otherwise.”
His uncle snorted, which made him look eerily like his son Aerion. “You fret like an old nursemaid. I have seen squires with steadier nerves.”
At that, his father, Prince Baelor, let out a warm chuckle from where he stood nearby, the sound rich with amusement.
“Let him be, brother,” he said lightly. “It is a rare thing, to see a man so devoted.”
“Devoted? Bah. The boy looks ready to faint if she so much as stumbles.”
“And you did not, when your first was expected?” Baelor returned, one brow lifting.
Maekar fell silent at that—begrudgingly. And Baelor held back his smile. Unlike the others who may feel Valarr’s concern was excessive, he was proud with the man his son had become.
He still remembered it all too clearly—how Valarr, still so young, had stood vigil before the funeral pyre of his two lost sons. That was a grief even Baelor himself had never known, and yet his son had borne it with a strength that was both admirable and heartbreaking. Not once had he faltered or wept while the flames still burned.
Only when it was over did Valarr finally look at him—
“Father.”
And only then would he break. The composure he had held so fiercely gave way all at once, his frame trembling as Baelor gathered him into his arms. He wept like a child in that brief moment... but when it passed, as all storms must, Valarr drew back, steadied himself… and returned to you stronger, as though even his sorrow was something he had to bear so you would not have to.
His bold yet gentle boy. Baelor’s gaze softened as he watched you now, leaning close to murmur something into Valarr’s ear that made him smile.
The Hand of the King found himself wishing, with all his heart, for nothing but happiness for the two of you.
. . .
While it was him who was well-known throughout the Red Keep, there were moments where it was you who were being protective of him in return— mostly behind closed doors though.
“From now on, no more tourneys,” you had said firmly one evening, your arms crossed despite the softness of your voice.
Valarr blinked at you. “No tourneys...?”
“Yes,” you emphasized with a frown. “No melees, no tilts, no… whatever it is you men insist on doing to break your bones for sport.”
A hint of a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “You would deny me my honor?”
“I would deny you a broken limb—or worse,” you countered. Your hand found his, squeezing gently. “Do you know what it does to me, watching you ride out there?”
His amusement faded at once, his fingers instinctively curling around yours, as though to reassure you.
“You would send me into early labor with such stress. Is that what you want?”
“Never,” he answered at once, his grip tightening around your hand, a faint frown settling as his gaze found yours.
“Then you will stay. For me.”
There was no hesitation as he kissed your palm. “Your wish is my command, my love.”
And that was how your husband cheated his way out of the lists for the upcoming celebration of his father’s nameday. My lady wife worries for me, was what he told the small council as though that alone was reason enough.
. . .
Two days of lavish feasts, followed by five days of jousts, melees, and hunts held to celebrate Baelor Breakspear’s name day were as grand as it could be.
While your husband didn’t partake in any of the potentially harmful activities, the two of you still made your rounds through the nightly balls, as was expected.
“Are you tired?” Valarr asked gently, his hand coming to rest at the small of your back. You were only in your sixth moon, yet there were moments your breath came a little shorter—and he took notice of it.
You glanced up at him, thoughtful for a moment before giving a small shake of your head. “No…”
The soft tune of waltz had already begun and it caught your attention. You had always loved to dance. Turning back to your pliant husband, you looked up with a twinkle in your eyes.
“Dear husband,” you said sweetly, “dance with me?”
Valarr blinked, caught off guard for a brief moment. His gaze dipped instinctively to your belly before returning to your face. “Are you certain? You should not overexert yourself, and besides—”
“Besides?” you echoed, one brow lifting.
He hesitated and that was all it took for your expression to change, a pout forming as you looked away.
“Ah… I see. Perhaps you are embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed...?”
“To be seen with me,” you continued petulantly, your hand resting over the curve of your belly. “A woman grown fat and ungainly with child… I suppose it is not a pleasant sight next to the prince second in line to the throne.”
It took him a good three seconds to take in your words, and a smile spread across his face at the realization—whenever you were with child, you grew softly needy, seeking reassurance in the most endearing ways.
And every time, he found himself just as helpless against it.
His hand came to your face then, turning you back to him, and before you could say another word—
“Mm!” He captured your lips with his.
It was not hurried, nor harsh, but firm enough to squash any foolish thought before it could take root. When he drew back, his warm breath lingered against your lips, and a dashing smile on his face.
“If there is anyone in this hall worth looking upon tonight… it is you— my princess consort of the Seven Kingdoms.”
His thumb brushed along your cheek, mismatched gaze softening as it lingered on you—as though he could not quite fathom how you could think so little of what he held so dear.
“I would move heaven and earth for the right to stand beside you. You—and the child you carry—are my whole world. There is no one who could ever compare.”
Your breath caught slightly at the sincerity in his voice.
“You are beautiful…” he murmured, still smiling, his hand slipping down to rest over yours atop your belly. “More so now than ever. And I would count it an honor to have every eye in that hall see me at your side.”
The tension in your chest eased, your lips curving despite yourself.
“…Then you will dance with me?”
Valarr took your hand in his, lifting it to press a tender kiss against your knuckles, a roguish smile playing upon his lips.
“Always, love.”
And once more, the Young Prince and his princess consort left the court spellbound on the dance floor— dazzling them all with the unwavering devotion they so effortlessly showed one another.
Your union was harmonious… but even the sweetest of bonds was not without trouble in its paradise.
And this time, it was in the form of your husband conjuring terrible images inside his own head after seeing you together with the bastard brother of the king.
“You should keep your distance from him,” Valarr said, his tone stern, and he looked mildly vexed by how you merely crossed your arms before him.
“From Lord Bloodraven?” you replied, glancing at him with a hint of incredulity. “Valarr, I know. I’m not a child.”
His jaw tightened slightly. “Nor do I think you one. But I have told you time and time again— Brynden Rivers is not to be taken lightly. Don’t exchange many words with him, he’ll twist your words sooner or later.”
“I know how to handle him and how to take care of myself!” you returned, your voice sharpening just enough to show blatant irritation.
The very notion that your husband thought you were incapable of navigating the court wounded your pride, and you looked as if you resented him, which Valarr took notice.
“Don’t look at me like that, love. That still doesn’t mean I should stand idle when I feel something is amiss.”
“And it does not mean you must hover over every step I take. You cannot guard me from every shadow you imagine!”
“I speak only of what I see, and what I see is carelessness. In your selfish pursuit to be a princess who pleases everyone as if that is a trophy in and of itself, you are too blind to the consequences of overlooking this.”
A heavy silence fell between you. You had quarrels before—small disagreements born out of concern that twisted into bursts of anger, and usually you would understand him.
But this time, his words pierced you too deep. Selfish pursuit? A princess who pleases everyone? Did he not see it? That everything you did was for his name?
Valarr exhaled quietly, choosing to give in as he realized that he might have been too harsh. “I only wish to keep you safe.”
“And I only wish for you to trust me,” you answered with wobbling lips, though no less firm.
Then suddenly, your breath hitched as the child within you kicked your ribs sharply. Your hand flew to your belly, instinctively soothing it.
“…I am tired, husband,” you decided at last, trying to remain icy and hiding the cold sweat that had run through your spine. “I should rest.”
His expression faltered, regret flickering across his face. For a moment, it seemed he might say more, but whatever it was, he swallowed it down because he feared that pressing further would only upset you more, and it was the last thing he wanted.
“Of course.”
You did not wait for more. Turning, you excused yourself, leaving him standing there.
. . .
The small council chamber that followed felt stifling just as it usually was. King Daeron sat at its head, composed as ever, with Prince Baelor at his side. Across from them sat Brynden Rivers—Lord Bloodraven—his pale gaze as unreadable as the rumors that surrounded him.
Valarr took his place among them, his expression guarded, mood still sour from that argument with you earlier. Though he listened and offered his thoughts when required, there was an edge to him that was apparent to at least his own father.
And when Lord Bloodraven brought up the next topic, his patience had nearly reached its limit.
“There is a matter worth noting... Among the smallfolk, a children’s song has begun to spread.”
Prince Baelor’s brow furrowed. “A song?”
“A foolish one, no doubt,” King Daeron added, though his tone suggested he already disliked where this was going.
“And yet such things have a way of shaping thought,” Lord Bloodraven continued. His gaze shifted to Valarr, giving him a nod. “They speak of the princess.”
Valarr stilled for a moment, before leveling his sharp gaze on him.
“Of her misfortune,” Lord Bloodraven went on, voice calm, almost detached. “Since she has yet to carry a healthy child to term, some have begun to wonder if she bears… a curse. And coupled with the whispers of infidelity with Prince Aerion before, it may be prudent to consider whether the princess consort remains fit to make public appearances amongst the smallfolk—”
To Valarr, that was enough.
“Words are wind, and I will leave them as such,” Valarr said, his voice cutting clean through the chamber, sharp as drawn steel, “But if it is you who are questioning the honor of the princess, or her ability to conceive...”
His gaze locked onto Lord Bloodraven’s, unflinching.
“Then I will consider it a slight against her— and by extension, against me. Mind your tongue, Lord Bloodraven, for I do not take such matters lightly.”
Prince Baelor watched his son closely, absently turning the ring on his finger. In that moment, he saw himself reflected… and yet not entirely. Where Baelor would have tempered his words, Valarr did not. He was bolder, brasher, and less willing to bend for the sake of diplomacy.
So much for the “prince among men” they so often liken him to, Baelor mused, a faint smile on his lips.
King Daeron exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping once against the table. “Enough,” the king said at last. “We will not give weight to idle songs.”
Lord Bloodraven inclined his head slightly, though whether in concession or calculation, none could quite tell.
. . .
Today couldn’t have gone any worse, but fate really decided to test him today, it seemed.
Valarr had barely stepped out into the corridor when hurried footsteps broke through his thoughts.
“Your Grace—!”
He turned sharply. It was your handmaiden, rushing to him while trembling with tears streaking her face.
“Your Grace, we are looking for you!” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath, “the princess—she—she has collapsed!”
For a single, terrible moment, the world fell silent.
And then Valarr had broken into a run.
Fear seized him mercilessly, his steps echoing sharply against the stone halls as he made for your chambers, heart pounding with a dread that made his chest burn.
The doors to your chambers were thrown open without ceremony. Inside, the air was thick— but you were not lying still as he had feared.
You were awake, propped against the pillows, your hand resting over your belly, though your expression was still dazed. Relief struck him so sharply it nearly brought him to his knees.
“What happened?” he demanded from the maester, breathless.
“My prince,” Maester Yormwell greeted, stepping forward. “Her Grace suffered a spell of exhaustion. Too much stress, and perhaps too little rest, but all things considered… she is well.”
Valarr was at your side the moment the maester finished speaking. His hands found your shoulders at once, drawing you into an embrace— yet with a tinge of hesitation, as though he feared holding you too tightly might somehow harm you.
A shuddering breath left him, and your fingers lifted, curling gently into his doublet as you leaned into the familiar comfort of him, seeking his scent.
And then you felt it— the rapid pounding of his heart and tremor running through him.
“Valarr…” your voice still faint, your head swimming slightly as you looked up at him. Just like that, all your grievance vanished, realizing how deeply this had shaken him. “I’m fine.”
But he only shook his head, his grip tightening.
“I should not have argued with you,” he blurted, the words spilling out strained. “Not like that—not when you are— This is my doing. I upset you.”
“It is not—”
“I should have known better.”
“Valarr.” You held him a little tighter, grounding him. “I’m fine,” you said again, more firmly this time, before easing back just enough to look at him. “It was nothing more than a moment’s weakness.”
The blue and brown of his eyes wavered, caught between relief and lingering fear, failing to bring himself to believe it so easily.
But you were insistent in reassuring him. Leaning in, you peppered soft kisses to his neck, your voice gentle against his skin.
“I promise you… this time, both me and the babe are well.”
He drew in another shaky breath before pulling you back into his arms, holding you closer and burying himself in your warmth, as though he could not bear even the smallest distance.
“I’m so… so glad you’re safe,” he choked out against your shoulder. You could have sworn he was near tears himself.
And your heart warmed so much, because this man was still the same kind man you had given your wedding vows to.
Before you knew it, the time for your confinement had come.
The days grew quieter, slower—your world narrowing to the comfort of your chambers as the heavy weight of the child you carried made even the simplest movements a monumental effort.
And most fortunately, you were not alone in it. Brightening your days like the sun, Valarr was always there.
Far more than anyone expected of a prince with duties as many as his, he found his way back to you each time—to the point of stealing moments between council meetings, trainings and all obligations that had kept him away.
You sat propped against a mound of pillows, a soft moan leaving you as you shifted, your hand instinctively reaching for your aching back.
“I swear,” you muttered under your breath, “this child is determined to make a sport of my suffering.”
A quiet chuckle sounded beside you.
“Hmm? Already so wilful, aren’t they,” Valarr mused, settling himself on the bed before gently guiding you back—until you were seated between his legs, your back resting against his chest. His hands came to rest over yours, warm and steady, feeling the firm skin of your belly that housed his babe.
“This child takes after you, I’m sure of it,” you huffed. “I was never so troublesome, my mother can vouch for me.”
He hummed, his chin coming to rest lightly atop your head. “Mm, what a slanderous thing to say. I seem to recall otherwise.”
You tilted your head just enough to shoot him a look, lips pursed. “You are an insufferable prince through and through.”
“And yet,” he said, mismatched eyes twinkling and lips curving, “you chose me.”
You shifted slightly to settle more comfortably against him, though not without a faint wince. His hands went to massage your hips at once, attentive and careful as ever, his expression focused.
“You are far too stiff when you put on the face of Prince of Dragonstone,” you said playfully, eyeing him. “It makes you… rather frightening.”
“Frightening?”
“Yes.” You feigned solemnity as you placed a hand on your chest. “Terribly so. I fear I may be getting nightmares from it. A prince who accuses me of having selfish pursuits...”
You felt him pause, but then he chuckled, warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your face.
“Oh?” His voice changed—dramatic, almost exaggerated, as he gently took your hand and lifted it with mock reverence. “Then perhaps I must remedy that at once.”
You narrowed your eyes, almost bursting out in laughter at the way he composed himself into a princely air.
“Oh, fair lady,” he began, his tone rich with theatrics. “I find myself madly in love with you. Please become my wife. I can offer you fresh meat and wine daily—”
You snorted, swatting his hand away.
“—and soft sheets too,” he winked, leaning closer, a grin tugging at his lips. “What say you? Come with me to Dragonstone? I assure you, this prince is thoroughly harmless.”
Turning within his hold, you faced him with equal dramatics. “How bold of you, to make such an offer to a lady already wed.”
“A tragedy. I shall have to win you over regardless.”
“I fear you shall fail, my prince. My husband would not take kindly to it.”
Valarr’s grin softened, warmth settling in his gaze.
“Then... I suppose I shall simply have to remain him then.”
Your breath caught, just slightly, when suddenly he closed the distance. But this time, there was no jest—only warmth as his lips met yours.
The kiss was deep, unhurried—filled with a warmth and devotion and certainty. He nibbled on your lip, and you pressed yourself closer to him in response.
He shifted, easing your back against the cushions as he hovered over you, mindful as ever—careful not to press any weight, never forgetting the life you carried between you.
His lips brushed yours again and again, softer this time, and while he could not quite bring himself to stop anytime soon, he had to.
“My love,” Valarr murmured against your lips, voice threaded with something achingly tender, “if I had a hundred lives, I would spend each one finding my way back to you.”
When he pulled away, his gaze swept over you, the beauty of his two-colored eyes stilled you in place. His hand came to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin.
“I know more than anyone of what you have gone through.” His gaze was solemn. “And I only regret that I was not strong enough to spare you from it.”
The memory of that bleak birthing chamber and the grief of losing your sons made your chest tighten, tears rising—but he caught your hand, lacing your fingers together and guiding them to rest over your swollen belly.
“I swear it, there is nothing in this world that I wouldn’t cast aside if it meant sparing you pain. And if any hardship remains to come...”
The way he paused made lump rise in your throat. But then your prince smiled that pure, dashing smile of his.
“Then let it find me first. I will stand between you and it all. Be it fear, fate, or the will of gods themselves… I will not yield.”
Your first tear fell, overcome by the weight of his words, while his hold on your hand tightening just a fraction.
“I could not protect you in childbed,” he admitted, “but I will spend the rest of my life ensuring that nothing touches you without first going through me, for as long as I live…”
His forehead rested against yours then, his voice barely above a whisper now—
“You and our child are mine to protect.”
—and you smiled tearfully at what he promised as you knew it to be true.
“Your Grace, it’s alright… take deep breaths— Yes, yes! Just like that!”
Your time had come when on one night, your waters broke just after you’d gone to bed. You had woken up to persistent contractions afterwards, which fully sealed your fate.
You had gone through this twice before, and you learned that there was nothing to be done when pain seized your womb with its merciless hold that made you cry out, except to let it run its course.
You lay on your side on the bed clad only in your shift, eyes closed, whimpering as another pain came over you.
“Valarr—” Your voice faltered, trembling with tears as you clutched your handmaiden’s hand. “W-where is he…? Has he— has he returned…?”
She squeezed your hand in return, promising you before she ran, “I shall fetch the prince, Your Grace!”
Though it was considered improper for men to enter the birthing chamber, Valarr had always been present during all your labors. This time, however, he had ridden into the city on urgent business just as your pains had begun.
And now you were terrified, haunted by the memories of the previous births that led to stillborns— and desperately wanted him here.
. . .
When Valarr was alerted with the news of how your pains had started and that you were asking for him, he marched back towards Red Keep with everything he had.
The doors to the chamber flew open with a force, and Valarr strode in, breathless. His gaze found you at once and something in his expression shattered.
“My love—!”
Your name broke from him as he seized your hand, his grip firm, grounding, as though anchoring you to him might somehow lessen what you endured. You scarcely had time to register his presence before another contraction seized you, fiercer than the last.
“I’m here!” He engulfed you in his embrace as you wept. “I’m here...”
The pains came without mercy, one upon the next, stealing what little rest you might have. Your body trembling as the agony built and built— until your moans dissolved into anguished wails.
Valarr felt his heart splinter.
Your sweet face was drawn tight with suffering, your hair damp and clinging to your skin, your fingers crushing his as though he were the only thing keeping you from being swept away entirely, all the while withstanding the pain he couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Guilt gnawed at him— he was the one who put you in this suffering… and more so when your voice broke:
“No! Please— I can’t! I can’t take this!”
He leaned close at once, pressing his lips to your temple, then to your ear, his voice low, tinted with grief. “Yes, you can, my love. You can. Don’t fight it… Breathe. It will pass.”
Hours blurred into one another, marked by pain and the brief moments of reprieve between. Through it all, Valarr never once let you go. His voice remained at your side, soft and steady, murmuring against your skin.
Until, at last, the maester’s voice broke through the haze.
“Your Grace—it is time. You must push.”
Valarr’s grip tightened around your body, and you bore down, summoning what strength you had left.
Each push felt as though it was tearing you apart, the compelling urge to push with all your might rising until it consumed you as a whole. Your world narrowed to the searing, all-encompassing agony.
“Oh Seven, it hurts!” you wept and your husband pressed another kiss to your temple, trying to soothe you.
“You’re doing so well.” His voice was thick with emotion. “Just a little more… I know you can.”
And so you gave in to your body's demands. Knees bent, you pushed again, feeling your baby move down through your body. Again and again you pushed until the fire between your legs was unbearable, until you felt being split in two, tears endlessly falling from your eyes—
A scream tore itself from your throat.
The pain surged to its peak in one final blazing rush, and with it came a foreign sound.
A weak, feeble cry. Your baby’s first cry.
For one stunned heartbeat, silence swallowed the chamber. Everyone stood frozen as the newborn was caught, while you collapsed back upon the pillows.
“A prince!” the maester cried, joy breaking through at last as he carried the tiny life to be cleaned by the handmaidens. “The princess has given birth to a healthy prince!”
But unlike the others who hastened toward the babe, Valarr did not move. He remained exactly where he was, his eyes never leaving you, who lay unconscious in his arms.
“Love...?” His voice trembled as he leaned over you, his free hand brushing your cheek, his heart lurching violently in his chest. “Stay with me—please—”
Around him, the noise dimmed, the celebration stilled into a breathless hush as all eyes turned back to the bed. They all saw their prince, who ignored his heir, for the sake of the woman he loved.
“Wake up,” he urged softly, desperately, his thumb trembling against your terribly pale form. “Wake up. Please… open your eyes.”
A moment stretched with you staying still.
Then another.
And then—
Your lashes fluttered. A breath seemed to pass through the room all at once.
Relief hit the Young Prince so sharply that he buckled, and a broken sound escaped his chest as he bent to you, pressing a lingering, trembling kiss to your lips.
“You did it,” he whispered, tears spilling now as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You did it, my love. Thank you... Thank you...”
Only when he had made sure you were fine did Valarr finally turn to see his son. Carefully, he took the tiny, swaddled bundle from the maester and placed him gently into your arms, guiding him close to your chest.
“A boy,” he murmured softly, pulling you into his embrace again. “Just as you wished… Isn’t it something? We have a son…”
His hand came to rest over yours, both of you cradling the small, warm weight between you. You were utterly spent, your strength all but gone, and so you leaned into the steady rise of his chest.
This little one was too precious—perfect, with all ten fingers, and not cold like the ones you held in your nightmares. He had drawn his first breath in this world, and in time, he would only grow stronger beneath your care.
A breathless sound left you when the babe stirred and opened his eyes.
Cool blue and warm brown.
“He has your eyes…” you cooed, your voice thick with awe as you looked up at your prince, tears shimmering in your gaze.
Valarr only looked at you. Not at the heir you had just given him— but at you, as though the very sight of you, alive and breathing in his arms, eclipsed all else.
Then, with a tenderness that trembled at its edges, he leaned down and kissed you again.
All those who bore witness to it—the maester, the handmaidens, every soul within that chamber—fell silent, for they knew that their beloved prince and princess had deserved this.
Their lives, once fractured by grief and shadowed by loss, had finally been made whole.
And so the years that followed would come to tell the same story—
Life, at last, had found its completion for the Young Prince and his princess.
Though Prince Valarr had hoped for a daughter he could spoil and cherish as his little princess, it became plain that he doted on his son from the moment he first took him in his arms. The realm delighted in the little prince as well—he was cherished and adored, bearing the fine features of his sire and the gentle disposition of his dam.
Yet even so… there was something all had come to understand. For all the love and pride Prince Valarr bore his son, it never rivaled what lived in his gaze when it fell upon his mother— you, his sweet princess consort of the Seven Kingdoms.
That though he was a devoted father, a proud prince, and one day, hopefully, would be a great king…
Above all else, he was still and forever would be yours.
Fuck that ho, fuck that bitch, It's fuck that ho 'til the condom slip
messy pro hero!kastuki who has beef with your also pro!ex boyfriend and who decides to one up him when he sees you drinking alone at a bar. you guys have been public for a while now, headlines and front pages so to see you sitting alone nursing a glass of whiskey, katsuki is intrigued to say the least. turns out you and your ex had broken up (he is a messy horrible cheater who got caught while in another city with at least three girls) and while you are upset and hurt and kinda heartbroken, you are furious, filled to the brim with a desire for revenge,for retribution and that’s exactly how you find yourself under dynamight with his cock shoved deep within you.
you’re a babbling mess, a mess of lipgloss, spit and tears are smeared across your cheeks. your cunt squeezing and gushing around him and god did he feel good. as if the number one pro wasn’t enough of a good hero, he was a good fuck. already making you cum on his tongue then his fingers and now his cock.
“who’s making you feel this good, baby?” he drawls, pulling his hips back to sit on his hunches as you fuck yourself.
“you” you whine, hips chasing his.
“nuh uh. give me a name, sweetheart.” he tsks, slowly beginning a grind of his hips.
“ ‘s you, dynamight.” your voice stutters out as his thumb comes to press on your clit.
his phone pans up from your sopping pussy, clenching around his bare cock (you never let your ex hit it raw) to your messy, flushed face. his fingers that were once deep in you grip your chin, hard and rough, but not cruel.
“better than your number two hero?”
you nod, words leaving you as he slides two fingers against your tongue.
“need you to say it.”
he presses down on your tongue.
“so much better.” you grin around the digits.
katsuki clicks the phone off, throwing it across the room as he leans over you, kisses being pressed to your jaw, cheek, neck, anywhere he can reach.
“you wanna send it to him?” he is breathless as he returns to fucking his hips into you
“shut up, katsuki.” you push against his chest to roll him over. “just fuck me”
Nanami's hips roll and slap against your skin, the further he thrusts inside you. His entire bedroom smells of sweat and sex, despite several candles of the same scent lit and the window cracked open.
"Are you tired?" His gravelly voice has since gone lower as the moon and stars begin to flitter across the sky. Each syllable he's uttered turns sensual in your ears.
"No." You answer, swiftly locking him in for a kiss.
He wraps your legs around his waist securely and bottoms out again. A heady moan rips from your mouth, and he swallows the sound whole.
Nanami's kisses move to your nose, to the apples of your cheeks, down your throat, and then settle into the baseline between your neck and collarbone. There, he stops and sucks on the crook of it.
The sensation feels too good, rendering you completely into a state of pure bliss and arousal. You swear you hear yourself beg for more, telling him not to stop from both the way he's marking you and the way he's fucking you hopelessly raw.
He might've said something you didn't quite hear or passed a garbled response in return. No matter, you feel the pace quickening and his teeth latching to your skin tighter.
Nanami has never marked you like this before. Oftentimes, they were purely accidental, and they're almost always in discreet places where both of you fail to notice them. But, tonight, when you ask him to cover you with his marks, with something entirely Nanami, he pauses.
He isn't one to lose control easily. He is someone who does things with precision and careful considerations. Even then, a simple mishap can undoubtedly be rectified with alternative solutions.
Thus, an impulsive action such as this is unlike any he has ever committed before. There is a subtle bewilderment marring across his features, though anyone who doesn't know him to the extent that you do would have deduced that Nanami looks like he's only thinking.
There, in his eyes, is an undulated discovery of something quite like finding a secret that only he can have.
"Kento," you call out, cupping his cheeks. "What is it?"
He leans into the touch and kisses your palm. His thumb occasionally brushes the fresh bruise he caused. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't hurt, my love." You say. "If that's what you're worried about."
Nanami's smile appears at the corner. You feel it quirk up against the corner of your hand. "I know, darling."
"Can we continue?" You lightly tease, tapping your foot against the dimple of his lower back.
Nanami tilts your head over to the left. The other side of your unmarked neck becomes visible. He leans down to you, his breath only a whispering distance from your skin.
"Let me," he coaxes before he sucks on the unblemished skin.
His hands travel back to your thighs, massaging them repeatedly, ridding you of pins and needles. His thrusts never cease, as if all that stored energy he has had from being a sorcerer has done him well to maintain a consistent amount of stamina.
As Nanami moves to mark each underside of your breasts next, he guides your arms to his head where he insists that you run your fingers through his hair.
"Oh, shit, baby," you moan near his ears.
"Hmm," his voice vibrates.
"So good, my love."
Nanami momentarily pulls out. He guides your head on a fluffed pillow before he angles you in a venus butterfly position.
His lips move closer to the top of your sopping mound, where he sucks just right above your clit. You grip his hair hard, accidentally yanking a couple of strands. You couldn't even form an apology afterwards, because Nanami never stops his lustful drive. He bites against your skin, pulls your pubic hair teasingly, and moans languidly at the euphoric feeling of it all.
"Oh, my God! Kento! Wait! T-Too much!"
"Pull harder." He grits his teeth, looking at you through your curled bush. "I don't care. Just pull if you must."
Maybe because it's your cunt and it's been sensitive for the past few hours after coming several times, and it's also because it's near your clit where in replacement of his cock, his fingers resume the pounding, and maybe it's because it's simply Nanami Kento — whatever reason it can be, you never expect that when Nanami gives you a hickey right there, it's probably the most intense feeling you've ever felt than any of the hickeys he's given you so far.
And you wonder, why have you two not done this before?
You're left squirming for what little control you can find: none. Your hands scramble to the sheets, gripping them tightly before Nanami forces them back into his hair, demanding that if there's anything you're going to have to hold as he continues, it's going to be him.
"Baby," you call out in a daze. "T-Too much. Too sensitive."
"Just one more." He kisses your clit. "We'll be finished soon."
You must have agreed because it isn't just one more as he declared. Nanami scatters his marks everywhere around your body like constellations. They come in different sizes, each with their own sense of claim. He makes sure, however, that even when he discovers just how wonderful you are with the hickeys he's created, he wouldn't go overboard.
But the one thing he loves most from his work? It's that blotch of purple on your pussy.
"You look beautiful." He says in admiration, his index finger playfully twisting around your pubic hair.
You lean into his touch when he scoops you in his arms and embraces you tightly. "I want to give you one, too."
Nanami smooths your hair. "When you're well-rested. I will let you."
SUMMARY: You are not adjusting well to Westeros. Luckily, your husband is patient and kind and gentle. Unluckily, all of the other ladies in the Realm are aware of this as well. There are certain difficulties being married to Westeros’s most yearned-for prince, and after one miserable feast too many, everything you have been so desperately trying to quietly endure comes crashing down once you get your husband alone.
WARNINGS: fem!reader, hurt/comfort, reader is foreign (from Qarth), Westeros-typical xenophobia, starts with reader being jealous but escalates into a whole breakdown of her not feeling welcome in westeros, Valarr is also jealous/possessive at certain points.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I genuinely am not sure where this came from, I don’t even remember writing most of it last night LOLLL I think I woke up from a fever dream at 4 am and banged most of this out, no joke. BUT sometimes a girl just needs to have a very, very justified crashout with a husband who will listen and comfort </3 Valarr I love you euhuhuhuhu Also, got to explore some Westeros-typical xenophobia, which we will see more of in the HTTYD universe after Volantene reader comes to Westeros w/Aerion—but specifically, how bad it likely gets post-Dornish unification when the Storm lords and Reach lords are already losing their mind over Dornish influence in court, and now also having to deal with some foreign Essosi girls being married to their princes. No Kiera erasure here :P Kiera still comes to Westeros, but to marry Matarys, and her and reader become very very close companions. Anyway, enjoy, and ignore any errors I didn't edit LOL! Comments and reblogs v appreciated
“I was looking for you at the feast,” Valarr says as he enters your chambers. You can hear the frown in his voice as he shrugs off his cloak and tosses it on the chair on the opposite side of the room. “Why is it that I had to hear from my cousin that my wife left early because she was feeling unwell?”
You press your lips together, not answering him as you stare out the window—east, to the Blackwater, the Narrow Sea, and beyond. Far, far beyond. Your jaw is tight, and your throat is tight, and your chest is tight, and your eyes already sting—you have been here for two hours already, and he has only just returned. Did he only just realize you were missing?
The irritation drains from his voice as he pauses, looking in your direction and catching the tension in your shoulders. He says quietly, “You are upset with me.”
You stiffen when you hear him make his way over to you, raising your chin when you feel the cushions dip behind you. You exhale hard through your nose as his fingers ghost the nape of your neck, brushing your hair over one shoulder so that he can press his lips there.
You bristle instantly.
“Oh my,” Valarr murmurs—he has the nerve to sound amused, you can picture the boyish grin curling at his lips, and it enrages you. The nerve. “You are very upset with me.”
“Unhand me, you lecherous cur,” you snap, shifting further away. “I shall catch the pox if your touch lingers too long.”
You hear the smile in his voice as he asks, “And what have I done to deserve such a vicious accusation, ñuha jorrāelagon?”
My love.
His High Valyrian is honeyed as ever, soft and sweet to your ears, the endearment enough to make lesser women melt, but you are not lesser women, so you only toss him a furious look, because how dare he play the fool as though he doesn’t know what he’s done? How dare he try to abate your anger with sweet nothings?
“What have you done?” you echo furiously, gaze cutting as you whirl around to face him. Loathsome man—you hate that he is beautiful, and you hate that even in the face of your rage, his eyes are soft and adoring. “You shame me, that is what you have done.”
Valarr tilts his head to the side slightly, a glimmer of calculation and confusion in his mismatched eyes as he searches your face—as though he does not know what he has done, how he has shamed you. You detest him.
“Tell me how I have shamed you,” he says softly, shifting closer still. Loathsome, loathsome, loathsome—he lifts his hand to brush the pads of his fingers against your cheekbone, and when you try to pull away, he holds your chin lightly, keeping you in place, forcing you to look at him. “Tell me, so that I may fix it.”
You almost bite him for that—for the softness in his voice and the fondness in the eyes, the way he looks at you as though you are something precious to him when he has spent the better part of the evening making a spectacle of you before half of the court, letting that Lannister woman parade around on his arm.
“You should know already,” you hiss.
“I do not,” he says, and he sounds earnest. You despise him. Loathsome man. His thumb glides over your lower lip, free hand coming up so that he can cradle your face between them both. “If I have wronged you, I would hear it from your lips.”
You think to spurn him some more, to press your hands to his chest and shove him away, to leave your chambers and go seek out—seek out who? You have no one in this wretched keep. Your brothers are all back home, six thousand miles away, because your wretched father sold you to the Targaryens for trade. And your wretched friends—who were never truly your friends, clearly—abandoned you the moment they realized you would no longer be able to bolster their standing when you are three seas away.
You are alone. All you have is a wretched husband—a man you were promised would be gallant and charming and respectful, only for him to spend the evening smiling at another woman while the court watched to see how his foreign bride would react.
They hate you—they have hated you since the moment you arrived on your father’s gilded ships, smiling to your face and scorning you the second your back is turned. They pray for illness and poor health, that an accident would befall you, so that Valarr might take one of their Andal daughters to wife instead, and—
—and the cruelest part of it all is that, in this wretched court with these wretched people, the only person who has ever made you feel wanted is your wretched husband.
Valarr leans in to press his lips against yours when you do not immediately respond, soft and gentle as he always is, trying to ease the answer out of you.
A wavering sigh escapes you before you can stop it, and you melt into him far too easily, because Valarr is loathsome and wretched. You detest him, and you despise him, but he is—he is insufferably good to you. Has been since the moment the two of you were introduced, in spite of the fact that he was as forced into this marriage as you. He is as gallant and charming as you were promised, much as you wish him to be otherwise, and he treats you as though you are not some foreign prize ferried across three seas to warm his bed and strengthen alliances, but someone he chooses and wants.
It is the worst part of it, because if he were cruel and disrespectful, you think you could hate him properly.
“You are wretched,” you whisper against his mouth, voice unsteady with the remnants of your anger. “You stand there all evening with that woman draped upon your arm, smiling at her as though she were the Sun Maiden herself, and then you come here and kiss me as though I am meant to simply forgive you.”
Valarr draws back only enough to look at you, brows knitting together slightly.
“The Lannister girl?”
You glare at him. “Yes, the Lannister girl, you witless dragon.”
To your mounting fury, understanding finally flashes across his face, and then amusement follows close behind it.
You shove at his chest immediately. “Do not laugh at me.”
Valarr catches your wrists before you can shove him too far, laughter warm and breathless as he presses a quick kiss to the inside of your palm. He pulls you closer to him, one hand sliding around your lower back to drag you into his lap, and you hate that your arms instinctively slink around his shoulders. You hate that your anger dissipates, and you hate that the fury on your face drains into a pout, that you have to chew the inside of your cheek to stop the tears from building in your eyes.
You hate everything about this. You are not so weak, but weeks of suffering through this snake pit have taken their toll on you.
The amusement fades from his expression when he sees yours, one hand lifting to caress your cheek gently.
“I was alone,” you say, grateful that your voice doesn’t break. “I am always alone in this awful place. You are the only person I have, and you abandoned me to let that girl cling to you. If you wish to take a proper Westerosi wife, you are free to do so, but divorce me and let me return home. Do not force me to endure such humiliation.”
“Now, that is a bit drastic,” Valarr murmurs, and your lashes flutter as his fingers drag lightly along the nape of your neck, tangling in your hair to pull your head down so that he might ghost his lips against your forehead. “Why ever would I divorce you when I have only just managed to convince you to tolerate me?”
You make a soft, offended sound that he swallows with another lingering kiss to your lips. He tastes of honey and wine; you let out a breath that is far too shaky as his arms tighten around you, one hand soothing up and down your back.
“I am serious,” you mutter. “You make light of everything.”
“Only because you speak as though I have cast you aside for a girl I scarcely noticed.” His thumb rubs small circles into the small of your back. “Look at me, wife.”
You do not wish to. You fear if you do, he will see the tears that have started to gather in your eyes, and your pride has suffered enough tonight. You meant to stay angry and silent, but it is hard to do so when Valarr is—well, Valarr.
He waits anyway, because he always does, and when you still refuse to do as he says, he hooks two fingers beneath your chin, and tilts your face upward so gently that you barely bite back a whine. There’s a softness in his face, an undeniable fondness that makes your heart ache.
“I did not abandon you,” he tells you quietly. “I left your side because Lord Lannister cornered me to speak of the new trade agreements with Qarth and his daughter decided to preen while doing so.” His thumb brushes beneath your eye to catch a tear before it can fall. “Had I known you were miserable, I would have returned immediately. I thought my cousins were taking care to ensure you were not alone.”
“You should have known,” you say, spiteful, voice sullen.
“Yes,” he agrees easily, without argument. “I should have. Forgive me.”
You falter, because you prepared yourself for his infuriating charm and smooth talk, not for an apology—especially not one so genuine.
Valarr exhales softly through his nose, gaze roaming over your face before he rests his forehead down on your shoulder, arms curling a bit tighter around your waist until your bodies are flush. You let out a shaky breath before burying your face in his soft hair, eyes sliding shut.
“The Lannister girl is not what really upset you,” Valarr says quietly after a moment—it is a question, but it is not phrased as one, and you stiffen. You do not respond, but you do not need to. He knows the answer already. He admits reluctantly, as though the realization pains him to speak aloud, “I do not know how to make you happy here.”
“I am happy,” you say immediately, an instinctive, courtly answer, a lie that tastes like poison on your tongue.
“Do not lie to me,” he tells you, and then he lets out another heavy breath. You see his jaw tighten slightly before he speaks again. “I…” He hesitates, trying to find the words. “I thought if I loved you enough, the rest would matter less.”
You inhale at his words, watching as he pulls back to look at you again. The grief in his eyes makes your stomach turn.
“It is not you who makes me unhappy,” you say, because guilt eats at you. Valarr is the only person trying to make you feel comfortable in this wretched place—he goes out of his way to ensure you are included, to make you feel wanted and welcome, and you—you what? You turn on him the moment he glances away? As though none of the rest matters? You feel embarrassed suddenly, mortification rolling waves in your stomach and chest, because Valarr has tried. He has tried so hard, so desperately, and here you are making a mess of everything, because of a tantrum over something beyond his control. “Valarr, I—”
“Hush,” he chides, leaning in to swallow your words with another kiss. “I understand. You do not need to explain yourself to me.”
The tears fall in earnest at that, rolling over your cheeks silently as you stare at him. You are the wretched one—wretched and miserable, you have been blessed with a marriage to a man most women would kill for, and you ruin it with your gloom. Love from Valarr should be enough to outweigh the rest, so why isn’t it?
Valarr clicks his tongue lightly, lifting his hands so his thumbs can wipe your tears as they fall.
“None of that,” he murmurs. “I do not know what is running through that beautiful mind of yours right now, but enough of it. I know this is not an easy transition for you—you are six thousand miles away from your home and family, in a strange place with stranger people. I do not begrudge you for struggling to find your place here, nor for being upset when alone. I should not have left you.”
“I want you to be enough,” you say, and you mean it. You mean it so desperately—you need him to understand. This is not—it is not of your choosing; if you had it your way, this would be enough. “I want to be happy here.”
“I know,” he says gently, holding the weight of your head in the palm of his hand as you lean into him. “I know, ñuha jorrāelagon.”
“They all hate me,” you tell him. When his brows furrow and lips part to deny it, you continue before he can, “I can tell. Do not deny it.”
Valarr doesn’t respond for a long time, and then he says quietly, “You are beautiful, and you are my wife, and their daughters are not. You arrived on gilded ships with enough wealth to shame the majority of lords in Westeros, and then had the audacity to capture the affection of a prince they had long hoped to claim for themselves. They would have hated you even if I did not adore you so openly. They hate men for much, much less.”
“It is not fair,” you say, voice weak and childish. “I have given up so much for their favor. I dress how they expect. I speak how they expect. I act how they expect. I celebrate their holy days with them, and I go to the temples of their gods, and—”
“I know,” Valarr cuts in gently again, stroking your hair.
“Then why? What more must I do for them to accept me?”
Valarr doesn’t reply for a long while, an unreadable expression on his face. “Do not give up anything more for them,” he says. Your face twists, but before you can rebuke his words, he continues, “I mean it. The only thing that will help is time—I do not want you to cut away parts of yourself to satisfy the likes of vultures who would strip you of everything if given the chance.”
“It is easy for you to say,” you scoff bitterly. “You do not have half of the lords in this keep praying for your ill health and accidents to befall you. It is only a matter of time before their prayers turn to action.”
Valarr goes very still and very quiet. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the crackling of the fireplace, and you realize you have made a terrible mistake.
His hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holding you close as something cold flickers briefly through his eyes—your husband is gallant and charming, and he loves you despite the circumstances. Your husband is also a Targaryen, and the blood of the dragon runs hot through his veins; madness and greatness are always one flip away from the other. It is tamer in Valarr compared to his cousins, but it is there nonetheless.
“Who?” he asks softly. The quietness of it chills you more than shouting would have.
You shake your head immediately, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He lets you, but his fingers remain stiff in your hair, body tense and coiled against yours.
“It does not matter.”
“It does to me,” he says. “You think someone in this keep means you harm. You think they pray for your death so openly that you have come to expect attempts on your life—and you would have me ignore it?”
You shouldn’t have said anything. You know this court better now than you did when you first arrived; you know how quickly whispers become accusations, and how quickly accusations become bloodshed when dragons are involved. Valarr has always seemed gentler than the rest of his kin—arrogant, maybe, but what prince is not? He is easy laughter and soft smiles, and it lulls you into a false sense of security, because you forget he is still a prince of House Targaryen. Still fire and blood.
“It was only a figure of speech,” you murmur, another lie.
“You do not speak carelessly, wife.”
You fall silent at that, because he is right—you do not.
Valarr exhales hard through his nose. “Who has threatened you?”
“No one.”
“Who has frightened you, then?”
You do not answer, looking away. “I do not want to talk about this anymore.”
Valarr’s jaw tightens, frustration flashing across his face briefly. For a moment, he looks as though he wants to fight, but then he concedes, “Very well. But this will not be the last we speak on this.”
His hands slide under your thighs, and your eyes slide shut, arms tightening around his shoulders as he rises to his feet with your body wrapped around his, carrying you over to the bed and laying you back gently on it. He slips out of his tunic and leathers before joining you beneath the covers.
You immediately curl into his side, pressing your face into the warm skin of his shoulder, sliding one leg between his to be as close to him as possible. His arms wrap tight around you, holding you impossibly closer.
“You are wrong,” he says after a moment, and your brows furrow. “Not everyone dislikes you in this keep. My family adores you, and that, I fear, is one of the greatest accomplishments a person can claim, considering most of them can barely tolerate each other.”
“That is not true,” you say immediately, lips pursed.
“It is,” Valarr insists. “My father and brother love you. They cherish the mornings you join them in the library. They like hearing your stories of Qartheen culture and the Far East. My father wishes to broach the subject of you joining them more often, but he does not want you to feel obligated to come.”
“Oh,” you say, voice wobbly again, eyes suddenly very wet.
“And the twins adore you,” he continues. “Aelora gave quite the verbal lashing to a Marcher lord who spoke poorly of our union—” Of you, he means, because no one in this keep would speak poorly of Valarr, the perfect prince. “—and Aelor threatened to have him whipped if he ever repeated such a thing again. They do not forget the day you found Uncle Rhaegel teetering on the edge of a balcony in the west tower and looked after him until they were able to come and retrieve him.”
“I did not know that,” you whisper.
“And gods know how you managed to gain the affection of Uncle Maekar’s sons—”
“Affection is a stretch,” you disagree.
“You do not know my cousins like I do, wife,” Valarr says with a wry smile. “It is affection, I must insist. I have never seen Aerion so captivated when someone speaks the way he is when you do.”
Your face feels hot. “It is only because he is interested in Qartheen magic and our warlocks. He wants to visit the House of the Undying.”
“I digress, both Aunt Shiera and Uncle Brynden are well-versed in magic, and Aerion is hardly so starry-eyed when he badgers them for information,” Valarr counters dryly, though there is something pinched in his voice that piques your curiosity. “And even you cannot deny that Daeron is enamored by you—I have caught him reciting poetry for you in his drunken ramblings. You have thoroughly charmed him, that is clear.”
This time, there is no denying the bitterness in his voice. You smile against his skin.
“Are you jealous, husband?” you ask, peeking up from his shoulder to look at the way his jaw is tight.
“In truth, I have contemplated tossing them both into the Blackwater a concerning number of times this past week,” he admits flatly.
A laugh startles out of you before you can stop it, and the flat line of his mouth softens at the sound. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead, long and lingering.
“Daeron cornered me for an hour last week to ask whether you prefer sweet wines or dry ones,” he continues after a moment, bitter. “Claimed he wished to ‘better understand Qartheen tastes’ as though I am foolish enough to not realize what he is really doing.”
Your eyes crinkle. “That explains the odd assortment of wines he brought to the gardens when I was there reading, then.”
Valarr lets out an exasperated sigh. “To think my own cousin is trying to woo my wife away from me,” he mutters, “and so shamelessly at that. To think he has the nerve to ask my advice on how to go about it.”
You find yourself giggling despite yourself. “He is sweet,” you say at last. “Harmless.”
“He is a Targaryen prince,” Valarr says dryly. “We are very rarely harmless.”
You are smiling openly now, warmth spreading through your chest as the void of loneliness is filled little by little. You had thought yourself so isolated here, so painfully unwanted, that you never considered anyone beyond Valarr might genuinely care for you.
The realization leaves your throat terribly tight.
Valarr notices at once, expression softening as he tilts your face up toward him to brush his lips against yours gently. Once. Twice. Three times. You think you could lose yourself in the taste and feel of him.
“My brother is to be married soon,” Valarr says after a moment, fingers stroking your hair absently. “To the daughter of the Tyroshi Archon—my father finalized the betrothal this morning. I hope, perhaps, the two of you will get along, since she will also be far from home. It may make court easier for you, to have someone who understands what it is to arrive here alone in a foreign land—a companion.”
You peek up at him again, blinking once. Tyrosh. He presses his lips to your forehead. You say, voice small, “The Tyroshi like dyes and hats. I am not versed in them. What if we cannot find common ground?”
Valarr pauses, and then says, far too amused, “I think you will have enough common ground that you need not be familiar with dyes and hats.”
“Do not mock me,” you mutter.
“I am trying very hard not to.”
“You are failing.”
“Terribly,” he admits.
You make a wounded sound and attempt to bury your face back against his shoulder, but Valarr catches your chin before you can escape, smiling as he brushes his thumb along your cheek.
“Wife,” he says gently, “I promise you the Tyroshi girl will not arrive here expecting expertise in dyes and hats.”
“Perhaps I should read up on them just in case,” you say, gaze flitting away briefly. “Qarth is—it is a far cry from any of the Free Cities. Very different… very far. She might think me strange, and if I am strange, then everyone here will be strange to her. It would be good to have common ground in interests, so that she can keep some of home with her at least with me. I think it would make her more comfortable, don’t you?”
Valarr’s expression changes at once, and there is something devastating in the way he looks at you now—so warm and tender, so sickeningly fond that it makes heat creep up the back of your neck. Valarr loves you; he loves you so deeply and so openly that it is impossible for anyone to deny, not with the way he looks at you as though you are the most precious thing in the world. You gnaw at your bottom lip, unable to hold his gaze when he looks at you like this. He kisses your temple again, long and lingering, and then sighs against your skin.
“You are worried about making her comfortable,” he realizes quietly.
You blink. “Well, yes.”
You remember too vividly what it felt like to arrive here alone, standing in a hall full of people smiling at you with teeth instead of warmth. If the Tyroshi girl is lonely, if she looks around this court and feels swallowed whole by it, you do not want her to feel the way you did.
“You are extraordinary,” he murmurs. “I do not know how I got so lucky.”
Heat floods your face immediately. “I am speaking about dyes and hats, Valarr. Do not be ridiculous.”
“You are speaking about a girl you have never met and worrying over how to make her feel welcomed in a foreign court despite the fact that you yourself are still struggling here.” His mouth curves softly. “You do not even realize how lovely you are, do you?”
You scowl weakly. “You are biased.”
“Hopelessly,” he agrees, so sincerely that it makes you embarrassed. He adds after a moment, “You know what I think will happen?”
You eye him warily. “What?”
“I think the Tyroshi girl will arrive terrified.”
Your brows knit slightly. You know this. That is exactly what you are trying to prepare for.
“I think she will spend the voyage rehearsing how she ought to speak and smile,” Valarr continues, voice soft. Yes, she will, you agree, because that is what you did, too. “I think she will step into court and immediately realize she is being examined like a prized horse at market.” His thumb strokes slowly along your cheekbone. “And then I think she will meet you.”
Something in your chest twists painfully.
“She will see another woman who crossed the world alone,” he says. “Another woman who survived it, and learned this court well enough to navigate it gracefully despite how cruel it can be.” His lips curve faintly. “And then she will cling to you desperately for guidance while you panic over whether or not you understand hats sufficiently.”
You let out a startled laugh despite yourself. Valarr smiles at the sound instantly, gaze unbearably warm.
“There she is,” he murmurs quietly. “You look less like you wish to flee back across the seas now.”
“You make it very difficult to remain angry with you.”
“That is because I am devastatingly charming,” he says, ghosting his lips against your nose, over your eyelids, your forehead, settling on the top of your head. “Ask anyone.”
“You are insufferable, is what you are.”
He hums in agreement. “And yet, you cling to me still. I cannot be so insufferable then, can I?”
“I told you not to mock me, husband. My homeland is fond of its poisons—you might find sweet death laced in your wine should you push too far,” you threaten, but there is a smile in your voice, hidden against his shoulder, and his chest rumbles as he huffs out a laugh.
“I will endure the risk if it means I get to have you curled in my arms like this, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he murmurs, all warmth and devotion as he tucks you closer into his chest.
You lay like that with him for a long while, basking in his warmth and the comfort of his arms, eyes sliding shut as the drowsiness finally hits you, all of the day's stress and excitement sinking in.
You murmur at last, “You smiled at her too much,” before you can stop yourself. Then you add for clarification, “The Lannister woman.”
He vows, “I shall never smile at anyone besides you again.”
“I will poison you if you do.”
His fingers trail up and down your side, gentle and adoring, lulling you to sleep. “A just punishment, certainly. I should expect nothing less from my fearsome wife.”
You make a soft, sleepy sound at that, too exhausted to muster another threat, and Valarr smiles faintly against your hair.
Valarr’s fingers continue their slow path along your side, absent and affectionate. You think he believes you are half asleep already by the way he presses another kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment too long.
“You frightened me tonight,” Valarr admits quietly after a while.
Your lashes flutter slightly, but your eyes do not open. Your words are half slurred together as you ask sleepily, “I frightened you?”
“You spoke as though you truly believed I would cast you aside,” he murmurs. “That you were unwanted by me.”
You do not know how to reply to that, because a part of you had believed it, for a moment. You were forced upon him through politics and trade, and the rest of the court has made its opinions clear on you. You had let the insecurities get the best of you, with people around you whispering poison so sweetly it began to sound like truth.
“I choose you,” he says when you do not respond, fingers stroking your side again. “Not for your father’s ship and your family’s wealth. Not for trade with Qarth and access to the Jade Gates. You—because you do not look down on my brother for not taking to the sword the way everyone else expects him to, because my father’s eyes light up every time the two of you speak, because you ease the burden that weighs on my shoulder just by being in the same room as me. Because you are good and kind and worry about making sure another girl is comfortable here, when you still struggle yourself. Given the chance and opportunity to pick any woman in Westeros or Essos, I will always pick you—and anyone in this court who is bold enough to try to harm you will find themselves begging the gods for mercy before I am through with them.”
“You are very foolish,” you whisper weakly, barely awake.
Valarr’s lips curve. “Desperately so.”
“There are easier women,” you say quietly. “Women who your court would accept, who—”
“I do not want easier women,” he cuts in immediately. “I want you, and only you. I try very hard to be a good man—to follow in my father’s footsteps—but I would do terrible things to anyone who dared try to take you from me.”
Your chest aches. Loathsome man.
“I love you,” you say quietly, eyes heavy and voice slow, the steady beat of his heart and strokes of his fingers still doing quick work at ensuring you are half to sleep already.
“And I you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “Sleep, ñuha jorrāelagon. No one shall ever touch you while I draw breath.”
max loves having his arms around you. he loves showing you off, his pretty girl always tucked by his side with an arm draped lazily over your shoulders. he’ll pull you impossibly close without even thinking about it, his big arms keeping you right where he wants you, knowing exactly how flustered it makes you
OH, MUSE?
☆ sex in the studio with jinu. smut, mdni.
jinu was like a feral, rabid dog. maybe it was because he hadn't had sex in more than four hundred years. possibly. probably. were you complaining? nah. not really.
technically, you were only there for moral support, maybe even to be a sounding board for him, to listen to any ideas he rattled off. that didn't last long, not at all. in his defense, he really did try to focus, but you looked so pretty. you were wearing that cute, little skirt, with your lips all glossy.
for him, it was kind of a lost cause. from there, it didn't take too long for you to be bent over the table, the cool slab digging into your skin. your hands, slick with sweat, desperately tried to ground you. jinu's fingers pressed into your waist, sure to leave bruises for the next day.
his hips snapped brutally against your ass, the lewd sound of skin against skin echoing in the room. jinu groaned, "fuck, you're such a distraction," as if he weren't the one who started this. "so tight, though. m—makes up for it."
he leaned forward, the canines of his teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder, hard enough for you to cry out. "please, jinu—i can't," you whined, voice hitching.
"yeah, you fuckin' can." jinu's pace was cruel, and his cock stretched you, leaving your poor cunt fluttering around him, trying to accommodate his size.
for someone who hadn't had sex in so long, you would think it'd take time for his stamina to build up. it didn't. for every time he came once, you were coming twice on his thick length, teary-eyed and trembling.
weeks later, when you were listening to the saja boys' latest hit song, for the first time, something in the background music sounded terrifyingly familiar. "oh, my god, jinu," you gasped, pointing accusingly at him. "is that us? are those my… noises?"
he sighed, but there wasn't a hint of remorse. in fact, he was grinning. "what can i say, baby? you're my muse."
bakugo struggling to stay focused while he holds his phone in one hand, the other in your hair, practically petting you. that look in your eyes, the way you're looking up at him from the floor, between his legs...he can practically see hearts in your eyes and it's making him throb.
"hey, dude, are you listening?"
fuck. he almost forgot that kirishima is on the other line, completely unaware of everything he was said beforehand. "no, say it again, and clearer this time," he huffs, voice low and clearly peeved he couldn't give you his full attention.
who wouldn't be when their girlfriend is looking up at them with lidded eyes, drooling on their thigh while fucking herseld on a thick, ribbed dildo while cooing their name over and over again, promising she could wait until he got the rest of the incident information from kiri.
and yet, he was still struggling to listen, trying to remember the words he's saying before he tugs you a little bit harder than he means too, causing you to let out a cute little noise and fall forward right into his crotch, face pressed against his hard on.
and then you just have to be a dirty fucking slut and take a deep breath before moaning his name, licking a stripe right over his cock through his jeans.
"what the fuck, baby."
he doesn't give kiri a chance to question him, immediately hanging up before grabbing your head with both hands and grinding against your face. "you're so fucking nasty, you know that? dirty little slut getting off on huffing my dick through my jeans," he groans through gritted teeth, practically humping his dick against your lips. "'m gonna cum in my jeans like a loser, but you're gonna clean it up for me while you keep bouncing on that toy. then i'm gonna call kiri back and you're gonna be good and moan nice and loud so he knows why i'm distracted, got it?"
summary: jack meets the shop keeper and her daughter
tags: soft! jack, kid fic, found family, kissing, rum, fluff and angst
a/n: love you all!!!!
“Penelope, please don’t play with the bottles.” You scold, biting back a small smile at your three-year-old, who looks up at you with a toothy smile.
“Mommy, listen!” She hits the bottles together, giggling happily.
“I know, my love, but that could break them, and we could get hurt. Can you put them away?” She huffs but nods, scurrying off. The bell above the door rings, and you spin around to face the customer. Your glance narrows, and your shoulders stiffen, realising he might be a pirate. “Good morning… can I help you?” He smiles.
“Aye, lass. Only if you’ve got gun powder.”
“I’ve got seven barrels.” He nods, thinking it over for a long moment.
“I’ll give ye–”
“Mommy!” Penelope screams happily, running into the back of your legs, peeking out to look at the man. He smiles, crouching down to her level with a wave.
“Who’s this young lassie?” Your hand protectively moves to her hair.
“My name’s Penelope .” She says gently, words fumbling in her mouth.
“Well, my name is Jack.” Penelope waves, and Jack feels something odd rush over him at the sight of the young girl before standing up to meet your eyes again.
“I’ll give you fifty shillings for the gunpowder and a few bottles of rum.” Your jaw drops, words lost on you for a moment.
“I– deal.” You nod. “Do you need help moving it?” He shakes his head.
“I’ll have my crew do it. Don’t need a gorgeous woman such as yourself doing the work.” You watch him set a bag of shillings on the counter before moving to the bottles and scanning the labels.
“Take… whichever you’d like.” You offer gently, counting the coins. He turns with a toothy grin, bottles nestled in his arms.
“You deserve that.” He winks before stepping out of the shop. A small hand tugs softly at your skirt, and you look down at Penelope.
“Is the funny man gonna come back?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.
⛀⛁
“You paid fifty shillings… for this? What the hell were you thinking, Jack?” Elizabeth scolds, Will disapprovingly shaking his head behind her.
“Don’t question my decisions as captain.”
“As pirate king, I have every right to! We’ll raid the shop if we have to!” The click of Jack’s pistol reloading fills the air as Will protectively pulls Elizabeth behind him.
“Do not raid that shop. Get the cargo in the hold and get going.” He growls, making everyone exchange glances.
⛀⛁
Jack watches the water pass the side of the ship, mindlessly tracing circles against the wood. “Are you alright?” Will asks gently, stepping beside him. “You haven’t been yourself since Tortuga.” Jack waves him off mindlessly, not saying a word. “Something had to have happened to leave Jack Sparrow speechless.”
“Twas nothing to bother yourself over, Turner.”
“Don’t know if I believe you with how much money you blew.”
“She needed it.” Will’s brows shoot up, a soft noise of astonishment leaving his mouth before he snorts.
“Remember when you told me not all treasure is gold? Do we need to circle back to that?” Jack rolls his eyes at Will’s teasing tone.
“She needed the money.”
“Why? So do we?”
“We’re fine! This is my ship!”
“You can’t just blow fifty shillings!” Will yells, catching the attention of the crew, who watch in silence. Jack seethes for a long moment before drawing his sword. Will mirrors his actions, beginning to fight Jack with an angry grunt. Jack was sloppier than usual, fumbling simple moves.
“What are you two doing?” Elizabeth shouts, making both of them pause, shoulders heaving with exertion.
“Nothing, darling.” Will scowls, blocking a cheap hit from Jack.
“Put your swords down, now,” Elizabeth instructs, making both men freeze, but sigh and listen to the woman. “Who initiated?”
“Jack.” Cotton’s parrot calls out, making Elizabeth scowl.
“What is wrong with you?” Jack scoffs.
“Nothing is wrong!”
“You’re a liar,” Will grumbles,
“She needed it!”
“Who, Jack?” Elizabeth draws her sword, holding the tip against Jack’s throat.
“The shopkeeper.” He grumbles under her breath, making Elizabeth raise a brow.
“Care to elaborate?”
“No. I don’t.”
⛀⛁
The bell dings above the door as you move to wash your hands, and excited footsteps from Penelope moving into the room. “Mommy! Mommy! The funny man is back!” Your turn to face her, gently lifting her.
“Shall we go say hi?”
“Yes, please!” She squeals eagerly as you step back onto the floor with a light smile, noticing the two unfamiliar faces beside Jack. Penelope eagerly wiggles out of your arms, rushing into Jack’s.
“Hello, little Penelope .” His small fingers tug gently at his locks, and the two strangers watch, displeased.
“Fuuny man!” She giggles happily.
“Well, that’s not me name.” Penelope’s head tilts curiously. “It’s Jack.”
“Jackie!” She squeals, wiggling happily in his grip.
“This is what you wasted our shillings on?” The woman butts in, making your smile falter, and your back straighten.
“Happily,” Jack smiles, watching Penelope.
“We need at least thirty shillings back.” The man beside Jack says, his gaze turning to you. You glance between him and Jack, face falling in panic.
“Don’t listen to him,” Jack assures, stepping closer to you with a soft grin.
“I cannot give it back. I’ve already paid the debt collector and my vendors.” You explain in a whisper, Jack’s gaze softening at your stress.
“I hope you bought the young lass something.”
“Penelope, go grab what you got at the market.” She wiggles from Jack’s arms, rushing up the stairs to your small apartment above the store.
“And how are you, my dear?” Jack asks softly, reaching out to rub your arms.
“Your payment helped… a lot. Finally bought a blanket big enough for her. Thank you… truly.” He nods, patting your arm before Penelope’s feet pad back down the stairs.
“Look, Jack, look!” She squeals, holding out a small, pink teddy bear. Jack kneels to her level, looking over the toy.
“Well, that’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Jack.” The man calls out, breaking the moment and making Jack give a dramatic sigh.
“Get what you need and move on,” Jack calls over his shoulder before standing back up and tucking Penelope safely against his chest.
“Take any extra rum you'd like… It’s the least I can offer.” You say gently.
“Like you didn’t stiff us before!” The woman calls out, making you shrink softly.
“She didn’t stiff us, I offered.” Both sets of eyes widen before hardening in frustration. Penelope frowns, burrowing further against the warmth of Jack’s chest.
“We’re having a chat when we’re back on the ship.” He rolls his eyes, watching both of them leave the shop.
“Take no offence from them, they’re softer than they look.”
“If they’re that mad at you, you don’t need to pay for anything.” Jack turns to you.
“Nonsense! My favourite shopkeeper will be paid extremely adequately.”
“I don’t want you in trouble, Jack.” His hand raises to cup your cheek softly, smiling lightly and adjusting Penelope in his arms.
“You are the furthest from trouble, love. Believe me. Especially this one.” He cradles Penelope’s head gently.
“Never thought I’d see that day I’d let a pirate hold my daughter.” You comment lightly.
“She’s truly a dearie… How old?”
“Can you tell him, Penelope? Do you remember?” Jack watches as the girl clumsily holds up three small fingers.
“Three? That’s a wonderful age to be, my love!” Penelope giggles.
“When do you have to be back on your ship?”
“Two days. Sunrise.” You ignore the flutter in your chest.
“Do you… Need somewhere to stay?” Jack’s brow raises with a gentle smile.
“That’s very forward for our second meeting… but how could one deny you?” You smile.
“The shop closes at sundown. Just knock, and I’ll let you in.” He nods.
“Penelope, my love, can I give you back to mommy?” Penelope whines unhappily, making Jack’s heart drop with an unknown feeling. “I see… Can I take her around town?” He watches your face contort with what he can only assume is a mother’s worry. “No rum, nothing dangerous.” He assures.
“Please, mommy? I wanna go on an adventure with Jack!” You glance at your daughter, moving to kiss her forehead, Jack’s body warming at your closeness. You stand back up, moving to whisper in his ear.
“Hurt her or take her, and I will kill you.” He nods, taking advantage of the close distance, kissing your cheek.
“All harm will come to me before someone lays a hand on her.” He assures.
⛀⛁
“Who’s this little lady?” Gibbs asks with a smile, watching Jack step onto the docked ship.
“Would you like to say it or should I?” Jack smiles.
“My name is Penelope! Jack!” She screams, making his head snap down to look at her, “Birdie!” Jack follows her finger and can’t help but smile as he finds she’s pointing at Cotton’s parrot.
“Mr Cotton! Can my wee lass meet the parrot?” The older man nods, the parrot flying to Jack’s shoulder as Penelope watches in soft wonder. “He speaks, too, lassie.”
“Silly! Parrots don’t talk!”
“Don’t eat me!” The parrot squawks, making Penelope squeal.
“Jack! He talks!”
“Right he does, lassie.”
“You brought her on board?” Will’s voice rings out behind him, making the parrot fly from his shoulder as he turns to face the other man.
“We don’t leave till tomorrow, and I’ve given her mum the day off; she deserves it.”
“Do you even know her name, Jack?” Will asks, making Jack’s mouth open and shut, leaning to whisper in Penelope’s ear.
“What’s mommy’s name, lass?”
“Mommy.” Penelope shrugs, playing with Jack’s tunic and making Jack give Will a tight smile.
“Fine! Maybe I don’t know her name! Leave me be!”
“Leave him be!” Penelope mimics with a soft hmpf, making Jack grin.
“You’re not one to deny a lady.” Jack raises a brow, making Will roll his eyes. “That’s what I thought.” He feels a soft tug on his hair, looking down at Penelope. “Yes, my love?”
“Why’s he so grumpy?” Jack laughs, feeling his heart flutter as the girl smiles at the sound.
“I don’t know, love. Will’s always that way.”
“Well, I don’t like him.” Penelope huffs.
“Me neither.”
⛀⛁
“I made dinner.” You smile, opening the door to Jack, a sleepy Penelope in his arms. “Where did you take her?”
“Showed her my ship. She met the crew, really loved the parrot.”
“The parrot talks, mommy…” Penelope says quietly, shifting in Jack’s arms to reach out for you. You take her gently, not missing the way his fingers linger against your skin.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Stew and some homemade bread. Not much but… I hope you weren’t expecting fine dining in Tortuga.” Jack’s hand gently hovers above your lower back as you climb the stairs, opening the door and giving way to your living space. Jack scans the room, smiling at the small living room attached to the kitchen, a small table with a high chair nestled in the corner.
“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me, love.” You smile, setting Penelope down on the small couch before moving to dish out the stew. You feel his presence beside you before an arm comes around your middle. “You know… I’ve only met you and the little lady twice… and I can’t get ye out of my mind.” He kisses your temple lightly.
“Really?” He hums.
“Didn’t give you fifty shillings for nothin’, my love.”
“You’re too kind, Jack.”
“Haven’t been this kind in a while.”
“What does that mean?”
“Haven’t met a woman that’s made me feel this way in a long time. Let alone a little lassie such as Penelope .” You move from his hold, setting out the bowls and plates on the small table.
“She likes you, I can tell.” You smile lightly, offering him a chair. He kisses your forehead before sitting down, watching you lift Penelope into the highchair. You sit beside her, giving her a spoon and tearing apart her bread into smaller pieces.
“You’re a good mother,” Jack comments, making your stomach flutter.
“Thank you, Jack.” He nods, gingerly digging into the meal. Dinner passes slowly and quietly, Jack’s ankle tucked around your own as he happily watches you feed Penelope. He watches you for a moment when he finishes before standing and finding a rag. He wipes Penelope’s face before lifting her out of the high chair and pulling her close again. Penelope yawns and snuggles closer to his warmth.
⛀⛁
“You can stay the night… if you’d so please.” You say softly, watching as Jack places the small girl in her bed, sound asleep. He smiles crookedly, moving to pull you against him gently.
“That sounds wonderful, dearest.” You grab his hands, pulling him towards your bedroom. He eagerly follows. “Do you have any rum?” You giggle, reaching into a cabinet before heading back on the path towards your room.
He pops the cork, pulling you into his grip as he sits against your headboard, taking a swing of the liquor with a relieved sigh. “You keep the nice stuff for yourself, hm?”
“A bottle or two.” You smile, taking a matching swig.
“You’re even more gorgeous when you’re drinking.” He teases, making you laugh.
“Is that how you woo the women you meet?” He barks out a laugh, clutching you closer.
“Depends, is it working?” You trace his cheekbone gently.
“Apparently so, hm?” You grin, leaning closer into his warmth. He matches your smile, cupping your cheek and leaning forward to press his lips against yours. You hum happily, his body sagging with relief at your touch.
“You’re perfect, my love… perfect…” He hums, scanning your face. “As is Penelope… but of course she’d be.. She’s yours.”
“I didn’t think pirates had such hearts, Jack.”
“Didn’t know I had one until I met you.” He soothes, kissing you again.
⛀⛁
“Mommy, I don’t want Jack to go!” Penelope cries out loudly, squirming to desperately get out of your grip.
“Lass, I need to get to sea.” Jack weakly smiles, walking over and cupping the young girl's cheeks.
“You leaving me and mommy…” She sniffles, big eyes meeting Jack’s. He sighs, barely able to face her pain.
“I’m sorry, my love…” He soothes, kissing her forehead. “I’ll be back.”
“When daddy… when?” She whimpers, the name sending a shockwave through both of you. A noise of pain leaves Jack’s lips before he shakily sighs, kissing her forehead again.
“I don’t know, lassie… I don’t know, and I’m sorry I don’t know.” He says quietly, and you watch, heartbroken. He stands back to his full height, taking both of you into his arms. “I love ye both… and I’ll come back… I swear it.” He whispers against your temple.
“Jack! We need to go!” Elizabeth calls out. He squeezes tighter, pulling back just slightly to press a long kiss to your lips.
“I love you.” He whispers, slowly pulling away.
“I… love you, too, Jack.” He smiles, squeezing your hand before dropping it.
⛀⛁
The months passed slowly, the leaves falling first, then the beginning of winter. “Mommy?” Penelope says gently, looking up at you with big eyes. Her spark had been lost since Jack’s leaving, less chatty, less bright.
“Yes, my darling?”
“Did daddy forget about us?” You bite back the aching frown and ignore the aching pit in your stomach.
“I don’t think so, my love. He’s just busy. He’s a pirate, remember? Pirates are very busy.” Penelope huffs weakly, but nods.
“I didn’t forget daddy.” You smile, brushing her hair from her eyes.
“I didn’t either.”
⛀⛁
“How does dinner sound?” The man asks softly, cheeks red with embarrassment, nervous about his offer.
His name is Alexander. A shoemaker three doors down from your shop. Sharp-witted, good-looking, well-off. He’d stopped in a few times before, picking up random things from your shop as you watched in confusion. “Dinner?” You repeat softly.
“No, mommy! No!” Penelope’s voice rings out, tugging on your side.
“Penelope–”
“I already have a daddy!” She huffs, looking up at the man.
“Do you now? I haven’t seen him.” Alexander smiles lightly.
“His name is Jack! Leave my mommy alone!” Penelope screams, pushing the man weakly, making his eyes widen before looking at you.
“I am… sorry, but I can’t… take your offer… I’m sorry.” Alexander’s gaze sharpens.
“A woman with a child, no ring on her finger. Just another harlot you are, hm?” Your eyes widen before they sharpen in defence.
“Get out of my shop.” You growl. Alexander huffs loudly, storming out as you let out a breath. The door shuts behind him, and a chill of air comes through the door. Penelope’s cries startle you, immediately moving to bring her into her arms.
“Daddy forgot about us! He didn’t come home!” She wails, making your lip quiver, curling her tighter to your chest, too defeated to even tell her otherwise.
⛀⛁
The trees were starting to seed, the early flowers causing an itch in Penleope’s nose that left her crying each morning when she woke. The town had started to bustle again during the days, the harbour seeing more guests with each day. “Will Daddy be back for my birthday?” Penelope asks gently, head on your shoulder as you stand on a dock, watching the movement of the ocean.
“I don’t know my love… I miss him, too.”
“Maybe Mr Grumpy took him away.”
“Don’t think like that, my love…”
“Are you looking for a ship?” The dock keeper asks, making you turn.
“No, sir.” You smile tightly, making the man nod.
“Daddy!” Penelope calls out into the ocean, making you tearfully smile. “Daddy!”
⛀⛁
The docks greet Jack warmly, the fear in his heart strong, the fear of your rejection stronger. The months had been long, and an unforeseen battle had set him back. His body longed for your touch, his eyes longed for your gaze. He almost trips, rushing onto the dock, moving through town.
Penelope looks up from her dolls as the bell above the door opens, and Jack feels like his world is moving in slow motion as she turns to meet his eyes. “Daddy!” She screams, stumbling up and rushing into his awaiting arms. “Daddy! You didn’t forget me! You didn’t forget!”
“No, lassie… I could never forget you… Pirate’s get busy…”
“Jack?” Your voice feels like the first real melody he’s heard in months, slowly turning with a weak smile.
“My love…”
“Am I dreaming?” You whisper, reaching out a shaking hand. He takes it warmly, taking a moment to run his thumb along your knuckles before pulling it to his cheek.
“I sure hope we don’t wake up if we are.” He soothes, watching as you tearfully smile. “You look so beautiful…”
“Jack!” You cry out, throwing your arms around his shoulder, Penelope clutched tightly between the two of you.
“Momm! Daddy came home for my birthday!”
“It’s your birthday?” Jack asks softly, making Penelope eagerly nod.
“You’re four today, hm?”
“And you came home!” She squeals.
“That I did, lass.” He grins, looking back up at you, leaning in to kiss you gently. You hum, lifting your hands to cup his cheeks.
“I was worried about the worst…” You whisper, making him frown and grab your hand.
“I will always come back to you. I mean it.” He kisses you again. Then again. Then again. You giggle, making him smile. “There she is…”
“Daddy! Daddy!”
“Yes, lassie?”
“Some guy asked mommy to dinner!” Jack ignores the swell of jealousy in his chest.
“She better have not said yes.” He raises a brow, looking up at you.
“Penelope scared him. Pushed him.”
“That’s my girl!” Jack lifts Penelope in the air, spinning for a moment and relishing in her giggles. “Where is he? I’ll really scare him off.”
“Jack…” You smile softly.
“I mean it!”
⛀⛁
The water in the basin was warm, Jack’s skin against your back warmer. “What… took so long?” You ask softly, enjoying the feeling of him washing your body.
“A war broke out up north. The downside of the pirate king being on my ship. We can’t not help. Let’s just say I had a few prison breaks.” He gives you a toothy grin as you roll your head on his shoulder to look up at him.
“I’m worried enough as it is… I don’t need to know what you’re really doing out there.” You graon.
“I wouldn’t let myself die out there. Not when I knew I had two beautiful girls to come home to… two girls who were waiting for me.”
“She kept asking if you’d forgotten about us.” You run your nose against the stubble on his jaw. “You need a shave.”
“That I do… and I… don’t ever think I could forget you.” He whispers softly, kissing your forehead.
“I’m glad you didn’t… I was getting lonely.” You admit gently.
“So was I… the rum couldn’t even get your eyes out of my head. Thought of you sailing beside me… dreamt it a few times, too… It was so real…”
“I dreamt of you, too.”
“What did you dream of?” He kisses the shell of your ear, feeling the way you shiver.
“A small house on a small island… just you, me, ‘n Penelope.”
“I had a dream… a few nights before we docked.” You open your eyes to look at him.
“Bout what? His hand drifts to your stomach, running gingerly across your skin.
“You. Round. Bout ready to pop… smiling at me. Penelope in a pretty blue dress…” You smile lightly, pressing your finger against his jaw to kiss you again.
“That’s not happening until I know you’re staying for good. I cannot be with a child and stress about you the whole time.”
“Just a dream, love. Just a dream.” You nod, ignoring the urge to fulfil the dream.
“I hope you know you don’t have to give up your love of the sea for us.”
“I don’t think I have to give it up… my love for you surpassed it the night I left. The sea didn’t feel like home. Home… was with you. With Penelope.” You smile, kissing him again.
katsuki letting you try on his gauntlets while he does his routine gear check and you're confused cuz he would never let someone other than himself put them on.
you're ecstatic tho so he gives you his gloves and then puts his gauntlets on you and you giggle about how their so heavy and how impressive it is that he wears them everyday, making them look weightless.
as you shower his strength in compliments he stares at you sitting on the edge of the bed, watching how you can hardly lift your hands wearing them and he drops to his knees, pulling you forward and shoving his head between your thighs, wasting no time he leaves a long lick over your clothed cunt.
you try to shoot your hands out to pull him away with a surprised gasp but realize you can't do much of anything with the gauntlets on, they fall weakly at your side while he gets to work quickly, pulling down your shorts and panties in one go and quickly latching onto your clit.
you go to pull your hands out of the gauntlets but he stops you by gripping your arms and pulling you closer and then your just kinda stuck there just moaning and whining while he has his way with you and he's laughing at you and idk katsuki come get me pls...
thinking about being shared by kirishima and bakugou…
eiji at your head, languidly thrusting into your mouth, wiping at the drool pooling at the corners of your lips. he’s got one hand in your hair, pushing you up and down on his deliciously thick cock, hitting the back of your throat each time.
meanwhile katsuki is hitting it from the back, hands gripping your ass cheeks, slapping them every once in a while to see them ripple. his cock pumping in and out of you at a steady speed, matching kirishima’s thrusts so that they’re moving in a sawing motion.
you feel so overcome with pleasure. kiri is absolutely whispering praise to you while kats is degrading the shit out of you, calling you a dirty slut for enjoying taking the both of them while kiri is petting your hair and murmuring about how you’re “such a good girl” for them, taking both their fat cocks so well.
and ofc since they’re best friends they cum in sync and the feeling of their hot seed filling both your pussy and throat at the same time is enough to push you over the edge too.
bakugou katsuki who genuinely truly gets pussy drunk when he eats you out.
he’s down there, eyes half lidded, tongue lazily lolling against you. hard to tell what’s slick and what’s spit. his hands on your thighs forcing them apart further as his tongue slides in even deeper. he’s practically moaning into you.
“ffuck kats- it’s too much!” you whine as he pumps a finger into you, sucking harshly on your clit.
“i can’t baby, y’just taste so damn good. can’t get ‘nough of ya..” as he removes his finger and goes back to slurping you up. breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert. he wants you for all of them.
and he’s so embarrassed by this but he always humps into the bed and literally cums into his pants every damn time. you always poke fun at him for messing up the bed and shit but then he just drags you onto the floor or couch and the whole thing repeats and he’s asking if this spot is better but your legs are shaking too hard to even form a thought.
but yeah katsuki would die a happy man between your legs. the only thing on earth he’d let defeat him.
Lifeguards Kirishima and Bakugo were eye candy for every woman on the beach.
Their red five-inch shorts sat dangerously low on their hips, exposing sharp v-lines and tanned skin. They had no business looking that good.
Between Kirishima’s broad shoulders and easy smiles, and Bakugo’s toned arms and permanent scowl, they were day and night but they had the attention of all.
Girls constantly crowded around their tower.
Some asked fake safety questions just to hear Kirishima talk. Others “accidentally” wandered too far into the water so Bakugo would yell at them to come back.
Neither lifeguard cared. Because the only person either of them watched was you.
“You’re distracted again,” you called, rolling the volleyball beneath your foot.
Bakugo’s sharp gaze snapped toward you from atop the lifeguard chair.
“The hell I am.”
“You’ve blown that whistle at us six times in the last ten minutes,” your teammate said. “We’re not even in the water.”
“Seven times,” Kirishima corrected helpfully.
Bakugo glared at him.
You snorted, stepping back into position on the sand court. The game around you resumed quickly, shouts and laughter mixing with crashing waves.
You jumped.
Served.
Ace.
Your teammates erupted into cheers while the opposing side groaned dramatically.
From the tower, Kirishima whistled loudly. “Nice one!”
A group of girls nearby immediately turned toward him, giggling when he smiled politely their way.
Bakugo looked irritated by the noise. Or maybe irritated by the way he couldn’t ignore the sweat clinging to your skin after diving for the ball.
It was always hard to tell with him.
“You gonna keep staring,” you called up at the tower, “or actually do your job?”
Kirishima laughed, an obvious blush stained his cheeks; while Bakugo leaned forward against the railing.
“Thought my job was watching the beach.”
“It is.”
“And you’re on the beach,” he smirked cockily.
A dangerous blush crept across the bridge of his nose while Kirishima nearly choked laughing beside him.
You only grinned, spinning the volleyball in your hands.
“Careful, lifeguards,” you teased. “People might think all this extra attention is you two flirting with me.”
Bakugo clicked his tongue loudly, sinking back into his chair.“Shut up and play your damn game.”
older pilot!bf x sweetheart! new flight attendant!gf who both work for this super rich guy's private crew
older pilot!bf who gets his girlfriend to come spend time with him on long haul flights when everyone's asleep and she's not needed
pilot!bf who cleared his throat nervously, hand rubbing the back of his neck and the tips of his ears red as he told said super rich employer that he doesn't need to book seven rooms for the six flight attendants and him, that six were enough because him and his girlfriend sleep in the same room anyway
pilot!bf who once- only once, when the crew was flying back an empty plane and everyone was asleep- locked the door to the cockpit and made his sweetheart darling girlfriend sit on his cock for the whole thirteen hour flight
pilot!bf who makes it his mission to make it as hard as possible for his girlfriend to work- pressing against her back while the curtains are drawn, separating the main cabin from the kitchenette space
pilot!bf who finds excuses to come talk to his girlfriend- coffee, some stupid question, etc.
pilot!bf who decked a guest of his employer with no hesitation when said guest groped his girlfriend's ass
pilot!bf who takes his girl to places he's been a thousand times, excited to see it again just because it's with her and this is the first time she's visiting these places
just a pilot boyfriend who isn't the stereotype playboy who cheats on his family with everything that breathes
✰ imagine you and katsuki bakugo get into a fight about your relationship and he starts crying tw: cursing, arguing, angst+fluff
you’ve both been going back and forth for a while now, 35 minutes and 2..25 seconds to be exact, not that katsuki is counting or anything.
“do you even want me bakugo?!” you raise your voice, but his face drops “what happened to kat?” you roll your eyes “im asking you if you even fucking love me anymore and your talking about nicknames” you scream your voice shaky. “this is what i talk about, you never take shit seriously”
he furrows his brows, he opens his mouth just to close it. katsuki feels his throat close up and his eyes sting..
what the fuck, is he about to cry?.. over a girl?
“you really have nothing.. nothing to say?” your hands start to shake holding back tears of your own. “i—“ he pauses and looks down his knees weak has he holds onto the wall. you nod “fine, fine that’s- that’s just great kat, just fucking perfect” you throw your hands up in the air and sigh.
“wait hunny, m’sorry” his voice is soft and strained, you freeze halfway through your spin around.
“what?” “…please, just— i love you so much don’t leave me” he grabs your wrist and sighs “you know i love you, please i understand I can’t show my love the way you want, I just uhm i don’t wanna lose you”
you look into his eyes “wait wait are you crying?” katsuki looks down tears continue to roll down his face.
his voice cracks over itself, he stammers his words trying to express himself so you quickly cup his cheek and kiss him. he desperately grabs your waist and softly places his tongue on your bottom lip.
“fuck.. please never leave me, you know I fucking hate begging, i hate arguing with you” he tightens his grip on your waist backing you up further into the wall you were previously leaning on. “let’s never argue again” “mhm” you seamlessly melt into his rough arms.
the only time denki is silent is in the mornings before he wakes up, even then he lets out groans and mumbles as he rolls around the bed. not much wakes him up but you know this will.
your hands are braced on his hips as you settle in between his legs, tracing one finger up his dick and he instantly starts to harden. you keep up the teasing touch, only one finger until he whines, canting his hips up.
even in his sleep he’s whiny and needy.
you peel down his boxers, watching his dick bob out, fully hardening before your eyes. you lean forward, letting the tip of your tongue trace around the metal piercing on his tip, rolling your tongue around it before sucking him into your mouth. you let out a little hum as the metal slides down your tongue as you sink closer to his base.
“mmmngh.” he sleepily moans.
you start a steady rhythm, squeezing his hips softly as you suck him. his hips are jerking up softly, he throws one of his arms of his eyes and the other to the sheets to curl into his fist. you blink up at him, watching the way his chest rises and falls, feeling the tremble in his thighs next to you.
you pull off and press open mouth kisses down the length of him, letting you thumb play with his piercing while you make your way down to his balls. the second you suck one into your mouth his hips jerk up and a moan is torn from his throat.
“ngh fuck!” he rasps. “fuck baby.” his hand is in your hair now pulling you up.
“happy birthday baby.” you kiss and lick at his tip again.
“fuuuck you’re so good to me.” he tosses his head back when you take him back in your mouth. “i’m gonna cum it’s too good.” his stomach flexes.
you hum, bobbing your head faster, blinking up at him. he props up on his elbows, lips parted and letting out the loudest moans. his hips are jerking up into your mouth, making you gag but you’re happy to let him.
“shitshitshit.” the first rope of cum fills your mouth.
you keep sucking with each spurt until he’s shaking and sated before you pull off with a pop. you crawl up his body and press your lips to his, swallowing down all of his sounds. you slide your hand between the both of you, guiding his tip through your folds before you sink down onto him.
“oh fuck.” his eyes flutter shut as you start to ride him.
you start off slow, grinding and rolling your hips against him until he’s pleading up at you and then you really start to ride him. sticky plaps sound throughout the room, his fingers digging into your waist, loosely guiding you up and down. you lean down, staring down at him as he gets more wrecked.
you’re both so worked up, already on the cusp of more pleasure, lips brushing, moans mingling. your clit is grinding against his public ring just right and your gummy walls squeeze around him.
“fuck cum! need to feel it.” his cheeks are flushed, hips snapping up to meet yours.
“open your mouth.” you pant.
“fuck.” he whines. “yes, fuck yes.” he sticks his tongue out and when you spit in his mouth he cums. “mommy.”
you tip over the edge, the both of you clinging and fucking into each other. you come down, brushing his hair back and holding him while he’s still buried deep inside.
“what’d you wanna do today?” you nuzzle into his neck.
