Thinking about everyone on base being horrified by how secretary!reader talks to price....
How could they not? John price is a man to be respected if not feared. Even higher ranks than him know he's only still a captain because he prefers to get his hands dirty himself. No one wants to mess with a man like that.
Then there's....you. the new secretary.
"John. Your paperwork." You tell him every morning, dropping the files on the table in the mess hall without much thought. The first time you did it, people genuinely flinched.
No one calls captain price john.
You have no care or respect for his rank, treating price as a casual coworker and not the weapon he is. Always a "john. I want my vacation time approved by this weekend." Or "your breath smells like coffee, john. You want some gum?"
People are convinced price is planning to kill you. No other option when you keep blatantly disrespecting him.
Of course the team notices it too. Worse though when they notice you still call ghost "lieutenant" and kyle and soap "sergeant"
"Doesn't it bother you, sir? The blatant disrespect?" Kyle asks one night at the bar, after price had mentioned you again.
"bother me? Why the hell would it bother me?" Price snorts, takes a bite of the crisps from ghosts plate "My wife can call me whatever she wants."
"Hey, baby, you gotta wake up." Robby coos as he rubs your hip under the blanket. "If you're not up by the time Jack gets home, you know he'll be mad."
"Noo, I'm so tired." You groan, burying your face into the pillow when Robby peels open your blackout curtains.
"Well, did you stay up all night watching Korean convenience store videos again?" He teases as he cradles you in his arms, lifting you up to carry you to the bathroom.
"No... Was watching restaurant videos." You mumble, whining a little when he sets you on the bathroom counter. "I want to go back to bed. It's five in the morning." You huff as robby nudges your mouth open with your toothbrush.
"Aww, is my poor baby tired?" He mocks softly as he throughly brushes your teeth for you. "Well, I'm sure Jack will let you take a nap with him after you work out."
You loved your boyfriends, but you sometimes hated how strict of a schedule they kept you on. Sure, you felt better than ever before, but something about it didn't seem fair.
"If you're really good, maybe you can have your favorite bunny shaped waffles." Robby coos, groping your ass when you bend over the counter to spit out the toothpaste. "Be good and start the coffee pot for me."
cw : non con photo taking, sukuna jerks off to r & he’s gross, big age gap. based on this request <3
i’m imagining him with grey hair and a “grumpy” attitude (he’s just rude). his tattoos have somewhat faded over the years and the 6-pack he once boasted has turned into a bit of a beer gut, but it’s obvious that the muscles are there underneath—he’s still so big.
in the summer he spends most of his time watching you through his window while you tan in your backyard. you always wear your skimpiest bikinis because you don’t know that anyone’s looking.
you’re the sweetest piece of eye candy for sukuna, so he can’t help himself when he snaps a few pictures of you. sure, they aren’t the greatest photos, these damn new phones… but they do the trick whenever he’s stroking his cock and can’t gaze down at the real thing.
other times sukuna is mowing his lawn in the blazing heat. he knows he can handle it, he’s not that old… but you aren’t so sure. you’re too kind for your own good, always bringing him water because you’re worried about him getting dehydrated.
sukuna can’t complain much though, mostly because you own the cruelest sundresses. the kind that push your tits up high but are flowy enough around your legs to make every man pray for a strong gust of wind.
after these interactions you usually linger around to talk to sukuna, but he’s curt in his replies. he gives you little information about himself or the long life he’s lived. sukuna’s gathered that this is just how you are—curious, bubbly, a bit naive. you see the best in everyone, even when you shouldn’t.
you think sukuna is just reserved. maybe he’s lonely and needs someone to check up on him every now and then, even if he doesn’t show it… that’s what you tell your boyfriend when he questions why you’re always talking to the “weird old guy” next door.
truthfully, sukuna just doesn’t think that some girl he likes to jerk off to needs to know about his personal life.
but you’d never guess that’s how your neighbor felt. how could a tired old man think such lewd things about you?
so you keep trying. smiling and waving at sukuna when you see him in passing, trying to talk to him when you’re both outside.
sometimes you go so far as to invite him over to your house—foolish girl. sukuna has some level of restraint, but if you’d been unfortunate enough to live next to someone worse, like fushiguro, you’d never invite a stranger into your home again.
but sukuna hardly does anything to you aside from the occasional lingering touch or suggestive comment.
when he sees you lift your tank top to wipe the sweat from your face, he only looks. even though he’d rather tear the whole thing off so his rough hands can slide around your chest to cup your breasts. young girls always have the best tits.
when you bend over to take some cookies out of the oven, he only takes a photo for later. even though he’d rather grab you and bend you over the kitchen table so he can slide into your tight pussy from behind, fuck you until you’re begging him to cum inside you and breed you.
when you kneel on the floor to reach under sukuna’s feet for a fork he “dropped”, he only enjoys the view of you at his feet for a moment. even though he’d rather have you on your knees with your pretty lips wrapped around his dick, your hand grabbing his balls instead of a utensil.
sukuna is certain that if your boyfriend knew what he thought about you, the kid would never be so casual about leaving you alone with him. that’s not even considering the fact that most of the girls sukuna fucks are right around your age.
guess the boy’s lucky that at sukuna’s age, he can’t be bothered to deal with the mess that comes from fucking a girl in a relationship.
syp: f!reader x toji fushiguro cw; age gap relations, broke!toji, baby!megumi (takes place before gojo took him in), grimy!toji, cheating, pet names (princess, good girl, baby), attempted babytrapping
a/n: (wc: 2.2k) surely this has already been done before?? i did limited research on japanese houses so if i'm incorrect i do apologize, feel free to correct me! (not proof read) p.s this might be tmi but here goes: this idea came to me while fighting for my life on the toilet, so enjoy :3
it was supposed to be a normal job—a babysitting job where you look after his three year old son.
called up last minute to help look after the little one because work needed him urgently.
that wasn't the issue, but the fact that you had to cancel a date with your boyfriend to be here. offered double your usual rate, so really how you could refuse the easy money?
besides you loved that little boy as if he were your own, a literal mini version of his mother.
that's what you told yourself anyways as you trekked to the fushiguro residence, a beautiful—albeit small—minka with dark wood paneling and opaque shoji doors that make up the villa. the sun beats down, heat wrapping around you like a cocoon as you wait for toji to come to the door.
though it's megumi who nearly cracks the delicate wood as he slides the door open so hard. slam! dark blue eyes bright with excitement, tugging you into the genkan eagerly. bouncing on his heels like he's holding back from jumping into your arms—just barely.
"you're here to play with me, aren't ya?" you smile, plucking your shoes off while nodding. it's then that toji appears, leaning against the wall in a way that screams 'i know i'm hot so keep looking' and you force your attention to stay on megumi.
toji isn't fazed, just steps forward to lean in close, whispering right by your ear, "play nice with my spawn. got that, princess?" ruffling your hair before slipping outside as the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.
you take a deep breath, willing the air into your lungs by sheer force. megumi grabs your hand, clinging on tight, tugging you into the familiar abode.
for the next few hours this tiny child put you through the ringer; games of tag (that left you both covered in grass stains), board games (which you let megs win), playing personal chef and after a messy encounter with a full plate of curry, a bath. the towel was planted atop megumi's head, your hands drying him off as best you could, as much as an excitable child will stand—which is not much. then he's shaking his head like a dog, sending water flying everywhere but mainly across your face.
"megumi!" you screech, hands outstretched but doing little to block the sudden water attack.
all you get in return is a fit of giggles, the terror climbing onto your lap menacingly. the ends of his black hair still dripping as he nestles in, claiming your lap as his. it's not long before slow blinks, head nodding and the obvious weight of sleep pulling on megumi. lights out. passed out with his head resting on your collarbone, you can't even be mad, even as your shirt gets wetter and wetter under his tiny head.
that's how toji finds the two of you, napping on the couch, your arms wound around his spawn like how a mother would—the realization nearly doubles him over. a rare genuine smile on his face, not his usual smirk, as he watches. frozen in his tracks at the adorable sight before him.
one misstep and toji's foot connects with a toy, of course one that has to squeak, loudly, waking both of you in an instant. gazes wild but unfocused in the cutest way, "fushiguro-san, when did you get home?" voice rough from sleep, rubbing at your eyes.
"just toji," he says gruffly, giving you reprimanding look, "a minute ago, didn't wanna wake the sleeping beauty."
something about the way he says it has a heat creeping up your neck, casting a worried look at the sleepy child still on your lap. megumi looks ready to knock back out, a longer nap is in order.
"gonna put megs in his bed." standing up carefully with the tiny toddler, disappearing down the hall with a sinful sway of your hips.
toji sinks into the couch after you walk away. the weight of the day settling deep into his bones, worst yet he still hasn't told you the news—he's flat broke and cannot pay you double as promised.
when you return you look exhausted as well, the kind of tired only achieved from children.
"should be on my way." you inform him, granting him that half-smile you always give after babysitting for hours.
there's a pause.
usually this is when you'd be paid and sent home, yet toji hasn't moved, if anything he seems to slink further into the cushions like he's trying to merge into the fabric and become the couch.
"princess."
your heart drops, already guessing where this is going, "you can't pay me, right?"
toji's about to say yes, when a different idea pops into his head. he's seen the way you look at him, even when you pretend you aren't staring. those googly eyes whenever he wears those compression shirts, all the hard lines of his abs perfectly on display. how you bite your lip when he calls you princess.
"not with money." now you're sweating, trembling like a trapped bunny.
there's absolutely no way you can accept, think of your boyfriend—the same man who hasn't touched you in weeks—how devastated he'd be if he found out, the betrayal that can't be forgiven.
"c'mon, be honest. you've thought about it." toji smirks, calling out your shameful desires towards the older, maybe more mature man.
your heart skips a beat, traitorous eyes flickering down to his lips, to the scar on the corner and the distant lingering question of how his lips would feel against your own.
toji steps closer while you're distracted, all smug confidence as he towers over you. calloused fingers tip your chin up, forcing you to look up at him.
"didn't hear a no." your mouth opens, closes, opens again but all that comes out is an indistinguishable noise.
lips crash into yours, rough and greedy, tongue down your throat like he's trying to taste your tonsils. large hands find your hips, hoisting you up, your legs snapping around the snatched waist.
toji rolls you down on his bulge, already half-hard in those loose pants. the reason behind why he only wears those is very, very clear—anything tighter and he'd be flashing everyone and their mother's his dick print.
he's going to snap you in half with that thing.
and you'll let him.
fuck.
you try to keep quiet, mewling into his mouth in the hopes of not waking megumi. but toji, he wants to hear your pretty voice, to hear if those sweet moans are anything like what he pictures while stroking his aching cock late at night after you leave. one time you accidentally left a hoodie behind, toji had it pressed into his nose, inhaling deeply, nearly suffocating himself in your scent, spilling cum on his stomach—it still sits in his closet, unwashed, splattered with his cum.
the coldness seeps through your clothes when he sets you on the kitchen counter, stepping between your legs, his hands on your inner thighs, dangerously close to where your heat is. your pussy throbbing in time with your uneven heartbeats.
"not too late to back out." toji murmurs, lips grazing yours, feather-light and teasing. "say. the. word."
you should. you absolutely should, put a stop to this before it gets too out of hand, yet you say, "i can't."
and really whose fault is that? if that pathetic boyfriend of yours actually made an effort to please you like he's supposed to, you wouldn't be falling into the beefy arms of your 'employer'.
that's all the approval toji needs, "good girl." yanking you flush against him, unable to ignore the raging hard-on pressed into you.
the thin material of your skirt is hardly hiding anything, definitely not the fucking sweltering heat emanating off of you, or the damp patch budding around your slit. toji runs the rough pad of his thumb over your clit, swirling it with precision causing your eyes to roll back, bucking into his hand.
your thighs quake, face flushed and panting, soft moans falling from your lips.
this is the prettiest you've ever looked, melting in his hands, and toji damn well plans to make you experience the best sex of your life.
so without warning, he pushes your legs farther apart, settling on his knees before you, face in line with your cunt. eyes shadowed with lust as he breathes you in directly from the source, growling deep in his chest as he licks a long, slow stripe up your pussy. lapping at you through your panties, like the barrier will detract from the fact that he's defiling the babysitter and suddenly make it morally okay.
he's hungry, eating you out like you're a five course meal and he's been starved for weeks. all lips and tongue, sloppy sucking and filthy licks that leave you grappling at his shoulders, clawing against the onslaught. head thrown back, body arched so toji gets the view of your heaving chest, straining in your tight shirt.
one particularly hard suck on your clit has you shaking, gushing out more of your sweet juices into his mouth, the chuckle vibrating through your body.
"that's one." toji coos, giving one more filthy lick before wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, lips shiny in your essence.
"one? one what?"
there's a dumbfounded look on your face. it clicks suddenly. that lame boyfriend of yours hasn't ever made you cum, otherwise you wouldn't be pulling that face.
"orgasm." he states bluntly, pulling your panties down in one quick swipe, pocketing them without any hint of shame. he drops his pants low enough to free himself, you choke on air, staring at the beast he unveiled. all eleven inches of him, thick and long with veins running up the sides, curved slightly upwards, the tip sparkling with so much pre and flushed an dusky pink.
"it's not gonna fit..."
toji laughs, languidly stroking his length, tapping his tip on your clit to watch you squirm some more. "don't worry, i'll make it fit." pushing in with measured thrusts, and the stretch burns, so much bigger than your boyfriend's, he's barely got the tip in and you're clenching down so tight.
"'ts too much, toji." your eyes are screwed shut, nails clawing at his waist, no doubt leaving red lines in his skin.
his lips find yours, nipping at your bottom lip, "you can take it, princess." your pussy flutters, almost forcing him back out.
he starts slow, pushing in inch by inch, kissing and praising how good you're doing, how well you're taking him until he's buried in your tight little hole.
but that doesn't last long, then he's rutting into you with brutal thrusts that knock the air from your lungs, tears welling in your eyes. little hiccups of pleasure as your body gets hammered into the hard marble of the kitchen counter.
"fuck—this little cunt is so fucking tight." toji grunts, opening you further with a rough grip on your shaky thighs.
his cock bullies your cervix, hitting it hard and fast that you can't stop the rush that hits you, biting your knuckle to keep from crying out. second orgasm ripped out of you before you could even process what was happening.
is this what a big dick can do? you'll never be able to go back, anything less and it won't hit the same. utterly ruined you without even trying.
toji stares in awe at the creamy ring forming around the base of his cock, ego inflating further at witnessing megumi's pretty babysitter fall apart for him—all while he naps in the next room. if only it was always like this, the two of you sneaking off for a quickie while megs is passed out, fucking you on every surface of the house.
his cock twitches inside you, hips snapping into yours with sickening slaps of skin on skin, so loud it's a miracle that megumi hasn't woken up yet (that child sleeps like the dead).
"haaaah... 'jii. hurts..." you whine, split open so wide that your pussy squelches obscenely with every grind of his pelvis into yours. the tuft of trimmed black pubes dragging along your clit, overstimulating your poor body.
he's not done yet, wants to make you cum at least once more, "shhh... you're not going anywhere til i'm done with ya." in a swift move, he lays you back on the counter, yanking your hips to the edge. pulls out to the tip, just to slam back in, a broken moan slipping out as he does it again and again.
god, he should record your voice, so sweet and whiny, taking his thick cock better than he hoped.
it builds up quickly, a sensation similar to having to pee, panic flaring in your veins, "wait, wait, wait... feels like i'm gonn—"
"relax and let go for me, baby." toji doesn't slow down, in fact, he picks up speed, drilling into you like a machine turned to max.
a hot, stream of liquid spurts out of you unbidden, shaking violently and soaking toji's cock.
"fucking shit!" he groans, voice hoarse as your cunt spasms around him, he cums right after, stuffing you to the brim with his seed. thick and milky, coating your walls, lazily grinding his softening cock into you, plugging his cum inside, hoping it sticks.
dark blue eyes flicker up, you're panting, slumped into the counter like a puddle. boneless.
toji mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done. he may not have paid you in cash, but this, was definitely worth more than your measly hourly rate. who knows, maybe this will become the norm even if he didn't manage to knock you up.
kunaiiikittennn ᝰ.ᐟ please do not repost, copy or steal my trash 𖹭
Soulmate au where you have a mark the first place you and your soulmate touch, right?
Robby has been working with dennis for months now, they've touched plenty of times, and nothing has happened. Despite whatever weird infatuation he has with his much younger student, a soul bond is not the cause.
Except, robby completely fails to notice that he's been wearing gloves every single time he and whitaker touch. Every. Single. Time.
Imaging his horror, shock, and absolute mortification when he goes to grab dennis' arm to tell him something, and it fucking lights up.
Bright gold, in the exact shape of robby's hand over his forearm, glowing the same as robby's own palm. Right in front of the nurse station and half the staff.
Silence, for half a second, then all hell breaks loose.
Some short imagines of being the lover of those in House Hightower
Dark! House Hightower/Reader
Age gap imagines with my favorite house <3
Dark! Otto Hightower/Rhaenyra's Twin! Reader
♱ The younger twin sister of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you had taken more after your mother. Gentle and quiet in nature, you had developed into a wallflower of sorts, often overshadowed by your sister and forgotten by your father. Whilst Rhaenyra paraded around as heir, you are left to your own devices, and you much preferred it that way.
As did your father's closest companion.
♱ Otto Hightower watches as you grow from an anxious young girl to a delicate and elegant young lady, and he finds himself enraptured by you, as taboo as it may have been.
While your sister fled to Dragonstone, you remained in King's Landing, too worried about your father's condition to leave him alone. You don't marry due to your delicate health, and your days are spent in the library or in the sept, and it absolutely sets Otto aflame.
♱ Otto had no intention of finding love or lust after the death of his wife. Otto seems to find both in you as he snakes his way into your personal life.
You feel the grip of Otto's fist as he bunches up your gown, and you pray that no one enters the library as you whimper gently into the pages of your beloved book.
You can feel the hardness of his cock through his breeches, crying out as his thick, ringed fingers press into your cunt.
You knew Ser Otto to be an honorable man, but this was the farthest thing from honorable.
"M-My Lord," You stumble over your words, shivering at the kiss he pressed against the nape of your neck. Otto groans against you, a certain revulsion taking his mind. He had not felt lust overtake him in nearly a decade, and here you were, tempting sin from every inch of his being. A woman no older than his own daughter, a princess of the realm.
It was debauched.
It was vile.
It was arousing.
Otto thrust forward, his cock bottoming out with a roughness no one would expect from a man of his station. He'd have to manipulate your dying father into marrying you to him; that much Otto was sure.
Afterall,
You couldn't have any bastards running around, now, could you?
Dark! Ormund Hightower/Targaryen! Reader
♱ You were the last child of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, your twin brother dying along with your mother. You'd never met Aemma Arryn, and no one ever spoke of her to you. She existed as a ghost in your childhood, and you knew that your older sister blamed you to some extent.
Rhaenyra could not love you fully, but you had a family.
Alicent had raised you alongside her own children, loving you deeply.
So, when her cousin asks for your hand, there isn't much hesitation from your mother's side.
♱ You meet Ormund on an occasion when he comes to King's Landing, and before you know it, you are being courted by a man old enough to be your father. Ormund is older, yes, but he is kind, and he shares your dislike for your home. You never felt welcome in the Red Keep, and Ormund offers you a way out.
He's the yearning type, pining for you in a way he knew was not appropriate. You were so gentle, pious in a way that aroused Ormund to no end. He wanted you carnally, yes, but also in such a pure way. Ormund wants to worship you; he believes that you deserve it more than any god could.
♱ He marries you as quickly as possible, thinking that your union is preordained despite the age difference.
It didn't matter that he has been married before, it didn't matter that you were leagues younger than him.
Ormund wanted you.
So, he took you.
Ormund's hands are gentle as he holds your cheeks in his palms. A gasp leaves his lips as he catches your eyes glancing up at him. He can feel your tongue, your throat, your teeth. It's all too much to bear, and he's vaguely aware that you aren't married yet, and that he is corrupting you. A sin more egregious than murder, he would say.
Normally.
Your lashes flutter softly, and Ormund groans into your mouth; his fingers slip past your ears to cup your nape to keep you in place as he kisses you deeply. You're inexperienced; it's obvious in the way you move your lips uncertainly against his own, and how your hands fist his shirt anxiously.
It should bother him, Ormund thinks.
It should bother him that he is corrupting such innocence, taking your first kiss under the moonlight in the royal garden. It should bother Ormund, but it instead arouses him, his cock straining against his pants as his tongue slips past your lips and teeth. It isn't the first kiss you deserve, he knows, but he is losing his composure.
You gasp suddenly as his tongue runs over your own; the sensation is odd, yet not entirely unpleasant.
You pull away, then. Your voice is shaky as you pant from the lack of oxygen, suddenly hyperaware of the public setting of your encounter.
You are the very image of innocence, and it sets Ormund on fire.
He wouldn't take you tonight; he had his limits. Ormund would not debase you in such a manner; he was still a man of faith, as thin as his patience was being stretched.
It kills him to escort you to your room, kissing you goodnight, yet he does it without complaint.
Because a woman such as you deserved to be worshiped, not ravaged.
Dark! Gwayne Hightower/Lady! Reader
♱ No older than Gwayne's oldest nephew, you are a close companion of Daeron's, and you constantly have Gwayne questioning his morals.
A soft, gentle lady from the House of Ashford, you were a sweet little thing. Intelligent, yet naive in many ways. It came with your age, Gwayne thought, but you were a loyal friend to his beloved nephew. Daeron adored you, as did many others in Oldtown where you had been sent to Ward all those years ago. Four years Daeron's senior, your friend remained protective of you, much like a dragon would be over its treasure.
♱ Gwayne hates himself for being so attached to you. You were younger than him, a sixteen-year difference enough to make him feel just a little bit gross. Yet, he cannot stop himself from vying for your attention...
You are a gentle creature, Gwayne knows. He isn't used to the gentle hands or soft words that you offer him without thought, and so you often have him reduced to a fluttering mess of obsession.
It is you who has Gwayne wrapped around your finger, and the knight can no longer imagine his existence without you taking a vital part in it.
♱ Gwayne's love isn't intense or overstimulating; it is gentle and overcoming. He loves much in the way that he serves honorably. A knight's duty is to protect the innocent, and that is how Gwayne approaches your relationship.
He protects every aspect of your being, whether you believe you need him to or not.
Gwayne holds your hands tenderly, pressing his lips against your knuckles in a gentle gesture of pure devotion.
He can see your embarrassed expression, and it sets him alight with a certain fire he could not put into words even if he tried. He can feel your fingers tremble slightly as he holds them. You are a nervous creature, unable to help yourself at the feeling of his smooth lips pressed against your skin.
The intimacy of kissing your hands has Gwayne flushed down to his bones, yet he remains still, ignoring the arousal that stirs in his loins.
Gwayne glances at you as you whisper a simple utterance of his name, the syllables smooth against your tongue.
If you'd let him, Gwayne swears he'd worship you like a god. It may have been sacrilege, but a part of him didn't care. The Seven had nothing on his religion, the holy arousal that flowed through his veins instead of blood whenever you were near, whenever you allowed him to touch you like this.
Ser Gwayne was your devoted lover, in every sense of the word.
Dark! Alicent Hightower/Lady! Reader
♱ Alicent, who develops an unhealthy infatuation with one of her ladies-in-waiting. You are similar in age to Helaena, yet you chose to serve the Queen instead. You found a similar spirit in Alicent, looking up to her more than you could put into words, and Alicent enjoyed your company greatly.
You follow Alicent around like a duckling who had imprinted upon someone, and she finds it so enthralling.
♱ Alicent had been powerless for such a long time, never having had anything to call her own, so when she has you, she feels a certain power in her veins. You are willing to stay by her side, rejecting plenty of marriage proposals so you could continue under her watch. You would need her leave to marry, and you find that Alicent does not find any man worthy of your hand or womb.
Alicent does not know that she sees you in a romantic light until after Viserys passes. In some twisted way, she thinks of you as a sisterly companion. Her jealousy, she thinks, is due to her not having any friends at court. Alicent cannot bear the idea of you leaving her, especially not for some man.
♱ It's only after you come to comfort her in her chambers after her husband dies that Alicent's self-control snaps like a thread under a candle.
Two bodies melted together against Alicent's bed, a mess of gowns and misplaced undergarments. Alicent moans above you; a gentle whimper leaves her lips as she humps softly against your thigh, her fingers knuckle deep in your cunt. Her hips are stuttering, and you can feel the sticky wetness swear and drip against the soft flesh of your thigh.
Your own thighs tremble, your queen thumbs at your clit, and Alicent presses her lips against your own to stifle her own moans of pleasure.
It's a feeling of sweet relief, Alicent having never felt so satisfied a day in her life.
She had taken you much in the way men took their wives, and it was so...
Arousing.
Your nose bumps against her own, and you shyly grip at the dark green fabric of her gown, keeping it pulled past her hips so she could continue to hump at you like a depraved dog. Alicent can feel her core throbbing intensely, and she knows that she wouldn't trade this for anything.
She'd dreamt of this, she admits to herself. Dreamt of bending you over one of the wax-riddled sept corners, riding your backend like some sort of common whore.
These fantasies had resided in the darkest part of Alicent's mind, only allowed to surface in the quiet moments she allowed herself, usually in the comfort of her bath.
She intended to make the most of it now that she finally had you.
Criston Cole is such a realistic character because I, too, would become a munch if Alicent were my queen.
age difference, older bf!konig x college student reader. literal sleeping together, because I’ve been thinking about the practicalities of trying to share a tiny ass bad with a huge man
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You soon realise that Konig is a terrible bed partner. Your bed, as its name implies, is a single. Fit for one, singular person. Not a super single, not a queen, and certainly not a king.
At first, the prospect of Konig staying the night thrilled you. You hadn’t see him for forever, you missed him, and you wanted to spend as much time as you could with him.
But now… squeezing together with him on a tiny bed wasn’t as romantic as you had imagined it.
“Konig,” you moan, squirming futilely against his tight grip on you. “Move over.” Like maybe, just maybe he would be able to carve a little more space out for you with him massive body.
He blinks at you, looking just as close to falling asleep as you are to falling off the goddamn bed. “My apologies, Schatz,” he says. Without so much of a grunt of effort, he’s pulling you over his chest, shifting your body to the other side of the bed, the one with a wall at the side so you won’t be at any danger of falling off.
You can’t decide which is worse. Your body dangling half off the bed, or your body pressed between the equally hard planes of the wall and his chest. Still, you try to make the best out of the situation. He must be exhausted, having just come from a mission and straight to you.
“Better?” he asks, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. His voice is softer, accent thicker with exhaustion. You hum, leaning forward to press a kiss to his nose.
“Better,” you say, lying between a rock and a hard place, lying through your teeth.
(It wasn’t better, but it was enough to just be with him. Even if his snores do keep you up half the time.)
linecook!simon who forces you (kindly asks you and fucks you good enough to convince you) to stop waitressing and start hosting. you hate it.
only because you don’t get to see your man anymore. and because you’re too rotund to really see your feet. which…i guess isn’t good in the kitchen, with all the movement.
you sit at the stand (because you’re a bit too top heavy to stand the whole shift now), writing in customers on the table chart while the young, non-pregnant hosts and hostesses bus the people to the tables. sometimes, if you catch it at the right time, you get a glimpse into the kitchen and see your husband cooking at the stove. your heart flutters when you do, sometimes the baby kicks too.
but the highlight of your shift now is when lunch time hits. everyday, around 1 pm, your husband comes out of the kitchen with a plate of food, walks through the main tables (gaining a few weary glances on the way) and hand delivers your food. usually a pasta or sandwich of some sort. always what you’re craving.
like today, your husband slides up beside you, setting a plate of delicious smelling pasta in front of you. a spicy chicken penne with loads of parmesan. you could cry. instead of melting into a hormonal mess, you just kiss his cheek and hum. his hand rests on your bump for the few minutes you get together during your shift.
“thank you, si…” you start to eat as he leans onto the host stand, letting other hostesses take care of the customers. simon’s eyes are filled with worry, his hand still stroking on your bump.
“s’no’ a problem, luv…how’s you feelin’..?” his brows pinch with anxiety and you smile. you smooth the pad of your thumb over his brows and hum, still chewing your delicious food.
“i’m doin’ good…a little tired, but i’m better now that you’re here and you brought me food…thank you, simon…” he hums, brushing it off with a kiss to your hair before he notices the owner john is walking over, probably to tell him off and get him back in the kitchen. even if they’re good friends outside of work, so much so he’s the godfather of your fetus, he still needs simon to be doing his job.
“i’ll be back later wit’ dessert, darlin’” he mumbles before stalking back into the kitchen, leaving john sighing defeatedly at the host stand. you smile and hum, shrugging,
“he’s keeping the staff happy, is he not?” you tease, eating another bite full of pasta.
“oh, is the baby now part of the restaurant staff? i don’t know how’d that go over with labor laws…” john teases back, patting your shoulder before venturing back to the kitchen to make sure everything is running smoothly, and to probably joke around or chat with the guys.
‘the guys’ being, simon’s sous chef gaz (who just started dating the dish washer) and johnny, the restaurant dish washer, so john is also probably making sure there’s no trouble in paradise there. they’re cute together, you muse to yourself…
you finish the pasta in record time, but slow enough to not get the dreadful heartburn that comes with carrying a whole human in your uterus, and get on with your shift.
maybe being demoted to hostess isn’t the worst thing ever…
