summary: you are trying to study, but clark can’t teach when you’re so pretty, and you can’t focus when he’s so pretty, so it ends up being an unproductive tutoring session…
word count: 2.1k
contains: smut & fluff. clark’s math brain + you = sex… LOL. slightly dumbified reader, clark’s got a bit of a mouth on him. *riding/piv, lots of praise, a bit more bunny kink than usual. *no use of y/n
a/n: a quick & freaky one... breaking from my sweetheart country clark for a minute bc of the feminine moon tides… yeeesssss….. mwahahhahahahahha… hope u like, my requesters !
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Clark could not keep his eyes off of you, and the worst part was that you didn’t even seem to care.
How was he supposed to? You were practically begging to be stared at. Your hair had that natural crimp in it from always being tucked behind your ear, and so when it fell loose, it made this gorgeous swoop over your cheek. Your eyebrows gathered up all pinchy when you got confused over the equation before you. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, the tips of your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You shifted in your seat every few moments, the soft pudge of your tummy and back twisting with your discomfort, the cute little fold of your chin rolling when you pulled back in confusion. You hummed under your breath to help you think, for gods sake. There was no focusing when you looked so beautiful. All he saw when you sat so prettily was your face, and then the memory of your face twisting and back arching and voice cracking, and he became a lost cause.
Clark took on the gargantuan task of tutoring you in calculus because you struggled so adorably in the seat next to him, and for a college girl who maintained A averages, he couldn’t let you sabotage yourself. That English-geared brain needed to survive calculus so it could keep reading books. Plus, you always seemed to be looking at him instead of the board, so maybe by combining the two, you would find some focus.
But the problem was that you were a good student. A smart girl who wanted to get things right. So, as cute as he was, you unfortunately took this very seriously– he sometimes ended up sitting with you for hours, practicing derivatives over and over until you finally got it. It was torture. College tutoring sessions were supposed to end in him bending you over a table, not in you crying over difficult questions and him coaxing your hair back and kissing your temples. Sure, he got a few smooches here and there, but you were very strict. Only kissing outside of tutoring hours. He had to go alllll the way to your dorm just to touch you. O, the inhumanity!
Tonight was like the others as you poured over a word problem that was entirely simple to him, but gibberish to you, and so he sat and stared while you tried to stubbornly work it out on your own. But Clark was withering away, and he needed you.
His probing finger traced the curve of your shoulder as he leaned in and nosed at your cheek. “Why bother? I could just take the test for you.”
You grumbled and pushed his face away like a puppy. “I’m trying to focus.”
“C’mooon. You’ve been at it for an hour. Pay attention to me.”
“Clark,”
“Bunny,” he pouted, pressing his forehead to your arm.
“Clarkie, I can’t focus with you interrupting me,” you whined, and you rubbed your eyes. “Great. Now I lost my train of thought.”
The boy huffed softly at your look of disdain, and he rolled his eyes. He was a total sucker. Clark smoothed the paper out and took your pencil, tipping your chin up with it. “Fine. I’ll be good. Listen, okay? I’ll explain it.”
You perked up as he put on his teacher's voice, and you rested your chin in the palm of your hand as Clark began to unpack some ridiculous collection of symbols that meant nothing to you. This, of course, was equally not useful. Clark had this way of talking that just… hypnotized you. His soft lips, the pretty dip of his cupid’s bow, the absolutely criminal flutter of his lashes over those baby blues when he flicked between one side of the equation and the other. How was anyone supposed to focus when their tutor-turned-boyfriend had a face like that? It was like if Patrick Swayze was trying to teach you how to dance. They made a whole movie about how that was impossible– look where it got Baby.
Clark smirked and stopped talking when he realized you weren’t listening. When he leaned in and kissed you, you weakly protested, “Mm.. but m’studying…”
“No you’re not,” he purred, “you were staring at my mouth.”
“S’a pretty mouth.”
“You’re a pretty mouth,” he blabbed, collecting your soft body and hoisting you from your chair into his lap.
You hummed in satisfaction as he wrapped his arms around you like a boa constrictor and squeezed, sinking into the strong warmth of his chest. You pushed and pulled at his hair, sticking it up on all sides, and he happily smeared your jaw and neck with sloppy kisses, breathing you in like a hungry puppy.
“M’gonna fail calc,” you frowned, gasping when he nibbled on your ear.
“You won’t fail a thing, baby, you’re a genius.”
“I suck at math, Clarkie.”
“You suck at nothing," he chuckled, pulling back to kiss your nose. “You just need a break.”
You nudged his nose. “A break…”
“Yeah, baby. You want a break? You did some good work today… you deserve a reward, honey, for being so smart.”
You blushed, smiling knowingly, falling for the age-old classic Clark trick. He loved to baby you, and you ate up the pampering like no other. “Mhm.”
“My good girl,” he cooed, nipping your lip. “What do you want, huh?”
“Right here, in your lap,” you mumbled, ducking your head to kiss his Adam's apple.
“Yeah? Wanna sit in my lap? My bed’s right there, honey,” Clark tipped his head back for you, glancing at his dorm mattress. His hands snuck under your shirt to smush the softness of your back between his fingers.
Your hands roamed the broad, tan expanse of his biceps, and you leaned down to teeth at one. “Mm… right here.”
Clark’s heart swelled at your bites, and he brushed your hair back. “You just wanna be in my arms, don’t you?”
You came back up for another kiss and smiled, grinding your hips down against his. Clark swallowed a broken grunt and yanked you close, hands smoothing up your back.
“Want me to take my time, or you just want me?”
“Just you,” you breathed, nipping at his cheek.
Clark couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. You got so needy when he collected you into his grasp. He let you busy yourself with his mouth, kissing and sucking dutifully on his bottom lip as he freed his cock from the fly of his jeans, shoving them down just enough. There was no use for decorum or fuss when you both were buzzing like this. Clark smiled sweetly as he smacked it lightly against your thigh, seeing how you squirmed and pouted for it.
“Say the words, honey,” he coaxed.
You cupped his jaw and planted lipstick prints across his chin. “Pretty please, Clarkie.”
“Mm… try a little harder, baby. I want you to mean it.”
You whimpered and ground against the hard muscle of his thigh. “Pretty, pretty please, baby…”
His cheeks tinted pink as you begged, and it was certainly enough. He never liked to string you out. Clark made good on his word– he tugged the hem of your dress up and simply snagged your panties to the slide, and he notched the head of his cock between your puffy folds, not yet sinking inside, but teasing you with it. Your frustrated face melted into desire as he caught your clit, and he whispered, “That’s my girl, yeah… my smart girl.”
“Clarkie,” you moaned.
“You gonna bounce for me, bunny, or do I have to do all the work?”
Your skin flushed red from your ears down to your neck, and you stiffened as he prodded your entrance. “Can hop, I can,” you swore.
Clark smirked at your eagerness, and he curled his long fingers over the handlebars of your hips to remind you to sit still and sink down. You drew in a deep breath as you carefully sheathed his cock inside of you, feeling the delicious stretch between your walls; an embarrassing whimper spilled out as you crumpled in his lap, hips rocking against the intrusion. Clark’s eyes fluttered shut at the tight, familiar heat of your cunt, vision fuzzing out. He watched you slowly rise and drop your hips, giving your best effort, but you never could follow through when you were this needy– you laid on him like a rag doll, moaning and suckling at his neck, and he had to pump you up and down for him. A low grunt escaped his chest as you obediently hopped with his help, watching his length disappear inside you. By the way your eyes rolled back and you soaked his hips, he knew you needed it, and he was obliged to give it to you. You were just so gorgeous when you finally focused on something you cared about.
Clark kneaded the pudgy flesh of your ass and murmured into your ear, “Feels so good, baby, you’re doing so well… such a smart girl, makin’ me feel so good…”
You whined and swallowed him whole, in and out over and over, laying all your weight on his shoulder as he used his big paws to fuck you. Heat burned low in your tummy, low and fast. As he began to meet your manufactured bounces with his own bucks, he groaned with pleasure against your cheek.
“Good girl… take it… Always such a high achiever, bunny– Jesus– sometimes you gotta let me take care of you.”
“I… oh, Clarkie… feels so…”
“I know, baby, I can feel you,” he crooned, licking your bottom lip before kissing you. “Cum whenever you want, bunny. Feel good. It’s your reward.”
“S’gonna be messy!” you warned as you dropped down on his cock another time, feeling the soft throbbing of the muscle against your constricting walls. Your hands fisted in his shirt for a tether.
Clark’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head at how tight you could grip him. Sometimes he was somewhat worried that your cunt would squeeze so hard he would never get out, like a chinese finger trap. He pressed a palm to your lower back hard enough that it stopped you rocking, and you whined petulantly. He praised, “Shh, be a good bunny, hm?” before he started drilling into you from below.
A squeak of surprise escaped you before you disassembled against his chest, grunting with the exertion of being jackrabbited like a toy. Clark moaned pathetically into your neck as he thrusted deep and fast, battering into the velveteen muscle that had you writhing and begging for just a little more, just a little faster. He gave you everything you asked for until you couldn’t even form the words.
“Gonna– gonna-!”
“I got ‘ya, honey, cum for me… c’mon, give me a good one, bunny,”
The coil snapped inside your gut as he shoved himself as far inside as it was possible to go, and you spasmed into a trembling orgasm, arms around his neck, clinging on for dear life. Clark bullied your cunt happily, refusing to stop until he came, too– which was barely seconds later. The way you cried into his shoulder from overstimulation made him dizzy, and before he knew it, he was flooding your womb with sticky spend, bucking erratically to give it all away. He grunted in breathless victory as pretty little rings of creams coated him, and he gently eased you back down, squeezing your hips as he let you sit on his cock and settle.
Your face was slack and pressed to his neck, hands scratching at the nape of his neck like a kitten; little puffs of exhausted air left you as your lashes fluttered and the feeling tamped down. Clark made little promises against your shoulders and neck.
“That’s it, bunny… so good, love, you took it like a champ… just like a good student should, right? At least you can pay attention to something…”
Your skin flushed brutally hot and you burrowed into the hiding spot of his collarbone. “Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not,” Clark chuckled, gently cradling the back of your skull and using our hair to tug your head back. “Just happy you finished a lesson.”
You gazed up at his sleepy eyes– that face that got him anything he wanted– and you chewed the inside of your cheek. “Think I might need another if I’m gonna finish that homework…”
Clark poked your cheek affectionately. “Baby, if I fuck you again, there won’t be any homework.”
You grinned, “Good.”
Clark’s heart fluttered as he lifted you in his lap and flung you down on the bed, cruelly discarding the calculus textbooks on his dorm room desk, leaving them to watch while their maker chose some more exciting thing to practice. You weren’t worried– you always passed. Clark was right. Sometimes you just need a break. He taught you that, at the very least.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Alternative Universe where the war of The Five Kings never occurs and everyone is alive and happy.
There are some maesters who say the realm was saved not by swords, nor dragons, nor kings, but by a girl with golden hair smiling beneath the boughs of a heart tree.
The singers would tell it differently, of course. They would speak of fate and romance, of a young wolf seeing a lioness amongst the snows and losing his heart before the feast was done. They would speak of vows whispered beneath red leaves and northern winds, of two great houses bound not through conquest, but affection.
But the truth, as ever, lay somewhere in between.
When King Robert Baratheon rode north to Winterfell with all the splendor of the south at his back, he brought with him more than queens and princes and courtly poison. He brought change.
Lord Eddard Stark expected politics. Cersei Lannister expected insult. Tywin expected opportunity.
None expected Robb Stark to fall helplessly in love with Y/N Baratheon before the second night’s feast had ended.
She had entered Winterfell wrapped in pale gold velvet trimmed with white fox fur, southern beauty against northern stone, all soft smiles and watchful green eyes. Too refined for the North, many thought at first. Too delicate. Too much lion and too little wolf.
And then she laughed. Not politely. Not cruelly. Freely. Warmly.
The sound carried through Winterfell’s halls like sunlight breaking across snow.
Robb Stark was doomed from that moment onward.
By the time the royal party departed Winterfell, Robert and Ned had already sealed the match between them with wine, roaring laughter, and the stubborn certainty that perhaps — perhaps — this union could heal what years of mistrust between lion and wolf had broken.
And strangely enough… it did.
The wedding took place beneath the heart tree in Winterfell’s godswood, witnessed only by family and a handful of sworn men. No grand sept. No courtly spectacle. Just snow upon the ground and old gods listening silently through carved red eyes.
Y/N wore pale gold silk sewn with tiny silver direwolves at the sleeves, her cloak lined with white fur gifted by Lady Catelyn herself. Her hair fell in soft curls beneath a circlet of woven weirwood branches and golden thread.
Robb Stark wore dark grey wool and black leather, his Stark cloak heavy upon his shoulders, though his face looked almost boyishly awed as he watched her walk toward him.
Those present would later swear the North itself seemed gentler that day.
When their vows were spoken, Lady Catelyn wept quietly. Ned Stark smiled for the first time in weeks.
Robert Baratheon drank enough ale for six men and declared it the happiest day he’d seen since the rebellion.
And Joffrey—Joffrey looked as though someone had carved out his heart with a dull knife.
⸻
A Realm Rewritten
The marriage accomplished what councils, wars, and threats never could.
The Starks and Lannisters, once wary allies at best, became inseparable pillars of the realm. Trade flourished between North and West. Northern timber and furs flowed south while gold and grain traveled northward.
With Y/N in Winterfell and Robb forever welcome at court, old suspicions softened. Even Cersei and Catelyn learned a sort of careful peace through shared love for the same girl.
Either way, the realm did not bleed for it.
There was no War of the Five Kings. No Red Wedding. No shattered North.
Instead, Westeros suffered a far stranger fate: prolonged political stability.
⸻
Winterfell Under Lady Stark
Y/N became beloved in the North in ways no southerner ever had before her.
At first, the northern lords distrusted her silks and soft manners. They expected arrogance. Fragility. Southern vanity.
Instead they found a woman who remembered every servant’s name, learned northern customs without mockery, and listened more than she spoke.
She hated cold weather passionately. Complained about snow constantly. Required at least three fur blankets at night.
The North adored her instantly. Children followed her through Winter Town because she always carried sweets in her sleeves. Old women blessed her in the markets. Even the roughest Stark bannermen softened beneath one of her smiles.
And Robb?
Robb Stark looked at his wife like a man who had personally won a war no one else knew he’d been fighting.
He worshipped her openly and without shame.⸻
Meanwhile in King’s Landing…
King Robert was ecstatic.
His favorite lord and favorite girl had married each other, the realm was peaceful, and feasts became significantly more entertaining whenever the Starks visited court.
He spent years loudly proclaiming:
“See? THIS is diplomacy. Gods, Ned, we should’ve married our houses sooner!”
Cersei remained fiercely protective of her daughter but slept easier knowing Y/N was far from courtly vipers. Tommen and Myrcella adored visiting the North.
Arya idolized Y/N instantly.
Sansa thought her marriage to Robb was the stuff of songs.
And Joffrey— Poor, miserable Joffrey.
Forever bitter. Forever furious. Forever forced to watch the entire realm adore the sister who had “abandoned” him for a Stark.
Every time Robb touched her waist at feasts, Joffrey nearly bit through his goblet.
The court noticed.
Everyone noticed.
No one spoke of it.
Years later, maesters would write that the peace of King Robert’s later reign rested upon three things:
Lord Eddard Stark’s honor.
Tywin Lannister’s gold.
And Lady Y/N Stark’s impossible ability to make enemies love her despite themselves.
In songs, they called her:
The Golden Wolf
The Rose of Winterfell
The Lion Who Tamed the North
But in private, Robb simply called her his wife, usually with the awed expression of a man who still couldn’t believe she had chosen him at all.
The camp was waking. Somewhere beyond the tents, men sharpened swords against whetstones. Horses stamped their feet against frozen earth. Armor rattled. Fires crackled.
War never truly slept. It merely closed one eye.
Y/N Stark stood outside her tent wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, watching dawn creep across the horizon. The sky was pale blue. Cold. Beautiful.
For a moment, she pretended they were home. Not in a war camp. Not surrounded by thousands of men. Not waiting for another battle. Just her and Robb. Winterfell. A quiet morning. No blood. No crowns. No duties.Just them. The fantasy lasted all of three seconds.
Then a familiar voice called her name.
“My lady wife.”
She turned. And immediately smiled. Robb. Gods. Even after all this time. Even after marriage. Even after months of war. The sight of him still made her heart stumble. He stood in partial armor, his fur cloak hanging heavily from broad shoulders.
King. Commander. Warrior. The Young Wolf. Yet somehow when he looked at her— He was just Robb. Her Robb.
His face softened instantly. As if every burden he carried vanished the moment he saw her.
“There you are.”
“I’ve been standing here the entire time.”
“You could have wandered off.”
“I have nowhere to wander.”
His grin appeared. There it was. That smile. The one that had ruined her life. The one that had made her fall in love with him. The one that still made her stomach flutter like a foolish girl.
“Come here,” he said. Y/N laughed.
“Such a romantic invitation.”
“Come here anyway.”
She did. Of course she did. She always did. The moment she stepped close, his hands found her waist. Natural. Instinctive. Like breathing. Robb pulled her against him with a sigh that sounded suspiciously relieved. Almost desperate.
Y/N rested her hands against his chest. Steel beneath leather. Warmth beneath steel. His heartbeat steady beneath everything.
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“I asked first.”
His mouth twitched.
“I slept.”
“You lie terribly.”
“I know.”
“You always have.”
“Only to you.”
She rolled her eyes. His smile widened. Gods. War had changed him. Made him older. Sharper. Harder. But around her? Pieces of the old Robb remained. The boy she met beneath Winterfell’s skies. The boy who stared at her for an entire feast and thought nobody noticed. The boy who fell in love far too quickly. The boy who never stopped. Never once. Not for a single day.
His gaze drifted over her face. Lingering. Greedy. As it always did now. War had made him greedy for her. Greedy for every smile. Every touch. Every moment. As if he feared fate might steal them away. Perhaps he did. Perhaps they both did.
“You’ve been staring.”
“You are beautiful.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The line.”
“It’s not a line.”
“It absolutely is.”
His hands tightened slightly around her waist.
“No.”
His voice dropped softer. Warmer. More honest.
“It’s the truth.”
Y/N felt heat creep into her cheeks. Even now. Even after all this time. Robb Stark could still make her blush. The unfairness of it.
“You’ll make me vain.”
“I think that battle was lost years ago.”
She gasped. Robb laughed. Actually laughed. The sound made something inside her chest ache.
Because it had become rare. Too rare. War stole laughter first. Before blood. Before lives. Before everything. It always stole laughter. So she treasured every piece he gave her.
Every grin. Every laugh. Every moment.
His forehead slowly lowered against hers. The movement so familiar now neither thought about it. Forehead against forehead. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same space. The same heartbeat.
Y/N closed her eyes. And so did he. The camp vanished. The war vanished. Everything vanished. Only this remained. Only them. Robb exhaled slowly.
“Gods.”
“What?”
“I missed you.”
She laughed softly.
“You saw me last night.”
“I know.”
“You spent half the night refusing to sleep.”
“I know.”
“You are impossible.”
“I know.”
Another pause. Another breath. His nose brushed hers. Tiny. Gentle. Affectionate. The sort of touch nobody else ever saw. The sort of touch that belonged only to them.
“Stay with me today.”
Her eyes opened. She smiled sadly.
“I cannot ride into battle with you.”
“You could try.”
“Your lords would be horrified.”
“My lords are horrified regardless.”
That earned another laugh. Robb looked victorious. As if making her laugh was an achievement greater than any battle. Perhaps to him it was.
“I hate this.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Immediately his expression softened. Not pity. Never pity. Understanding. He knew. Gods, he knew.
Y/N hated war. Always had. Always would. She hated what it took from people. What it made them become. The fear. The waiting. The uncertainty. Every battle felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. Waiting to discover whether the person you loved would return.
Robb’s hand rose. His thumb brushed her cheek.
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“Be careful.”
“I always am.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It isn’t.”
“You charged cavalry down a hill.”
“It worked.”
“It was still stupid.”
His grin returned.
“There she is.”
“Robb.”
“Y/N.”
“Stop smiling.”
“I can’t.”
She sighed dramatically.
“I married an idiot.”
“You married a king.”
“I married an idiot who happened to become king.”
He looked delighted by this. Absolutely delighted. The fool. Her fool. His eyes wandered across her face again. Like he was memorizing it. Collecting pieces of her. Storing them away. For later. For battle. For courage. For survival. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
“I need my blessing.”
Y/N stared. Then rolled her eyes immediately.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Your ridiculous superstition.”
“It isn’t ridiculous.”
“It absolutely is.”
“I won three battles.”
“You also have an army.”
“I won because you kissed me.”
She laughed. Robb looked entirely serious. Which somehow made it worse.
“You cannot genuinely believe that.”
“I do.”
“Robb.”
“I do.”
“You’re impossible.”
His grin flashed.
“And yet.”
“And yet?”
“You keep kissing me.”
The audacity. The confidence. The complete certainty. Y/N shook her head. Then reached up. Touched his face. Softly. Gently. The way she always did. The way nobody else ever could. Robb leaned into the touch instantly. Like a starving man finding bread. Gods. She loved him. So much. Too much perhaps.
Enough to terrify her. Enough to make her understand every song ever written. Enough to make war feel crueler. Because now she had something precious to lose. Something irreplaceable. Him.
“You’ll come back.”
It wasn’t quite a question. Not quite a command. Something in between. Robb’s eyes held hers. Steady. Certain.
“I’ll come back.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
The words settled between them. Sacred. Simple. Real. His forehead touched hers once more. Neither moved. Neither wanted to. A few more moments. A few more breaths. A few more heartbeats. Always a few more. Never enough.
Then finally— Finally— Y/N rose onto her toes. And kissed him. Softly. Warmly. Tenderly. A kiss filled with everything she couldn’t fit into words. Love. Faith. Hope. Home.
Robb made the faintest sound. Almost helpless. His hands tightened around her. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to keep her close. As if the world might steal her away otherwise.
The kiss deepened. Not hurried. Not desperate. Slow. Sweet. Familiar. The kiss of two people completely and utterly in love.
When they finally parted, Robb rested his forehead against hers again.
Both breathing a little harder. Both smiling.
“There.”
“There?”
“My blessing.”
Y/N laughed.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet.”
“There is no yet.”
“There absolutely is.”
She rolled her eyes. He looked absurdly pleased with himself.
A king. A commander. A warrior. Reduced to this whenever she was near. And somehow she loved him even more for it. A horn sounded somewhere in camp.
Once. Then again. The army was gathering. Duty calling. Reality returning. The moment shattered. Slowly. Cruelly.
Robb sighed.
“I have to go.”
“You do.”
Neither moved. Another few seconds. Another stolen heartbeat. Then finally— Finally—He kissed her forehead. Lingering. Gentle. Reverent. Like she was something precious. Something holy. Something worth surviving for. His everything.
When he stepped away, the cold felt immediate. Wrong. But his smile remained. Bright. Certain. Young. For a moment, not a king. Not a warrior. Just the boy who fell in love with a Baratheon girl in Winterfell.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“You’d better.”
His grin widened. Then he turned. Walking toward the gathering army. Toward banners. Toward steel. Toward war. Halfway there, he glanced back.
Only once. Just once. And found her still standing exactly where he’d left her. Watching. Waiting. Loving him. Robb smiled. Touched two fingers briefly to his lips. Then rode away.
And for the rest of the day, as swords clashed and banners flew and men shouted his name—
The Young Wolf carried his blessing with him. Not in his armor. Not in his sword. Not in his crown. But in the memory of soft green eyes.
A warm forehead pressed against his own. And a kiss from the woman he loved more than victory itself.
━━ ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . jack abbot x morgue tech!reader ; after your shift, you go upstairs to the er looking for jack and you run into a few of your boyfriend's coworkers, they bring to your attention just how large jack abbot really is ━ 4.2k
field trip ⋆ . 𐙚 ̊ . to THE MORGUE
By the time you finished shift change down downstairs, the hospital had already begun its slow transition from night to morning. The morgue never changed much regardless of the hour.
The fluorescent lights still hummed overhead with the same dull persistence they had at midnight. The air stilled smelled faintly of antiseptic and cold metal and the industrial cleaner the day shift janitors liked to use too heavily.
The prep tables remained clean and pristine despite the three autopsies that you had preformed. It was peaceful for lack of a better word. But upstairs, however, the hospital would be just beginning to wake up.
The emergency department at six in the morning was an entirely different beast than the morgue tucked neatly beneath it. This place moved fast even when exhausted.
The whole floor pulsed with motion and noise and overstimulation.
You hated it.
Don't mistake your dislike for the environment for the dislike of the people inhabiting it. You wouldn't say you were friends with the ER staff, but you were on chit chatting terms with a lot of them since beginning dating Jack. But the sheer amount of everything put you especially at unease.
Too many voices, too many bodies darting from one side of the ER to the other, and that meant too many opportunities for someone to accidentally touch you in passing.
Which is why you usually stayed downstairs until Jack came to get you. That had become your routine somewhere along the line. Most mornings, by the time you clocked out and gathered your things, Jack was already leaning against your desk in the morgue office with that perpetually exhausted look on his face and a coffee in his hand.
Then the two of you would leave together before either of your brains fully registered another twelve hour shift had passed.
This morning, however, he hadn't shown. You were a little disappointed but you weren't outrageously upset about it. You knew that Jack got held up all the time and while this meant you would have to brave the ER again, it wasn't his fault.
Trauma cases sometimes came in unexpectedly, shift hand off lasted longer when it was busier than usual, and you knew that Robby had a tendency to trap Jack into talking about things that didn't have anything to do with the hospital. Like his new on again, off again situationship with Noelle Hastings from social work.
So after a few minutes, you simply slung your bag over your shoulder, grabbed your water bottle, and made your way upstairs. The elevator ride alone nearly convinced you to turn around.
By the time the doors opened onto the ER floor, the department was already in full swing. Phones rang somewhere in the distance. Someone laughed too loudly near the nurses’ station. A monitor beeped insistently from one of the trauma bays, while an exhausted nurse muttered something under her breath about needing a Red Bull.
You immediately regretted coming up here.
Keeping your head down, you slipped towards the break room near the back hallway, careful not to drift into anybody's path. The last thing you wanted after twelve hours underground was to become collateral damage in the organized chaos of emergency medicine.
You set your things down carefully on the small table inside the break room before leaning your head just barely out the doorway. To the left sat the employee lockers and a supply alcove. To the right was the command desk, where everyone eventually flocked and housed the patient boards.
Jack stood there with Robby and Dana, one hand braced against the edge of the counter while the other rested loosely on his hip.
Even from across the department, you could easily see the exhaustion that sat heavily across his shoulders.
The dark scrub top stretched across his back whenever he shifted slightly, and the dark wash cargo pants he wore instead of scrub bottoms sat low on his hips beneath the hem of his shirt.
You couldn't hear from where you were, but you could see Robby's mouth moving and Dana's wholly unimpressed look. You can only imagine what they were talking about. Jack, meanwhile, looked like a man mentally calculating how quickly he could escape the conversation.
Whether he saw you immediately when you entered the ER or simply felts your stare, you didn't know, but his head turned after a moment.
His eyes landed on you instantly and his whole expression changed, annoyance discarded and replaced with pure unadulterated affection. The change was small enough that most people wouldn't have noticed it. But you spent more time staring at Jack Abbot's face than most, so it was easy for you to spot.
Jack's brows lifted slightly before he brought his hands together in a quick apologetic and his mouth formed the word sorry from across the room. You smiled at him despite yourself. He glanced down at his watch before holding up five fingers.
You nodded once. His mouth curved with something guilty and fond all at once before his expression returned to what it was before he saw you and he turned back towards Robby. It was almost comical how fast the stoicism settled over his face again like armor sliding back into place.
You watched him for another moment longer than you probably should've. Long enough to notice the slight tension around his jaw. Long enough that you begun to wonder if his prosthetic was bothering him after being on it all night and then forced to stand there while Robby prodded him for dating advice.
Long enough that the clap against your back caught you completely off guard and nearly sent your soul directly out of your body. You startled violently. "Oh my god—"
"Morning, Morgie."
You turned to find Trinity grinning at you like she'd just caught you with your pants down and your hand in the cookie jar. Dennis lingered behind her with the distinct energy of a man who already regretted participating in whatever conversation was about to occur.
You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your pulse. "Hi, Dr. Santos."
"You headed out?" she asked, a mischievous look in her eye.
"Trying to," you answered honestly.
Trinity barely acknowledged the response. She leaned casually against the doorway beside you like the two of you were old friends instead of occasional workplace acquaintances who primarily exchanged polite nods in passing.
You had known people like Trinity your entire life. Loud people, you mean. People who filled silence immediately and naturally. People endlessly willing to push boundaries just to see what would happen. That wasn't to say you didn't like her.
If anything, you suspected under different circumstances you could probably even be friends. Unfortunately, friendship required social energy you often did not possess after working nights in basement with dead people.
Still, you tried. If not for your sake, then for Jack's. These were his coworkers and you were his girlfriend, you were bound to run into them more often than not, so a good relationship was paramount in your opinion.
"How are you doing?" you asked politely. She had ignored the question entirely, opting for her own line of questioning. "So," she started, eye bright with mischief already, "you and Abbot are like a thing, right?"
You stomach dropped. "What?" Never in a million years did you think that was going to be her question.
Dennis looked like he wanted the floor to open and consume him whole. Trinity, meanwhile, looked absolutely delighted with herself. "Oh, come one," she said. "You guys are not subtle."
You blinked at her.
You genuinely had not realized that people knew. You and Jack were not actively hiding your relationship persay. The two of you just simply hadn't announced it. You didn't exactly have a social circle to update, and Jack was not the type to stand in the middle of the ER making declarations about his personal life.
But apparently none of that really mattered.
Apparently the entire hospital had functioning eyeballs. Before you could figure out how to respond to that, Trinity continued. "But I gotta ask," she said lowering her voice slightly despite the wicked grin still pulling at her mouth, "is he packing? Because that man walks like it's heavy."
Your brain stalled completely.
Packing? Walks like it, what? Those were only some of the thoughts running through your head. You frowned in confusion. "What?"
Trinity stared at you, disbelieving. "You know," she waved her hands slightly as if that would suddenly make you understand what she was referring to.
"No," you admitted slowly, "I actually don't."
For one horrifying second, you genuinely thought she was talkng about his prosthetic. You eyes flicked instinctively toward Jack again. He shifted slightly near the desk, probably trying to relieve pressure from standing too long.
Concern immediately sparked in your chest. Was his leg hurting him?
"Santos," Dennis whisper hissed, scandalized, "you cannot ask people stuff like that."
"What?" she asked. "I've been catching print for the last hour. I'm curious!"
Now you were even more confused. What did that even mean, catching print? Surely she wasn't referring to his prosthetic. You didn't have the greatest view of his leg as it was obscured by the other, but even so it was very difficult to notice it under his cargo pants even under the right circumstances.
"Catching what?" you asked.
She blinked at you incredulously. Dennis covered his face with one hand. "You don't know what that means?" she asked.
"Should I?"
In hindsight, the grin that spread across Trinity's face then should have terrified you, but all you felt was embarrassment beginning to creep up your neck. "Oh my god," she breathed. "Okay. Wait."
Before you could react, she stepped closer beside you and pointed subtly towards the command desk. You followed her gaze automatically. Jack still stood talking with Robby and Dana, completely unaware he was currently the subject of discussion.
"I'm confus—"
"Wait for it," Trinity interrupted.
Jack shifted his weight to his good leg, trying to relieve some of the pressure. You noticed immediately because you always noticed when he was compensating with his good leg after a long shift. You eyes dropped instinctively toward the prosthetic, mentally cataloguing the stiffness in his posture and the slight adjustment of his hips.
Beside you, she groaned dramatically. "Higher," she muttered.
Your brows furrowed but you did as you were told and slowly your gaze dragged upward. Past the heavy line of his thigh. Past the dark wash cargo pants that stretched tighter from the weight shift. You finally understood as your gaze landed on his crotch.
Oh.
Oh.
Your entire body stilled because now that you saw, there was no way for you to unsee it. The fabric across the front of his pants had pulled taut enough to reveal the unmistakable outline of him beneath.
It wasn't obscene or at all intentional. But it was incredibly, horribly noticeable once pointed out. Your stomach dropped directly into hell. Which is exactly where you felt you were. Was it getting hot in here?
It wasn't like this was new information to you. It wasn't like you hadn't seen him naked plenty of times before. It was quite the contrary. You knew exact what Jack looked like beneath his clothes.
You knew the weight of him in your palm, the way his hands gripped your hips when he lost control, you knew the vulgar things that came out of his mouth when he got worked up enough.
This was different. This was public.
This was your boyfriend standing in the middle of the emergency department discussing hospital operations while his coworkers apparently conducted active investigations into the outline of his dick.
Another reason you hated the ER, pointless conversation about topics that were better left unspoken.
And to make matters worse, Jack clearly had no idea. Because you knew that had Jack been turned on right now, his neck would be flushed under his stubble, his fists would flex unconsciously, his shoulders would tense.
Instead he remained entirely relaxed, still focused on whatever Robby was saying. Meaning that it was simply him. Your face went hot enough to physically hurt. Beside you, Trinity looked seconds away from tears from how hard she was trying not to laugh.
You couldn't speak.
You couldn't breath.
Trinity watched your expression transform in real time and absolutely lit up with satisfaction. Because not only had she succeeded in getting her answer, she had effectively embarrassed the life out of you.
"There it is."
Your eyes remained locked on Jack against your will. Because now that you noticed, your brain seemed insistent on replaying memory after memory. Dear God.
Had it always been that noticeable?
You felt mildly sick and somehow even sicker knowing Trinity was watching you realize it. "I, um, have nothing to say on the matter." She finally broke and a loud laugh burst out of her before she slapped Dennis on the shoulder.
"Come on, Huckleberry," she cackled, still grinning wildly. "We've ruined Morgie's morning enough." Then she simply walked away. Leaving you standing there in the break room doorway, staring at your boyfriend across the ER.
You almost didn't answer the door.
The thought had crossed your mind somewhere between your bed and the kitchen island, sometime after you'd buried yourself beneath your comforter and convinced yourself that if you ignored the problem it would eventually disappear.
Unfortunately, simply not answering the door wouldn't make everything alright again, because Jack wasn't actually the problem.
The problem was you.
It was how Jack made you feel.
Jack was thoughtful and kind.
The sort of man who noticed when you skipped meals, remembered your favorite takeout order and worried when you took the bus home when he was supposed to drive you.
The sort of man currently standing in your apartment hallway balancing enough food to feed a small family. You chewed nervously on your lip for a moment as you stared through the peephole.
You hesitated opening the door but ultimately unlocked the dead bolt and pulled open the heavy door. "Jack?" you questioned.
The second the door opened, his attention settled on you. "Hey, pretty girl."
The greeting came naturally as if it had been your name forever rather than just for the last few months. His gaze moved over you quickly but it didn't feel invasive or scrutinizing. You could tell he was looking for signs of the sickness you had told him you'd suddenly come down with.
"Can I come in?"
You didn't really understand why but with those four words, your guilt doubled. Your stomach lurched as you stepped aside without argument. "You didn't have to do all this."
"Yeah, I did," he muttered.
He leaned his crutches against the kitchen island as he began to pull out the various food items.
The apartment suddenly felt smaller with him inside it, and it wasn't because his large frame took up most of your kitchen. His broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than physically possible. But more importantly, when he was here, it felt warmer and homey. Jack made your tiny studio feel different simply by existing in it.
"You look better than I expected."
You could tell the statement was carefully curated. Meant to reassure himself of your state but not as to blatantly say I knew you were lying when you said you were sick.
So you did what you do best in these situations. You doubled down. "I told you it wasn't serious," you explained.
"Mhm." The hum could have meant absolutely anything and the different possibilities were making your head spin.
You watched him continue unpacking the food. Container after container appeared. Then you also noticed the drink carrier and the large water bottle he pulled out from under his arm.
"I didn't know what sounded good," he explained. "So I got options."
You stared. "Jack . . ," you trailed.
"Breakfast sandwich. Turkey club, incase you were thinking lunch and chicken noodle, if you're feeling nauseous." Another container joined the lineup. "Hash browns, too."
"Jack, thats too much."
"I know you forget to eat sometimes and I am almost ninety nine percent sure that's what's making you feel sick." He finally glances over at you. "So please. Eat."
Your chest tightened because there it was again. That awful problem. The caring and the concern. The complete inability to stop looking after people.
You had spent the entire bus ride home feeling ridiculous. Now you felt ridiculous and guilty. A terrible combination, especially when it came to you.
"You sure your head's the only thing bothering you?" Your eyes snapped upward.
Jack had settled on to the couch now, crutches leaned against the coffee table as he pulled off his prosthetic. Then leaned back against the cushions with the exhausted posture of a man who had spent twelve hours standing.
He tilted his head back and rolled his neck. His legs spread as he shifted further into the couch. Your eyes gravitated towards his thighs and for the first time, you noticed he was wearing gray sweatpants. You immediately looked elsewhere.
"I'm just tired," you said quickly, averting your eyes by any means necessary.
"Baby, you've been tired before." His voice remained calm, very matter-of-fact. "This is different," he continued.
You cursed yourself for letting this silly situation spiral like this. You cursed yourself for letting him in the door and most of all, you cursed yourself for being so damn readable.
He had been in your apartment for all of ten minutes and he had already noticed the change in your behavior. Very Jack Abbot of him and very much the bane of your existence.
You groaned loudly, "Oh my god, I'm acting weird."
"A little." You hadn't expected him to agree with you so outright, so your face fell a little when you heard his words. Jack immediately softened. "Not bad weird. Just a little off."
The apartment fell quiet. You looked away. Suddenly finding everything else more interesting. The outside city noises. A dog barking somewhere down the street. The soft hum of your ancient refrigerator.
"Honey?"
"Hm?" You respond but you definitely don't look towards him.
"Tell me what's going on."
You continued to stare stubbornly at the floor. If you didn't answer maybe he'd forget. At least that's what your were foolish enough to think. Unfortunately for you, Jack Abbot possessed the patience of a man who spent his life talking terrified patients through terrible situations.
Silence didn't scare him. It merely encouraged him to wait longer. When you sill didn't answer, he sighed. A change in tactics was in store for you. "C'mere."
You blinked, confused, "What?"
"Your shoulders are practically touching your ears." He tipped his chin towards the couch. "Sit down," he ordered.
"I don't think—"
"Sit."
His command wasn't malicious or harsh. It wasn't even particularly forceful. Yet somehow you found yourself crossing the room anyway. He shifted immediately to make space for you. The moment you sat down, he maneuvered you until your back was facing him and his hands settled on your shoulders. You nearly folded in half at the feeling.
"Oh my god."
"I told you." His thumbs worked slowly through the knots gathered at the base of your neck. You hadn't noticed how tense you'd gotten until this moment. How every muscle in your body had tightened up in your fucked up sense of self preservation.
But as his hands continued to work over the area, the more you relaxed and in more ways than one. The problem was that Jack's hands felt entirely too good. The problem was also that Jack himself felt entirely too good. The problem was definitely not helped by the gray sweatpants and the fact that you were still very much in the proverbial doghouse you had put yourself in.
"You're tight as hell," he mumbled and a strangled sound escaped before you could stop it. Jack froze, one eyebrow raised. "Okay, seriously. What is going on?"
You immediately covered your face as heat flooded your cheeks. "Hey." A hand squeezed your shoulder. "Come on, baby. We talked about communicating, it's important to me."
You groaned into your hands. "Ugh, it's so embarrassing. I don't wanna tell you."
"Well, now you have to," he teased. "It's just me."
"Exactly my point. It's you." You swear if he lifted his eyebrows any further they'd brush his hairline. "Alright, now I'm definitely confused."
You debated lying again. Considered a different excuse, something wholly more believable. But again, Jack had that way about him, which somehow made honesty inevitable.
"While I was waiting for you," you finally muttered, "Santos came up to me and she said—"
Jack straightened immediately. "What? If she crossed a line, I'll have a talk with her."
"No." You sat upright and turned to him so fast his hands slipped from your shoulders. "No. That would definitely not help."
"Okay," he conceded, though suspicion still laced his voice. "Can you tell me what she said?"
You sighed. "She was just being . . ." You searched for the appropriate description. "Being Santos."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"No, I know." You looked down at your hands. "She asked if we were together."
Jack frowned. "Does that make you upset? That people know?"
"No." You almost shout, the answer coming immediately. You softened slightly. "I mean, I know we weren't necessarily hiding it. I just didn't realize how many people knew."
Understanding flickered across his face. Then disappeared almost as quick as it had appeared. "Alright," his voice gentled. "Then what's got you so twisted up?"
And there it was.
This was the moment. The point of no return.
You stared at the wall. Then the floor. Then your hands. Anywhere except Jack. Finally, mortified beyond belief, you mumbled, "she asked if you were 'packing.'"
The silence that followed was immediate.
"What?"
You squeezed your eyes shut, mentally preparing for your next words. "And then she said—and I quote—'he walks like it's heavy.'"
For one glorious second, Jack looked too stunned to react. Then he laughed.
It wasn't a cruel laugh or mocking. Just genuinely surprised. Which somehow made it worse. "Oh my god." You buried your face in your hands. "You're laughing at me. I knew this was stupid."
"No, baby." He was still smiling but he was shaking his head and waving his hands. "I'm not laughing at you."
"You literally are," you said bluntly because he really was still laughing.
"It's just kinda silly," he confessed.
"Silly?" you repeated. "What about this is silly?"
Jack shook his head. "So what if people noticed?"
"You don't understand."
"No. I do."
The corners of his mouth twitched. "So what if you noticed? Ain't nothing you haven't seen before."
"Jack."
"What?"
His expression remained entirely too innocent. "It's the truth."
"Jack!" Your panicked voice earned another laugh. You groaned dramatically. "Stop laughing."
"I'm trying." He absolutely was not. The smile gave him away.
"C'mere." His hand found your wrist before you could retreat again. The gesture was gentle and familiar. "Baby." The amusement faded slightly and he continued, "you're acting like this is some terrible thing."
"It is terrible."
"Why?"
"You weren't there."
"No." His thumb brushed across your skin."Sounds like I missed a hell of a conversation though," he joked.
You glared. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he looked unbearably fond. “I just—" you exhaled. "I know what you look like, okay? Obviously. But that's private."
Your hand waved vaguely between the two of you. "That's ours."
For the first time since arriving, Jack's smile softened completely. "Then suddenly she points it out and now I'm standing there staring at your pants in the middle of the ER like some kind of pervert."
"Oh."
You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean oh?”
The grin returned instantly. "Are you jealous other people noticed?"
"No!"
You stood without really thinking it through. This was how it was with you. Your instinct was always flight over fight. Unfortunately, Jack caught your wrist. "Nope." The grin widened. "You started this conversation. You're finishing it."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
His eyes lingered on your face. "You're embarrassed because Dr. Santos pointed out something you already spend a lotta time thinkin' about."
Your mouth dropped open.
"I do not."
One eyebrow lifted. You immediately looked away. Which told him everything he needed to know.
His laugh returned. "Hey." Your eyes remained firmly fixed on the opposite wall. "Pretty girl."
"Jack, that's not helping."
"You know I like knowing you think about me like that, right?"
Your face somehow became hotter. "Stop."
"What?" His expression remained shameless. "Sweetheart, we've slept together. More than once."
"Please stop talking."
"There is nothin' embarrassing about bein' attracted to me." You stared. Jack shrugged. "Frankly, I'd be a little concerned if you weren't."
Despite everything. Despite the embarrassment. Despite Trinity Santos. Despite spending over two hours making yourself miserable, a laugh escaped.
The moment it did, Jack's expression softened.
"There she is."
You rolled your eyes. The words settled somewhere warm despite your best efforts to resist them.
And the knot that had been sitting in your chest since sunrise finally began to loosen.
content: The Tourney was suppose to be a fun time to relax until your husband lost the two children he was in charge of.
words: 2.5k
cw: MDNI 18+ p in v, fingering, cockwarming, a pussy slap, slapping, pussy pronouns, breeding (shocker), OOC Aerion (he is better behaved as Maekar is not a single mom)
a/n: this was originally just going to be them hooking up at tourneys, but I decided to make them married for the plot. I lokwey might do an origin story if anyone is interested lol.
You were not sure what had possessed you to want to visit home, but that slowly died after spending a whole day with your mother, but the girls seemed to be having a fun time being closer to the water, while Aerion sulked as he had lost another round of sword play to his uncle.
“You are brooding. You look like your damn dragon,” your brother muttered from beside you, causing you to roll your eyes.
“He has been your good-brother this long and you still cannot say his name,” you countered, raising a brow.
Lyonel laughed with a shake of his head, “It does not change the fact that he is a miserable bastard.”
You could still remember Lyonel’s bitter reaction when you had declared you were going to wed Prince Maekar. You were hardly a woman grown in love for the first and had declared to your father that if he denied the match when it was proposed you would burn down Storm’s End
You lifted your knife that you had previously used to cut your meat now flashed before his face, causing him to scoot back slightly, “Watch yourself,” you warned.
“I see where, Aerion, gets it from,” he then muttered, looking away from you toward your second whose face mirrored your own as he picked away at his supper.
“Mama,” a small voice called out.
You turned looking toward Rhae who sat across from you, “Yes?” you asked, your face transforming to one of a softer expression within a moment.
“When are we leaving to go see kepa?”
As if you could hear her thoughts your head snapped down to the end of the table glaring at your mother. She had been even less pleased than your brother when marrying a Targaryen and it now showed more than ever especially watching her interact with your children.
Lyonel, at least, loved his nieces and nephews. Your mother was a different story. You made a mental reminder to make Lyonel visit you at Summerhall next time he was missing you.
Aerion’s eyes drifted down to his grandmother holding her gaze as if he himself was warning her not to start with his mother. “On the morrow,” you told her. “Why don’t you three go get ready for bed. We will have an early start. I will be right in,” you told them with a smile.
The three eventually went off to bed, the eldest of them the most reluctant, but went nonetheless. You turned looking to your brother, “Next time you are coming to Summerhall so I do have to deal with the looks or the comments about my silver haired brood,” you declared loudly pushing yourself to your feet.
You ignored your mother’s voice, but it was easy to ignore as it mixed with your brother’s loud laughter. Your father simply sat at the table with a sigh, “You are the reason she hardly comes around,” he muttered to his wife.
Your eyes moved from your good-brother to your husband, “You lost our sons? You were in charge of two children and you lost them both?” You stood in front of the long table where they sat Lord Ashford having excused himself at your arrival being half terrified to hear how you took the news of your missing sons.
Maekar rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath which only caused you to raise a brow, “Is that not what you did? We have six children. One is at the Citadel, three were with me, and two with you. Where are you two, Maekar?”
Baelor let out a small chuckle pressing his hand to his mouth as if trying to hide his betrayal, but his younger brother had already heard him long and clear. “Tell her why Daeron ran off.”
Your eyes snapped to the elder then slowly turned to your husband, “Why did they run off, Maekar?”
The man opened his mouth and closed it again. You let out a sigh, your hand moved, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come,” you beckoned, turning out of the hall.
You did not have to turn to know he was following you, even if you could not hear his boots against the ground you knew he would have followed after you.
At the last minute he moved ahead of you, opening the door and allowing you to enter inside the provider chamber. Your eyes scanned the room, it was nowhere near as grand as the one at Summerhall, but it was rather large.
You moved toward the table at the far side pouring the wine in the flagon into two respective chalices. “Why did Daeron run off?” you asked once more.
He moved to sit in one of the chairs as you settled in the other. “He was going to enter the lists.”
“Oh, Maekar," you groaned in frustration.
“He is a man grown, it is expected of him!” he argued.
You rolled your eyes, “He is not Aerion nor is he you. The sooner you come to that realization the happier our lives can be.”
He sighed, but argued no further. “I am glad you are here. I have missed you,” he whispered quietly as if it would bring shame to admit it.
“Cannot hear you,” you teased, raising a brow.
His jaw clenched, “I am glad you are here. I have missed you,” he said louder this time.
You hummed, downing the rest of your wine as you stood to your feet making your way over to him. His legs parted for you like they had done thousands of times before as you looked down at him.
Your hands moved cupping either side of his face forcing him to look up. The hair of his beard rubbed against your palms. His violet eyes flickered over your face, as his hardened features visibly softened now that you were alone.
“I have missed you too,” you confessed, leaning down to press your lips to his.
It was chaste and it caused him to chase after you as you pulled away staring down at him. He groaned in displeasure before his hand trailed up gripping your ass and forcing you down onto his lap.
This time when his lips met yours it was anything, but chate. A hunger clash of teeth as you both tried to convert your overwhelming need for the other into it. It had been long. Too long without the other, and it always made the reunion just that much sweeter.
You pulled away once your lungs begged for more air than you were currently providing them with, “You are getting soft on me, husband,” you teased, your hands interlaced through his silver locks giving it a harsh tug.
“Shut your mouth,” he grunted, his own mouth pressing open mouth kisses down your throat.
“Make me.”
He grinned pulling the strings before you were being forced onto your feet, “Take your dress off,” he instructed.
You did as you were told, allowing the black fabric to pool at your feet. Maekar had finally freed his cock, by the time you were bare before him moving forward as you straddled him once more. The chair groaned under your combined weight, but neither of you truly cared.
Your mouth reconnected with his as his large hands moved. You rose up onto your
He drew his hand back giving your cunt a harsh slap, causing you to shoot forward your head to rest on his shoulder, “Not running your mouth now,” he muttered.
You leaned back, your hand raising to connect with his face the same way he had just done to your womanhood. His head snapped to the side before slowly turning back to you, a wide grin on his lips.
“She is soaked,” he whispered, his mouth moving to nip at your neck as he entered a digit into your drooling hole with ease. You hummed your head tilting back as you let out a loud moaning as his thumb rubbed a circle on your clit.
“She might already be ready to take me,” he said, slipping another finger into you.
You nodded, “I told you..I’ve missed you,” you told him, grinding yourself down against his hand.
He nodded in agreement withdrawing his finger, giving his cock a lazy few strokes as you hovered over him. He notched himself at your hole holding your eye contact as you slowly sunk down on him, taking him inch by inch.
He sat back waiting for you to begin to fuck yourself onto him, but you did not budge. You sat there staring at him, “Move,” he grunted.
“No. You lost our sons,” you told him. He groaned your name as if it was painful, but you still did not move. “Why should I move? Plead your case.”
“You are my wife and I have missed you so I order you to move.”
“Missed me or my cunt?”
“Both,” he confessed, trying to get you to move but you fought against him staying still.
“You lost our sons,” you pointed out.
“I will find them,” he promised.
That was good enough for you, allowing you to finally give him moving your hips against his. His mouth moved forward latching around your hardened peak of your breast, “Maekar,” you moaned, your nails digging into the pale skin of his shoulder.
“Missed you,” he muttered, as he dragged his tongue across the valley of your breast turning to get the other side the same attention as the first. You grinded your hips down into him quickly, your clit rubbing against the coarse hair at his base causing you to already feel the coil in your belly quickly building.
“She’s taking me so well.”
You only groaned in response, your nails digging further into him. His hands dug into your hip bones no doubt going to leave bruises in his wake, painting your skin with the reminder of him.
“You’re close already,” he observed, feeling the way you kept fluttering around him, the loud cry of his name being the only thing you could truly say.
You nodded eagerly, fucking yourself into him harder trying to achieve the ecstasy of relief, “Be a good girl and finish on your husband’s cock,” he instructed, continung to lap and suck at your hardened nub.
“Oh, fuck,” you groaned when the coil in your belly finally snapped.
You went boneless in his embrace moving forward. Maekar continued to fuck you through your high as he chased his own release, “Gonna fill you,” he told you, as he thrusted up into you quickly.
“Give me another, babe, husband," you muttered, and that was his undoing as buried himself to the hilt, the long ropes of cum shooting out filling you with him for the first time in what felt like forever.
Your ragged breaths filled the room as your flesh pressed against the other, his heat radiating off him as if he was your own personal fire. You were still slumped against his shoulder, as you pressed a kiss to his sweat slickened skin, “Oh, my dragon I have missed you,” you coed.
He grunted in response, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, “Don’t leave that long again.”
“I can’t. You lose our children in your absence.”
The Baratheon tent was chaotic as always as your second son and yourself sat at the high table glancing around. You let out a sigh debating making your way back to the castle to await your husband’s return when you finally noticed a small boy next to an overly large man. Though his head was shaved you would have recognized that face anywhere.
“Aerion?” you asked, tilting your head toward the young man. He hummed in response turning toward you, “Is that your brother or are the fumes of stench finally getting to me.”
His head turned following your extended hand, and you watched his eyes instantly widen. “That’s what I thought,” you muttered, pushing yourself to your feet.
You made your way through the tent, men alike moving out of the way averting their eyes as if they were scared to make eye contact with you, but you did not care your gaze was set on your missing son.
The boy immediately looked toward the large knight hoping to his feet as he urged his companion to do the same and was almost successfully able to make a break for it before, “Aegon!” was called out loudly.
Your brother who had heard the commotion slowly approached eyes flickering between his sister and his new companion, “What is going on?” he asked, but you ignored him, eyes trained on the bald boy.
Egg paused for a moment and you could tell he was debating ignoring you like he did when he was caught doing something he should not have been. “If you run you will stay with your uncle for two moons,” causing him to turn toward you slowly.
The large man turned from you to the boy at his side, “M’Lady?” he questioned, as if you had gone crazy.
Your son looked at you with a sheepish smile that caused your head to spin. You quickly turned to your brother, “How many times has been in this tent?” you asked. Lyonel scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “Your missing nephew was in your tent and you did not notice him!” you hissed, driving your finger into his chest.
The hedge knight’s eyes widened, glancing from the Baratheon siblings to the boy at his side, “Nephew…That means,” he slowly started to put the pieces together.
“That you have had Prince Maekar and my darling sister’s missing son, my dear friend,” Lyonel laughed moving toward the hedge knight as he kept his eyes on you as if he were afraid you were going to strike him.
“I am so sorry, M”lady I had no idea!”
The Baratheon man smirked, “Well now that is all sorted out you can take dear Aegon back to the castle and I will fill in Ser Duncan.”
You rolled your eyes, “Nope. The hedge knight is mine now, brother,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Come along. Ser…?”
“Duncan,” Egg supplied.
“Ser Duncan. Mayhaps one of you can inform me where the hell my eldest son has taken off too,” you muttered, shaking your head.
You went to move toward the exit when you felt a small hand wrap around yours causing you to look down, “I am sorry I ran off, but I lied to Ser Duncan, and he does not deserve to get in trouble.”
“Oh, good, because Ser Duncan is not going to get in trouble for keeping you alive. You are going to get in trouble for lying to the poor knight and running off.”
Aegon in the moment wasn’t sure which was going to be worse his father’s fiery temper or his mother’s fury.
Maekar seeing how well you do with his kids and wanting to add another Maekarling
and you don’t need much convincing
18+ (smut, breeding duhhh)
he watches you from across the courtyard where you sit on a low stone bench, surrounded by blooming spring flowers and a gaggle of excitable children that are not made of your blood. but someone of lesser understanding would not have known that.
the deep crimson of your skirts pool out around you, an unfurling magnolia with velvet petals, as you perch on the seat with rhae curled in your lap, head tucked beneath your chin. aemon sits beside you, his head on your shoulder as he reads softly aloud, and daella sits at your feet, fingers running up and down the smooth expanse of your skirts. aegon stands on his toes behind you, pushing yet another small flower into your hair.
maekar pauses in the doorway, leaning against the stone arch as he observes. his children speak kindly to you, and you speak to them much the same, and as you soothe rhae with one hand, pet daella’s hair with the other, whilst listening to aemon’s muttering and allowing aegon to turn your hair into a garden, maekar realises something. he realises he wants this life with you.
and when he corners you that evening, his children put to bed and tucked out of sight, he realises you want the same thing.
he’s not gentle.
it had started gentle, as it usually did, but after pulling you apart on the flat of his tongue, followed by the stretch of two thick fingers, he knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. good thing you liked it like that.
maekar curls you over the edge of the bed, your body completely bare as you bend and lay amongst the silks and furs. a strong, calloused hand holds the back of your neck, anchoring you to the feathered mattress as he stretches your pussy open around the thick of his cock.
he groans, feeling your pussy pull tight around him as he ruts in. silk walls draw inwards, heavy against the ridges along his shaft and the vein, pumping hot with blood, that runs along the underside. his other hand is a vice on your hip, dimpling the flesh as he forces you back onto him, the slapping sounds of skin-on-skin loud in the evening silence of your chambers.
you mewl into the sheets beneath you, a string of saliva already catching out the side of your mouth as your husband thrusts into you, the movements deep and far-reaching. heavy balls nudge against the swollen pearl of your clit, and you mewl again, startled, when the head of his cock punches up towards the plug of your cervix.
“don’t fuss,” maekar grumbles, rutting into you, eyes trailing down the line of your spine and over the curve of your arse as he holds you down by the nape. your pussy drools around him, his flushed shaft slick as he pulls out, then shoves back in. he groans, “fuck, you always take me so well, don’t you?”
he doesn’t really want a response when he questions you like this, cock splitting you open as he pins you to your shared bed. you gape, breathy moans falling free of your throat as your fingers tangle in the silken sheets and sweat builds tacky down your back and thighs. he listens to you gasp and mewl, a crooked smile on his face as he kneads the fat at your hip.
“how many times…” maekar begins, sentence breaking momentarily as the wet squelch of your cunt becomes audible in the flame-soaked silence, the open hearth flickering nearby. you whimper, and your husband groans. “will i have to spill in this tight cunt before you’re full, huh? how many times will she have to take me before you’re round with my child?”
you let out a pathetic sound, some mix of a gasp and a moan, the syllables showing some semblance of his name, but it’s lost in the heat of your pleasure. a third orgasm sparks at the ends of your nerves, flames flickering across the walls of your womb, deep in your pelvis.
maekar grunts, strands of white hair falling loose over his forehead, cheeks hued with pink beneath the candlelight. he palms the flesh of your arse now as the hand on your neck pushes you deeper against the bed.
“is that what you want, little dove?” he asks as his hips rock, the leaking head of his cock pushing right up against that perfect spot inside you. your back arches and you cry out his name, pussy fluttering as heat fills the base of your tummy. he grunts, continuing as you squirm. “you want me to fill you? spill deep inside this tight cunt ‘til she makes a right mess of herself, yeah?”
“maekar,” you manage out, and it’s low and tense and strung across a high-pitched moan. you fist the silks and furs for support as he rocks against you, bed creaking.
“i’m right here,” he whispers, barely audible over his hips slamming against your arse. the fingers on your neck give you a gentle squeeze, and you suck in a shallow breath. then, he groans, the thick of his cock sucked in tight as your pussy flutters around him. “oh, she wants it, little dove. wants me to fill her—wants me to make you a mother.”
you cry out at his words, your release strung taut across your sparking nerves. it’s right there, your entire body growing rigid beneath him as he spears you apart on his cock. you grow hot, and hotter still, tension deep through the lines of your pelvis as you angle your hips to meet his thrusts, heartbeat heavy in your clit.
maekar huffs and grunts behind you, his voice breaking across a poorly hidden whine. “fuck, fu-uh-ck, oh, little dove, here we go, here we go…”
he coaxes you through your orgasm as it ignites and overwhelms you. your body shakes, trembles like a picked flower, as heat bursts through your pelvis and the depths of your womb, your pussy squeezing tight around him. you moan, his name and his title up in the air around you, as stars burst behind your lowering lids and your legs threaten to give out.
but he’s not far behind you—as you come, he groans his praises, guiding you through the fissuring of pleasure with “that’s it, there we go” and “good girl, just like that” as he ruts his cock towards the base of your womb. with each thrust into you, slick dribbles out around his shaft, and he feels it along the seam of his balls as they draw up, visions of you fat with his child at the forefront of his mind.
maekar groans loudly. “gods, you’ll look perfect round with my child—fuck, i’ll be good to you, little dove, an’ i’ll keep you full all—the—fucking—time—” thrust, thrust, thrust, with each word, before he’s letting out a hoarse moan of your name and shoving himself to the hilt inside you.
he rolls his hips, sliding against you in lazy movements as he spills right against your cervix. still fizzling down from your own orgasm, you let out a shaky moan as he fills you, seed too warm in the base of your pelvis. his cock twitches, jerks inside you as your walls flutter, then pull him in even tighter as his seed fills you, fills you still, then settles.
he doesn’t pull out, but he collapses half way on top of you—the hand on your neck moving to bracket your head. you shift a little, panting as he plants a wet kiss to the corner of your mouth. you whine, turning your head to slide your lips to his. he grunts into your mouth as your tongues meet, and you taste yourself on him as your heart begins to slow beneath your ribs. he pulls away, resting his dewy forehead against your temple.
“it’ll take,” he says like he’s sure of it. like he knows it will.
“and if it doesn’t?” you counter through a mumble, limbs lax as you melt into the silks and furs, his body a firm press atop yours.
maekar chuckles. it’s a deep, low sound that vibrates through his chest, and it makes a little whine slip past your lips.
“then we keep trying,” he mutters, rolling his hips and nudging his cock deeper. you whimper, a shudder racking through you in response. he kisses your warm cheek. “i’ll fill you again and again, every fucking night, until you’re too full to even move… understood?”
you nod, words evading you as he noses your cheekbone, kissing you softly there too as his cock twitches where it sits deep, plugging you full of him.
text: [ “Some of you have forgotten that only three years ago you were perfectly capable of writing an essay, writing a eulogy, telling a bedtime story to a child, and it should worry you that powerful companies have convinced us we can’t do things we’ve been doing for 5000 years.” ]
And they're absolutely specifically pushing it, make no mistake. It's not just a matter of "it's there, it's convenient, so people are going to take the path of the least resistance", it is a legitimate and concerted effort on the part of these companies to get people to outsource all these things to their models.
They're preying on insecurities to do it. Yes, you can write an essay - but can you write a good essay, they ask you. Do you not want to improve your output? Do you not want people to think of you as competent and very clever? Why go through the mortifying process of failing and failing and failing until you succeed if you can just skip the "learning" part of doing, and simply generate a ready-made product?
I'm preaching to the choir here obviously but it's a concerning thing to witness nonetheless. My kid is 6 next week and I've been teaching her that failing at things is morally neutral and in fact necessary even before the advent of AI, but it's becoming ever more important that we teach the kids that criticism and failure and discomfort aren't necessarily bad things, but just a part of the growth process.
AI companies are heavily invested in making themselves relevant. They want people to believe they can't do the things they have done unaided before and to make them become reliant on the AI models, so the AI models' existence is artificially justified.
Shy!reader get sick and she visit the pitt at night
okay so this is set before they are a couple!!
thank you anon! i hope u enjoy <3
—
the waiting room was packed and sticky from the humidity.
almost every single chair was occupied as the television mounted on the wall played quietly over the constant murmur of conversations, ringing phones, and coughs.
she had been sitting there for nearly three hours.
at first she'd thought someone would call her back quickly.
and when an hour had passed, she decided to open her kindle app.
and when another hour passed she just couldn’t focus anymore. her book long forgotten.
because every time a nurse appeared through the doors, her head lifted hopefully before sinking again.
the fever hadn't broken and if anything… it felt worse.
her body ached. her throat burned from the constant coughing, and the room was too bright and too loud.
twice she'd considered walking up to the desk and asking how much longer it would be.
twice she'd lost her nerve.
everyone else looked like they needed help more than she did anyway.
so she waited… and waited… and waited.
by the time someone finally called her name, she nearly missed it.
"miss?"
her head snapped up.
a nurse smiled.
"we've got a room for you."
relief hit her so hard she almost cried.
the exam room wasn't much quieter than the waiting room. voices carried through the hallway. monitors beeped somewhere nearby, and stretchers rolled past every few minutes.
she sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, trying not to feel overwhelmed.
was she sitting weird?
what should she say when the doctor arrives?
she sighed, closing her eyes to calm her nerves before the door opened.
a young nurse stepped inside.
"hey, i'm mateo." he offered a friendly smile while pulling up her chart and read her name aloud.
his brows furrowed, recognizing her name but he pushed it to the side as she coughed into her elbow.
“sorry.” she sniffled.
some of her tension started to ease though, because mateo was easy to talk to. he was kind and he was nice to look at.
"so..” he gave her a smile. “what brings you in tonight?"
she explained her symptoms softly.
the fever that just won’t break.
the cough.
the exhaustion.
and the fact that she had barely eaten all day— her stomach would churn and turn whenever she tried to take a bite of anything.
mateo's expression became more serious as he listened.
"how long has the fever been running?"
"um.. about three days, i’d say.”
his head lifted from the notes he took. "hmm, three days?"
she nodded, coughing in the process making her gasp for air.
“sorry.”
"have you seen anyone before tonight?" he wanted to know.
"uh no."
mateo stared. "you waited three days?"
she looked down immediately, clutching her hands tighter together.
“i thought it'd go away." she let out a nervous chuckle.
a cough following suit. she apologized again, mateo smiled, dismissing it with a wave of his hand.
but before he could say anything else, movement outside the room caught his eye.
someone was passing by.
dark scrubs.
broad shoulders.
a coffee in one hand and a chart in the other.
jack abbot. his attending.
mateo looked up.
jack looked in and halted.
for a second, neither man moved.
mateo frowned in confusion.
"what?" he said to jack.
jack didn't answer.
his eyes were fixed entirely on the patient sitting on the bed. a knowing and surprised look plastered onto his tired features.
she was deathly pale.
flushed with the fever.
and suddenly mateo understood.
"oh."
the single word carried far more meaning than it should have.
because mateo knew.
he pulled it out of jack one night, after he came in for a shift with one of those schoolboy smiles— and jack never did that.
jack abbot wasn't dating her.
but mateo kept telling jack that he could if he grew some balls.
jack stepped into the room, opening the door slowly.
"what are you doing here?" his question wasn't harsh.
it was concerned.. deeply concerned.
she blinked up at him.
clearly startled to see him.
"oh! uh.. hi."
mateo physically had to stop himself from smiling.
“he’s my neighbor.” she said to explain.
mateo nodded. he already knew but he’d never tell her that.
jack crossed his arms.
"you're sick."
she looked down at her hands.
"yeah?"
"how’s the fever?"
she hesitated and gaped at mateo.
mateo answered for her.
"well, she’s had it for three days."
jack's jaw tightened.
"three days?"
she shrank visibly beneath the attention.
"i thought it would get better!”
neither of the men in front of her looked impressed.
jack rubbed a hand over his face.
for a moment he looked less like a trauma attending and more like a man trying very hard not to be worried about someone.
yet unfortunately for him, he was failing miserably.
like, really badly.
"have you eaten?"
a pause between her and mateo. jack winced.
"n-no.” she finally let out.
jack closed his eyes.
mateo immediately looked away towards the ceiling, fiddling his thumbs awkwardly because now he was witnessing something deeply personal.
when jack opened his eyes again, he looked directly at him.
"did we order labs?"
"already done."
"fluids?"
"i was about to hang them before you came in." he pointed.
jack nodded at that.
then he looked back at her.
his expression softened immediately.
"so you're gonna sit here," he said calmly, walking towards her bed.
he stoped so close that he felt her knees against his thigh and spoke again, “and you're gonna let us take care of you. and your going to stop apologizing for coughing."
her cheeks turned pink despite the fever.
because she had been apologizing.
constantly.
and of course jack had noticed.
his voice lowered.
"you understand?"
she gave him small nod.
"good."
and for the first time all night, she felt herself relax.
summary: baelor tryna navigate his sunday morning with his precious (feral) toddler
c/w: fluff
notes: this man is a girl dad through and through you cannot convince me otherwise
The morning sunlight seeps through the window, slow and warm. You feel your husband's arms wrapped tight and comfortable around you so you snuggle closer. However, that peace seems to last only a short while when you hear the sound of the sharp hiss of your cat outside your bedroom.
Baelor seems to hear it too, his body moving slightly. You tilt your head to look at him. His hair's messy, eyes heavy with sleep, and his arms are tightly reluctant to let go of you. But then he kisses your forehead.
"It’s still early, go back to sleep, my love. I'll go check on our daughter."
You hum, still fixed in your cozy position.
"I'm more worried about the cat."
He huffs as he sits up on the bed and puts on his shirt.
"That's fair. Our daughter has a deadly grip."
He gives you a small, gentle smile and disappears behind the door. You decide to sleep in for more minutes, savoring your peaceful morning while your husband saves the household.
Baelor almost doesn't believe the sight in front of him. Your daughter at 6 am in the morning, sunday morning nonetheless, already sprinting through the living room. A bunch of puzzles, dolls, and plastic tea cups are scattered around the floor.
Sure he knows your daughter is growing and toddlers have a lot of energy at their age. But he just doesn't expect his to be so... Energetic. And feral, that one he can't deny.
"Hey, sweetheart. Good morning." Baelor tries to greet her with easy smiles. And calls her names many times. Apparently none of it is working, so he gotta listen to your advice you told when she enters her toddler age.
She runs so fast, unbothered by her surroundings and his dad standing there and calling her. Her focus is solely on the black-and-white cat running from her for life.
Baelor waits patiently and predicts her movement, then when the time comes, he puts both hands on her side and lifts her in the air.
She immediately screams and kicks her feet. Baelor even has to pull his face away so he doesn't get kicked. That's how dangerous her physical power is. He learns that not only her hand grip is deadly.
He coos at her and shushes her gently.
"Sweetheart, it's me, daddy."
She screams louder. "Mickey!" Her legs kick wildly as her hand gestures at the cat dramatically.
Eventually Baelor's soothing voice grounds her from whatever morning demon it is and her scream turns into whines.
"Daddy, Mickey doesn't want to play with me." She says in her sad voice as Baelor brings her to lay in his chest, her head between his shoulder and neck, rocking her slowly.
"I know, baby, but Mickey is still very sleepy and wants to spend his morning alone." He tries to give her an understanding.
"Mickey hates me." Her voice muffled in his neck.
Baelor shushes her and pats her back gently in an attempt to console her. He starts to walk around the living room and open the curtains, allowing the sun to make a presence in the room.
A moment later, you get out of the bedroom, already in your clothes and your hair in a messy bun. In his eyes, you couldn't look more beautiful. You approach them and give a quick kiss on your daughter's cheek, who's apparently still pouting. You give a questioned look at your husband and he immediately signals at the cat, already settling comfortably in his spot. You nod in understanding. It's not like it's the first time.
"I'm gonna make her breakfast. Do you want some coffee?"
"Yeah." He leans in and pecks your lips.
You go to the kitchen while Baleor tries to distract her by pointing at the birds flying outside the window.
After some moments, you approach them who's now sitting on the floor, Baelor's soft voice guiding her to arrange the puzzle. You smile at the sight.
Your husband always wants to be a father. You caught that longing looks of him more than you can remember, just looking at some kids playing around, or when he answers curious questions from his nephew Aegon, or when you pay visits in your friend's house and play with their kids. He never pressures you but you know he wants them. Badly.
And surely he didn't expect his first would be a daughter. A girl. Even in the early days of having her, he voiced his doubt and uncertainty to you, and you don't mind kissing any of them and telling him that he's gonna be a good dad. That he's gonna be good to her.
And he is. He always makes time for you and your daughter, however busy he is. He always is by your side through the pregnancy, the postpartum, and now the threenager phase. But if you're being honest, you feel like your husband underestimates how difficult and sassy your toddler can be, though not in a bad way. You know it's the phase where she tries to build her independence. But she's not so cooperative either.
You bring your toddler's breakfast and your husband's coffee, joining them on the rug. You bring yourself some bananas, because typically you don't have breakfast this early in the morning.
Your daughter's breakfast is scrambled eggs, potato wedges, and seasoned broccoli. You are already anticipating her not eating the broccoli, but your husband seems to be unaware... Yet. Cause your toddler is famous with her statement. He'll know soon.
She eats all the scrambled eggs and potato wedges, not leaving anything else. But the broccoli, the broccoli is untouched.
"Sweetheart, why don't you eat it?" Baelor tries to reason with her and talks her into it.
"It tastes bad." She replies unbothered.
"It tastes like broccoli. I promise you it's not that bad."
Then your toddler does the unexpected. She grips one piece of broccoli and brings it to her daddy. "Daddy eat this."
You see Baelor tries to dodge it but your girl is determined. Face completely serious and her stare is insistent, no doubt found in that little scrunch in her nose. You try not to laugh at your husband's expression.
"Daddy already has his coffee. And that's your breakfast, so you have to finish it, including the broccoli."
"Daddy eat this."
Baelor sighs and eventually takes the broccoli from her hand. He plans to do some tricks to make it like he swallows the broccoli, but she watches him like a hawk, completely determined, as if challenging him.
He swallows it, trying to not grimace at the taste. It's a toddler's meal, for god's sake.
Looking at his expression, she immediately laughs at his face and points at him, finding it completely hilarious. You eventually can't suppress your laugh and join her. Your poor husband only gives a surrender smile, both hands in the air signaling his defeat.
"Told you daddy it doesn't taste good!" She continues cackling, holding her stomach. You didn't know where she learned that from.
After her laughter fades, Baelor ruffles her hair and she naturally comes and does that adorable toddler parking to sit on his lap. He immediately revels in her little quirk and showers kisses on her hair.
"You don't really like broccoli, don't you, sweetheart?" She nods her head.
"Then what do you like? Spinach, carrot?"
"I like eggs, and potatoes, and pasta, and... Um, mac and cheese." She lists her favorite foods as she plays with her daddy's hand.
"You like mac and cheese?"
"Uh huh." She nods aggressively. Baelor chuckles at that.
"How about this, you eat mac and cheese for lunch, but you eat 4 broccoli now?"
She thinks about that hard.
"3."
"4."
"3."
"4." Baelor has the last word. She seems like she's considering it very seriously and nods like it's some important business. He looks like he's suppressing his laugh.
She does what the deal is, eating 4 broccolis. When she finishes, she looks at him.
"Good job. That's my girl." She bashes at his compliment.
"Now what do we say to mama?" He hints at your presence.
"Thank you, my love."
You chuckle at that. Your brains already process and know where it comes from. However your husband seems to be caught off guard but his heart is warm, knowing your daughter must be paying attention to how his daddy is calling her mama with such love and adoration.
"My love? That's daddy's love, not yours." He says with feigned protest.
She giggles with pride. "Mama my love, not daddy's." They argue at each other over and over again, and eventually Baelor tickles her and she laughs out loud in his arms.
"Daddy, it tickles!"
She escapes from his grips and runs to you. "Mama help!"
"Come here!"
Her cute little giggles echo in the living room, mundane sunday morning becomes core memory with you and your husband as you smile at their antics while holding a camera in your hand.
“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Percy coaxed from where he was floating in the water. You shook your head, and Percy chuckled at your resistance. He placed his cold, wet hands on your ankles, pulling you gently off of the dock and into his arms.
You squealed, hands flailing before Percy pinned them against his dripping chest. “See? Its warm!!” He says, pulling you deeper.
You knew that Percy wouldn’t let you freeze, even though the water was so cold, his body and powers kept you warmer then you were sitting. Your heavy winter clothes weighed you down, and Percy held up so you wouldn’t drown (like he would let that happen to you)
You grumbled something unknown, snuggling into his chest as you pulled off your hat and scarf.
“There we go, that’s my girl.” He said, grinning as he pressed a wet, sea-salt tasting kiss to your lips.
You sputtered, pretending to hate the flavor before you finally gave in, kissing him hard,
The water flowed around you as both of you got lost in the kiss, the waves moving in the same tempo as his tongue.Eventually, you two pulled away as Percy murmured: “You’ll always be warm in the water,”
“oh but steve deserved a happy ending” and why couldn’t it have been simple and realistic instead of an assassin of his character? for example, passing the mantle to sam and going on a road trip with the man he’d spent years fighting to get back. after saying goodbye to sam, they get in beat up truck with nothing but two small packs, a few novels, and steve’s sketchbook. “so. where to first?” “I was thinking jersey” — they share a laugh, and drive
the worst part is steve rogers WOULDN’T. he wouldn’t leave sam with the responsibility of the shield without being there to support him. he wouldn’t go back to a woman who died of old age, had her own life and told him to move on. he wouldn’t have ever, not even once, considered leaving bucky — aka his entire world wrapped up in one person — alone, especially after just getting him back. and he wouldn’t have decided that he’d fought the good fight enough and retire in suburbia in the decade epitomes for traditional values aka an antitheses to everything he stood for. the real steve rogers would legitimately hate the man marvel put on the screen in endgame. and yet. and yet
“Ow.” Baelor groans when he feels a weight of a five year old land on him. Before the boy clambers off him and snuggles up against you as you’re sleeping in the middle of the bed. “Hello Aerion, why are you awake?”
“Can we go fishing?” The energetic child asks, not caring it was the middle of the night. The hood of his dragon snug covering his eyes.
“No, it’s sleep time.” Baelor tells the boy, pushing the boys hood back slightly so it was out of the boy eyes. The man despite for sleep after having been working till late.
“But father promised to take me.” The boy pouts wanting to go fishing.
“Then ask him.” Baelor responds coving his eyes with his arm trying to go back to sleep. Trying to ignore the boy clambering over you.
“Father can we go fishing?” Aerion asks now shaking Maekar’s shoulder waking you both up in the process.
“No.” Maekar replies not even opening his eyes.
“You promised.” Aerion whines dramatically flopping into you, carful to avoid the bump.
“Later then.” Maekar says pulling the boy into his arms to make him lie down, hoping the boy will go back to sleep. “Go to sleep.”
“Fine.” The child humphs snuggling into his father’s arms.
-
“Hello Daeron.” You whisper when you feel someone try and sneak into bed with you, Aerion sleeping on Maekar. “Are you alright?”
“Bad dream.” The boy says having clearly been crying as he slips into the spot between you and Baelor.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Baelor says still half asleep but wanting to check on the boys well being.
“No.” He says cuddling up against you. “Can I sleep in here?”
“Of course you can sweetheart.” You say kissing the boys head and placing his hand on your bump as he likes to feel the babe move and kick.
-
“Kepus? I think a rat has gotten into my chambers.” Valarr tells his father, clearly lying as the last time the boy saw a rat he screamed and woke most of the castle. Secretly just not being able to sleep and wanting a cuddle. “Can I sleep in here tonight?”
“Yes.” Baelor says yawning, not caring who’s in the bed anymore just wanting to sleep. “You might have to cuddle Daeron.”
“I can fit here.” The brunette boy says his sliver streak catching the moonlight. As he lays on top of his father, like he used to do when he was small.
-
“I think we need a bigger bed.” Maekar says half asleep moving Aerion’s hand of his face. Before he looks over at you and Baelor to see Daeron and Valarr both in the bed with you. Daeron curled up in your arms while Valarr was sleeping the exact same as Aerion, limbs all over the place. “We definitely need a bigger bed.”
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