Waiting Outside The Car While U Wait For Their Boner To Go Down After U Kissed Them

The Nanny?

Synopsis: Mark finally meets the nanny that Debbie won’t stop talking about.

A/N: I want to preface this by saying thank you all for your kind reblogs and the likes! Makes me so happy that these silly little fics give you guys some joy. Requests are open 🩷🩶💙

Mark finally had some free time to spend with his mother Debbie. He waited at their favorite coffe spot for his mom to arrive with Oliver so they could spend some quality time together. His mother had been mentioning something about special sitters or a daycare for children of supers. Whatever she was talking about, Mark had no time to hear about it, but he had time today. He wanted to know about this society of babysitters his mom believed in. Would Oliver be safe? Would his mother be safe? All valid questions he should have asked upon hearing about this for months.

Debbie finally arrived, Mark watched as she parked, got out of the front seat and scrambled possibly for Oliver in the back seat. To Mark’s surprise, Debbie entered the shop without Oliver in hand and a smile on her face. The gift in her hands was fairly small. She handed the box off silently while still smiling at Mark. She gave Mark and peck on his head and sat down in front of him.

“Hi honey, how are you today?” Debbie asked refreshed.

“Good—listen mom, where’s Oliver?” He asked pretty bluntly.

“Mark, I’ve tried to tell you about this new nanny for months, you gotta keep up with your family and stop spending all that time in space and with Cecil.” She sighed.

“Sorry mom.. what nanny? Can you start from the top?” He asked.

Debbie explained to mark that she interviewed twenty seven babysitters. Each was unique but she could always tell when they were sent by Cecil, or if they weren’t as qualified. Just when she’d given up hope, you walked in. The last interview of the day made her fear for her expectations, until you mentioned that you have a younger sibling who’s always been a super. You offered full time care, housekeeping duties, teaching Oliver and even offered overnight care if Debbie or Mark needed a break or couldn’t make it home. You ended up being the perfect pick. For months, you’d been staying at the Grayson’s caring for Oliver, cleaning and sleeping in Nolan’s old office which was made into a guest bedroom for you. You were practically Debbie’s saving grace.

Upon hearing how you basically saved his mother, Mark was a little skeptical about if you were really working for Cecil or if this was all just a lie. You were usually quiet so Mark would never know you were in his home. This was a but much for Mark to take in, especially because before coming to earth, Mark was Oliver’s sole caretaker. Who could do it better than him?

After lunch Debbie and Mark made it home. You were in the living room playing a memory game with Oliver when they walked into the living room. Mark was expecting Oliver to run to him, calling him “bra-bra” but instead, Oliver stayed focused on the memory game and you, the nanny, who sat taking turns with him matching cards.

“Good afternoon Debbie, Mark. Oliver’s been acing this memory game, you’ve got a Einstein.” You chuckled.

“Thank you y/n.” Debbie hugged you before setting her bags down.

“I’m grilling steak and making pasta tonight for dinner, so you can relax. Mark will you be staying for dinner?” You asked.

“Yeah, sure why not.”

Mark was in shock of how beautiful and kind you were. He was expecting some experienced lady well beyond her years but you? You’re the last thing he would have ever guessed. This didn’t change anything though. He needed to investigate further.

You grilled dinner for the Graysons. The table was set, Oliver’s high chair was prepared and the house was spotless. Mark still felt off. Maybe he was gaslighting himself to protect his family and himself? The fact of the matter is you’re too nice and he doesn’t know you that well. Everyone sat at the table as you buckled Oliver into his seat.you gave Oliver some steak, some applesauce and little cubes of cheese. The baby was growing fast, he was always wanting new things.

“Uhh- y/n, Oliver’s a baby, he can’t have steak.” Mark said.

“Oliver’s grown a lot the past few months Mark, he loves solid foods. Especially chewey foods.” You chuckled. Debbie chuckled handing Oliver a small piece of steak that you cut for him.

“Yummy!” Oliver exclaimed.

“It’s so great to finally meet you Mark. Your mom always tells me how busy you are, how were your last few fights?” You asked.

“Great, it’s hard to be in two places at once though. I wanna care for my family but the world needs protection too.” He said.

“I get that completely, you’re doing a great job. Oliver is so lucky to have you as his brother!” You smiled.

“So, you know Cecil Stedman?” He asked.

“I do. But I don’t work for him. I only know him because my younger brother works for him. Cecil’s not exactly my favorite person and I don’t quite like him that much either. That man is known for crossing boundaries and finding loopholes.” You scoffed.

Mark couldn’t disagree with you there.

“Seriously! The man is just so invasive. You ask him to leave you alone and then suddenly your whole family is getting spied on. This is the man that wants respect and for people to work with him?” Debbie laughed.

Mark hadn’t seen his mom laugh in forever, and it was great to see her finally relax and be happy. After dinner, you and Mark cleaned up the kitchen together. Debbie settled Oliver down for bed and went to go to bed herself. It was nice to be around this family compared to your own. You really never got to see them anymore. Your brother was off fighting some threat in another country while your parents tried to hold you to his standards and use you as the free help if they ever needed him taken care of. It’s probably why you’re so good at your job. You were so deep into your thoughts that you were staring out the window. You didn’t even realize you and Mark had finished cleaning the entire kitchen.

“Hey.. you okay?” Mark asked standing next to you.

“Hm? —oh yeah, sorry. Just a lot going on in my brain. I love being here, Oliver is a wonderful kid and your mom is amazing. I just wish I had this with my family.” You smiled at him. It really was no big deal.

“I’m sorry.. and I want to apologize for being kind of an ass. I was wrong about you. I didn’t say anything to my mom about it and I shouldn’t have come off so strong but I like you. It’s hard for me to trust people especially after my dad. You’re good with Oliver and my mom… and you’re good with me too.” Mark smiled.

He looked at you for quite sometime. Mark had an idea but he would have to wait until Debbie and Oliver were asleep. The night was still young. You showered, changed and prepared your bed for a long night’s sleep until Mark knocked in your cracked door.

“Knock knock” he said smiling. Mark wasn’t in his pajamas, he was in his suit, holding a very much awake Oliver.

“Oh, hey!” You whispered.

“Little man was wide awake in his crib. He wanted to see you.” Mark smiled as he held Oliver.

Oliver cooed, you waited for Mark to give him to you, but it seemed as if he was conflicted. If Mark wanted to put his brother back to sleep, you wouldn’t dare rob him of this time.

“Mark if you have to go fight crime or save the world I’d be happy to let Oliver sleep in my room unless you want to put him to sleep first.” You smiled.

Mark gave you a look of worry. He smiled to Oliver and then to himself.

“Stay awake, I’ll be back.” He said.

It took him a little while, but Mark finally put Oliver to sleep after getting some pointers from you about what Oliver needs for him to get tired.

Mark approached your room again, seeing that you were just barely awake, eyes starting to close as you sat at the edge of your bed. Mark made his presence known before coming to sit next to you.

“Wanna go on a joyride?” He asked.

“Hm? Oh I dunno Mark what about Debbie and Oliver?” You asked.

“They’ll be fine, we’ll be back in an hour.” He smiled at you.

Mark picked you up, you both traveled for a taste of the world’s greatest ice cream. You both bonded and got to know eachother much better before stopping back at the house. You and Mark were in his bedroom watching tv and hanging out.

“I hope I was able to make you more comfortable here in our home y/n. Oliver’s lucky to have a nanny like you and I’m lucky to have someone who cares so much about my family and I. That’s all I’ve been asking for and you do it perfectly.” He smiled at you.

You yawned, standing up and making your way towards Mark’s bedroom door.

“I’m here for you guys, I’m gonna go lay down. Thank you for tonight Mark, you’re too sweet and kind. I’ll see you in the morning.” You smiled at him.

Before leaving his room. Mark stood up and walked towards you. It compelled him, the way you were so kind and respectful. Internally he was conflicted, but externally he knew what he needed from you. So Mark stood close to you, holding your face in his hands and kissed you zealously. Your face was red from the contact. His lips were soft and warm, you wanted more but out of respect for Debbie and love for Oliver, this was your one freebie. Do not take advantage of this.

The next morning you and Mark awoke happily and eager to greet eachother in the morning. Debbie noticed the excitement and joined in hugging her son and you.

“Coke on mark we’re gonna be late to the mixer!” She said as she grabbed her keys and rushed to the car.

You said goodbye to Debbie and mark as you waved goodbye with Oliver’s hands. They took off and Debbie took this opportunity to tease him as they entered the car together.

“So… the Nanny?” Debbie chuckled.

“Ugh—mom!” Mark shouted.

maybe i was born to read fanfic and obsess over fictional men idk

*:･.⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

izuku swears he doesn’t make noise when he gets up in the morning. 

your hours as a pro-hero are often funky, the times that you get up varying greatly from day to day — whereas your husband has a very fixed sleep schedule in order to get to his class on time. 

he’s very, very careful not to wake you when he crawls out of bed at 5:30 every morning, making sure the blankets are covering you from head to toe. his footfalls are almost silent as he creeps down the hall, he winces as the bathroom door creaks ever-so-slightly. 

but inside the bathroom itself? that’s where all hell breaks loose. 

izuku swears he’s quiet in the mornings. he makes a point of mentioning it to your friends, how dutiful a husband he is to let his hard-working spouse sleep in when you can. 

he doesn’t know that you can hear every cabinet open, every clatter of the brush on the sink, the beep of the stove turning on or his keys jingling about in his pocket. 

he doesn’t know that you’re awake when he presses a goodbye kiss to your forehead every morning without fail, doesn’t see the little smile you hide under the covers when he whispers that he loves you before going out the door to work. 

when he smiles at you like that, you can’t help but agree. as far as you’re concerned, he’s silent as a mouse!

the best husband ever, you tell him with a little laugh and kiss on his cheek. (not the quietest — not by a long shot — but the best husband on earth nonetheless.)

*:･.⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

love that trend of “your boyfriend takes away your ability to walk and then goes off and does whatever” and that’s toji

you’re face down in the sheets, covered in sweat and ecstasy with your legs still shaking and your head still in the clouds. you don’t even notice him leave the room and come back until he pats you on the leg.

“hey”

you hear and feel him, but you can’t bring your body to move or react yet.

“hey! hey baby, wake up.”

you lowly hum and he huffs, turning your head to face him and he sees your eyes blinking in an attempt to wake up.

he pats your cheek, getting rougher in each hit to get you to wake up.

“hey baby come on, i’m hungry and we don’t have shit here to eat.”

he finally pulls your head up and that’s when you’re able to fully open your eyes, blinking at him and then pouting.

“toji…tired…”

he laughs and pats your cheek again when your eyes try to blink closed again.

“nah come on, get up and i’ll treat you to some tacos.”

you smile at the promise of food and then whine.

“can’t move my legs, pick me up?”

he huffs again before picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist for you.

“i spoil you way too much, baby”

“well, if someone didn’t fuck me hard enough to take away my ability to walk, you wouldn’t have to carry me now would you?”

he smirks before smacking your ass, making you whine again.

“well, if someone wasn’t actin like a fuckin brat, they wouldn’t have gotten what they deserved.”

May I have more of fatherhood oneshot with Odysseus please? 🥺 this man really gave me baby fever

A/n: aha 🤣 same... (I love writing dad fics for him)

The sun had barely crested the cliffs of Ithaca, and the palace was just beginning to stir—except for Odysseus, who was already spiraling into his second existential crisis of the week.

His hair? A mess.

His tunic? Mismatched and inside out.

His eyes? Bloodshot and twitching.

His sandals? Probably on the wrong feet.

And his mood?

Unhinged.

He sprinted through the halls, arms flailing slightly, looking every inch a war-hardened general turned exhausted dad of toddlers.

“THEY’RE GONE AGAIN!” he bellowed.

He burst into the dining room, startling a very calm Telemachus, who was just trying to enjoy his olives.

“What’s gone?” the prince asked, mouth full.

“The twins! They vanished!” Odysseus shouted, patting himself down, checking under furniture, lifting up rugs. “I turned around for one second—ONE!—and poof! Gone like shadows! Curse the gods!”

Telemachus blinked. "...Father.”

Odysseus was now on his knees, looking under a fruit basket.

“Maybe they crawled into the grain stores again—they love grain. Or worse! What if they’re—”

“Father.”

“—in the stables again? Oh gods, the goats! One of them bit me last time—”

“FATHER!”

Odysseus froze.

Telemachus pointed. "Look down.”

Odysseus slowly looked at himself.

And there they were.

One twin strapped snugly to his chest, babbling happily and smacking his face with a sticky palm.

The other fast asleep, head tucked under his chin, drooling on his tunic like a little sponge with limbs.

”…Oh.”

He stared at them.

Then at his son.

Then back at them.

“They were on me the whole time?”

“Yes.”

Odysseus exhaled long and slow, then groaned and flopped face-first onto the floor, the twins giggling wildly at the ride.

Your voice echoed from the hallway“If you wake me up one more time, Odysseus, I will let the toddlers braid your beard while you sleep.” It was a thinly vail threat of someone who was pregnant that did not to be bothered.

Odysseus just lay there on the floor, two babies squirming on his chest, and muttered.

“I conquered Troy for this.”

One of the twins sneezed directly into his mouth.

“…And I’d do it again.”

•Moments Later•

The late afternoon sun slanted through the nursery windows, painting golden beams across the soft rugs and carved wooden toys scattered across the floor. Gentle harp music floated from somewhere down the hall, and in the middle of it all sat Odysseus, half-slumped in a rocking chair, his eyes glazed and one hand twitching as a half-finished lullaby slipped from his lips.

His tunic was stained with something sticky (possibly honey… or ink?), and one twin had managed to wedge themselves into his arm while the other gnawed triumphantly on a leather sandal.

Odysseus hadn’t blinked in ten minutes.

Enter Telemachus, calm, composed, and carrying a cloth bundle of warm bread and honeyed figs.

He took one look at his father, one look at the chaos, and sighed with fond exasperation.

“Father.”

Odysseus blinked slowly. “…Yes?”

“You haven’t slept in… four days.”

“That’s not true. I closed one eye last night.”

“You fell asleep face-first in the soup.”

“It was a tactical nap.”

Telemachus crouched in front of him, gently prying the chewing twin away from the sandal and replacing it with a soft rattle.

“Go sleep, Father. I’ll watch them.”

Odysseus blinked again, as if processing the words in slow motion. “You… you’ll what?”

“Watch the twins. Give you and Mother a break.”

Odysseus leaned forward dramatically, placing both hands on his son’s shoulders. “You… glorious boy. You brave, noble, reckless boy.”

Telemachus smirked. “I trained with Athena and survived the suitors. I think I can handle two half-naked goblins with sticky fingers.”

“They bite.”

“So do I.”

Odysseus laughed weakly, patted him on the cheek, then swayed to his feet like a war-weary general who had finally laid down his sword.

“I will be laying down next to your beautiful mother.”

“Please try to not create anymore children.”

As Odysseus staggered toward his chambers—muttering about “soft pillows” and “blessed silence”—Telemachus scooped both giggling twins into his arms, lifting them effortlessly.

He looked down at them, one drooling on his arm, the other reaching for his braid.

“Alright, you tiny beasts. Let’s find a storybook, some juice, and see who survives until sundown.”

The twins shrieked with joy.

And behind them, down the hall, a door softly closed…

The man finding the bed, And Odysseus, King of Ithaca, finally slept the moment he was in your arms.

☆ gojo satoru x gender-neutral!reader ⇢ domestic fluff, established relationship.

you’re woken up by a kiss.

gojo satoru smiles against your lips, only allowing a hair’s breadth of space to form in between you both as you let out an annoyed huff. you roll onto your back and he towers over you, arms braced on either side of your head.

“hi,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“go to sleep,” you grumble, cracking one eye open lazily.

“it’s midnight.”

“exactly.” you try to turn over, but he nuzzles into your neck, pressing a brief, open-mouthed kiss to the sliver of skin exposed near your shoulder. 

“you know what that means.” he presses his fingers into your waist, bunching up your robe. his hair tickles your neck; you smile.

“it means you need to sleep,” you say pointedly, squinting into the darkness. you bring a hand up and card it through his hair. he sighs softly when you lightly scratch on his scalp.

“and it also means it’s a new day already.”

“‘s not a new day ‘til the sun comes up,” you murmur sleepily.

satoru doesn’t argue. he only grabs your hand and kisses the inside of your wrist. the muted lights that penetrate the darkness through your open window are reflected in his eyes—but he looks at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the sky, just for him.

“happy birthday,” he says, mouth splitting into a wide grin, and despite your drowsiness, you let him pull you into a kiss.

♡ slashers scenarios | y’all accidentally adopt a kid

♡ fandoms; Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; parenthood (?), mentions of violence

♡notes; i work with toddlers all day yet still somehow get baby fever- so here’s this i guess lol.

i can’t see Brahms as a dad so skipped out on him this time, Vincent is iffy too but we might come back to him

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Micheal Myers

> micheal never wanted to be a father before he met you

> he knows for a fact he has something terribly wrong with him

> and while it never bothered him…it was far too dangerous to pass on

> but the way you light up when little kids on the street wave to you

> how you talked about building a family when you got drunk and sappy

> and how soft and gentle you were holding your friend’s baby…

> he knew you’d be the perfect parent, good enough to balance any bullshit he was bring to the table

> so it’s maybe not a complete accident when he stalks into the house with a banged up stroller out front

> the baby is crying, his parents passed out from some shit they snorted in the living room

> it makes his job easier when he slits their throats, and he’s sure as hell not sympathetic

> not that he ever is

> he follows the cries upstairs- a tiny little boy is wailing in his crib

> but he stops and stares at Micheal, blue eyes wide as he looms in the door

> at first Micheal thinks the racket it going to start again and braces for the scream

> but the boy reaches for him eagerly instead, making grabby hands and squealing

> it takes a bit of snooping but Micheal finds some paperwork after he’s secured the child in a carrier

> Miles. The boy’s name is Miles, and he’s ten months old- just tiny for his age

> you think he’s fucking with you when he sets a baby carrier on your table that night

> “…that’s Miles.” He mutters and walks away

> you’re pissed but you can’t say you have anything but an urge to protect this tiny boy

> he has red hair, and light freckles and the sweetest disposition

> he’s perfect, surely Micheal wouldn’t just steal a child…not without good reason

> and you notice Micheal still lingering, watching you both

> you try not to smile

> “…well. Gonna help me find somewhere he can sleep or not?”

Thomas Hewitt

> when Charlie brings in the little girl, Luda Mae is beyond excited

> she had no idea the couple she’d sent down their road had a baby

> her dark curls and chubby legs and ruddy pink cheeks remind her so much of Thomas at that age too

> not too far off from one if she’s got it right

> she’s thinking selfishly, she’s always wanted a daughter

> but Thomas’ eyes go so wide when you both walk in

> he’s in awe of the tiny lil thing sleeping against his mama’s shoulder

> he won’t hold her, terrified of hurting her

> but you’re eager to take her for a bit and he gets real close, chin hooked on your shoulder so he can inspect her closely

> she’s all giggles as she touches his mask

> and you’re nearly in tears when she snuggles up against you

> “…yknow…i’ve been thinkin. i’m much closer to grandmama age than mama age now”

> you say yes before Luda can finish her ask - there was nothing you wanted more than a child with Thomas

> he’s hesitant, but he already adores her

> you have no way of knowing her name, so what you should call her is a bit of a hot topic for a few days

> Charlie wants to name her Charlotte because he’s a self centered bastard , and Luda Mae has about a thousand suggestions that come from baby books decades older than you

> but you let Thomas decide

> Audrey Mae Hewitt is what he chooses

> Audrey from a book he read

> Mae from his mama

> and it suits her perfectly

Bubba Sawyer

> “hey cook! look what i got!”

> Drayton about beats Choptop in the plate when he sees him carrying a toddler under his arm like a log

> but he’s kind of impressed such a scrawny dirtbag can carry a chunky kid like that

> the little boy is a healthy weight for two or so, with lil chipmunk cheeks that dimple when he grins

> and the cutest damn mullet you’ll ever see

> Drayton is getting too damn old for this, and there’s only one person he trusts even a minuscule amount in the house

> so he just. hands him to you when you walk into the front room

> “congratulations, it’s a boy”

> you’re confused but excited

> and a bit concerned with how he and Bubba will feel once the man gets home

> a kid is a big commitment- and a man that wears people’s faces can be scary

> but Bubba immediately squeals and beelines for the little one when he staggers in

> they both tilt their heads curiously before the boy tries to climb up his leg

> when he picks him up, the boy gives a huge belly laugh, kicking his legs

> you choose his name- politely declining your boyfriend’s brothers’ insistence on Lil Choppy or Drayton II

> Jedediah Junior sounds perfect to you - little JJ

His most prized possession

featuring. viktor x fem!reader

warnings. smut (18+), standing up sex on a vanity, p in v, size kink?, soft sex, viktor being sweet :)

requested. by anon

Moonlight spilled through the grand windows, painting your bedroom in a soft silver hue, illuminating the sexual dance unfolding within. The gentle breeze swayed the sheer curtains, but all else was still. The quietness of the world beyond, very different to the heated filling the room.

Every thrust of Viktor's hips created a rhythm, the wet, lewd sounds of your connection blending seamlessly with the faint creak of the vanity beneath you. Your moans were delicate but unrestrained. Compared to the soft, breathless groans that spilled from Viktor's lips, his voice shaking with the effort to maintain control.

His long, chestnut hair, slightly damp from sweat, framed his sharp features as it fell forward over his face. A faint sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead, catching the moonlight. Viktor looked almost ethereal, his honeyed eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror before you. His lips, slightly parted, trembled as soft whimpers escaped with each thrust. The sight of him: disheveled, breathless, and utterly lost in you, only made the heat pooling in your stomach burn brighter.

He leaned over you slightly, his chest brushing your back as he let his soft fingers slide down to press gently against the small of your spine. The weight of his palm grounded you, and his other hand gripped your hip firmly, keeping you steady against the vanity. “You’re doing so well for me, my love” he murmured, his voice low and warm, yet laced with restraint. “Just like that. Don’t look away, watch us in the mirror.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his gaze in the mirror. The sight of him behind you, his toned, wiry frame moving steadily. His hips slapping against yours forward with such precision, sent shivers cascading down your spine. You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. The way he focused on you—as though you were his entire world—was intoxicating. Well you were his entire world. His most prized possession.

The wet squelching noises grew louder as his cock pushed between your folds again, his thrusts unrelenting. Each thrust was accompanied by a soft slap of skin as his hips met yours, and the vanity groaned in protest beneath the weight of your desire. Viktor’s breathing quickened, and a shaky whimper escaped his lips as he felt you tighten around him.

“Good goddess…” he whispered, his accent thick, the words catching on a moan. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips pressing into your skin that would definitely leave faint bruises afterwards. “You feel so… tight and sweet. I—” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, his brow furrowing as though the pleasure coursing through him was too much to bear.

You could barely form words in response, your own voice caught in a series of soft cries and broken gasps. “Fuck. Viktor… please—” you managed, though you weren’t sure what you were begging for. More? Faster? To never stop? He seemed to understand, though, his rhythm shifting slightly, each thrust hitting deeper.

“I know,” he said, his tone gentle yet commanding. “I know what you need.” He leaned down further, his long hair brushing against your bare shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck. The contrast of his soft lips against your heated skin sent a wave of pleasure through you, making your legs tremble beneath you.

As his pace continued, you could feel him hit the deepest part of your womb. His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, his fingers splaying wide as he pressed lightly against your abdomen. “Feel that?” he murmured, his voice like silk. “That’s me, so deep inside you. All of me.” His words sent a shiver straight to your core as you couldn’t stop yourself from arching back against him. Your body seeking more of his warmth, his touch, his everything. All the words he said and the actions he did excited you more.

You truly couldn't believe how good it felt when he pressed his hand on your stomach as he poked through you slightly. Shakingly he took your hand, lacing your fingers together to place them on your stomach. With that you could feel him poking through, as he pressed harder, the better it felt.

The mirror in front of you reflected the way your bodies moved together in perfect sync. The slight shine of sweat on your skin, the way his hand on your back and stomach kept you steady, the blush that spread across his pale cheeks—it was all so vivid. His hair clung to his forehead in damp strands, and his lips were slightly swollen from where he’d been biting down. Trying to suppress his own sounds. But all he could do was left out whiny moans, which you absolutely loved. He knew how much you loved it.

"Keep your eyes on me," he urged softly, his hand trailing up to tilt your chin, ensuring you didn't look away from the mirror. "I want you to see how perfect you are." The words, spoken in that low, reverent tone, made your heart ache with a tenderness that contrasted the heat of the moment. You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his, even as your vision blurred with tears of overwhelming sensation.

The sounds of skin slapping only grew louder as he continued, the wetness between you making each thrust more pronounced. The vanity beneath you creaked with every thrust, and you could feel the vibrations of it in your palms where they rested against the surface. Viktor's movements became slightly erratic, his control slipping as he chased his release, though he still held onto the tenderness that defined every touch.

"You feel so good," he breathed, his voice trembling as he let out another soft whimper. "I can't... I don't want to stop." His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you back against him with each thrust, his pace quickening just enough to make your breath hitch.

Viktor's movements slowed, his pace deliberate as though he wanted to memorize every second, every sensation. His grip on your waist tightened as his long fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he adjusted his angle. Trying to draw out every ounce of pleasure for both of you. His breaths were shallow yet measured, his body trembling slightly as he kept his control.

One of his legs shifted, his knee now perched on the vanity chair behind you. The new angle allowed him to push deeper, each thrust measured and purposeful. The motion made you press further against the vanity, your hips tilting slightly, granting him an even better angle. The cool surface of the wood beneath your palms was a different than the heat that radiated between the two of you. You braced yourself, letting out a soft gasp as he slid into you fully again.

"Does this feel good, my love?" Viktor asked, his voice a breathless whisper, breaking slightly on the question. His eyes flicked between your reflection in the mirror and the way your bodies moved together, his gaze heavy with adoration and desire. He pressed his cheek against yours, as he went down to your level. Eyes locking to another as he waited for your response.

"Yes," you murmured, your voice trembling as you nodded. "So good, Viktor. Don't stop..."

A low groan escaped his lips at your words, his grip on your waist shifting as he let one hand slide upward to the curve of your back, guiding your body into the perfect position. He paused for a moment, his hips pressed flush against yours, savoring the way you clenched around him before pulling back again, just enough to feel the emptiness before pushing in with a slow, steady thrust. The wet, soft sounds of your connection filled the room. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in, the noise became more louder, the sensation drawing soft moans from your lips. Viktor let out a quiet whimper of his own as he watched you, the sound raw and unrestrained, slipping through his control.

"You're so perfect," he whispered, his accent thick as he leaned forward slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "Every part of you. I want to remember this, you just like this. Forever."

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, your body responding instinctively as your hips pressed back against him. Viktor groaned at the motion, his hand moving back down to your waist, his grip tightening as he thrusts into you again, slow and deep. By now his cock has a white ring at the base due to how much the two of you have been going at it. The vanity beneath you creaked faintly each time he thrusted into you, the sound mingling with the soft whimpers and moans that escaped the both of you.

"Shit," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "Do you feel that? The way we fit... the way you take me in so perfectly?" His lips brushed against the curve of your ear as he spoke, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "It's as though you were made for me."

The pace he set left you trembling, each thrust igniting a fire that built slowly but surely. Viktor pressed his forehead to your shoulder, his hair damp and sticking to his skin, his breaths ragged. He let out another soft whimper as he felt your walls tighten around him again, his control slipping just slightly.

The coil in your stomach tightened, the heat building to a point where you felt like you might break apart entirely. "Oh my..." you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice strained but full of love. "Let go, my love." His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing against your sensitive clit, and that was all it took.

Your orgasm washed over you in waves. Your body trembling as you cried out, your hands gripping the edges of the vanity for support. Viktor groaned deeply as he felt you clench around him, his own body shuddering as he followed you over the edge. He remained inside you, his breaths ragged as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his long hair tickling your skin. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the echoes of your passion lingering in the air. Viktor's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you upright and against his chest. "I love you, my love," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. His voice was soft, as though he couldn't quite believe you were really his.

taglist: @luneariaa @minagrayson @aliives @mammonsleftring @gxrextxgaidk @anna1-1 @bl-0-ndi-3

Can you write something about Jacaerys velaryon x targaryen wife reader

Where she gives birth to a baby that looks like jace and it bothered alicent but they don't care? :3

Saving Face (Jacaerys Velaryon x Targtower!Reader)

(a/n): i’m sorry this request took over a year but my, what a great idea! i hope you like it

word count: 3.0k

summary: with what was supposed to be a happy moment in the new chapter of your family with jacaerys, only wounds linger when your mother is unhappy with your child's appearance.

warnings: slight angst, family tensions, complicated family relationships, implied incest (the targaryen way), not alicent hightower friendly

request status: OPEN

The joy of his newborn child is nearly eclipsed by the fear that his beloved would be called to face the same humiliation his mother endured upon his birth.

Even in distress, his beautiful wife still looked otherworldly silver hair spun in gold, and with her pale lavender eyes, he would not have that ginger sucker of joy to rob him from this life changing celebration. His relief that his beloved survived the precarious birth, worried about her lithe frame and the prostration it weighed on her during the pregnancy.

His little boy, his beloved son, a fragment of the other half of soul and his own. He is perfect, with his ten little toes and fingers, and he is all his.

Jacaerys is thankful his mother was in the birthing room with him and his wife, breaking protocol (as always) to be with the mother as she went into labour. Without her, he thinks he would’ve been hysterical and lost his mind without her guiding hand and comforting presence in seeing Y/N in distress.

“Where is my mother?” Y/N cradles the babe to her breast, as he suckled in his mother’s warmth and he feels his heart drop to his stomach as her face contorted in disappointment.

The child yearned for nourishment, and the midwives guided the young mother so she could feed the child with her milk.

The Dowager Queen remained unyielding even as her step-daughter arose as Queen, and she was still given some privileges even with her dispute with his mother. The marriage of Jacaerys and Y/N, her youngest daughter, was made as a desperate attempt to patch the two sides together and make peace as his mother sat on the Iron Throne.

Her mother attended the wedding, wearing a dark muted forest green that still appeared obsidian in certain angles, but the flame patterns could not be missed on her gown.

A mockery indeed as if she did not accept his mother’s ascendance to the throne and wanted her small rebellions in forms of cloth, he would not grant her the satisfaction of his reaction, for the sake of the realm and his wife, her daughter. It would be too scandalous to do so.

When his beloved was called abed, all pretense of dignity and calm collapsed underneath him. Whatever confident front he had broke apart as fear consumed him, sweat dripping from his forehead, hands shaking, heart beating wildly as he realized his wife was to cross the barrier between life and death to birth their child.

Seeing Y/N’s clean white robes stained the bed in scarlet as she quickens and the pain increases as the babe nears reminds him of the chills whenever he walks the path from the princess’ chambers to the queen’s, the same path forged in blood when his mother then Princess Rhaenyra, the crown princess and heir to the Throne, had to face the humiliation called upon by her stepmother, now Queen Dowager Alicent.

His blood boils when he sees the auburn former queen walk that path meekly nowadays on her way to see her daughter, as if it was all an act when she had pulled rank and caused so much suffering to his beloved mother. Jacaerys fears his wife, now the Princess of Dragonstone will have to walk those same halls, perform the same walk of shame and mummery with all the courtiers of the Keep to bear witness.

There is no possibility he will allow her to endure the same, he would bring fire and blood to all of Westeros shall she have to face that, yet it brings him relief when he reminds himself that woman is no longer Queen but his mother is, Queen of her own right and first of her name, and yet all the same, that woman is also his mother-in-law, mother to his darling. And grandmother to the child that shares his blood.

Jacaerys never left the side of his wife even when her birth continued onto the hour of the wolf, his hands intertwined with her own, assuring kisses on her temple and cheek and encouraging her when she would cry she wanted to relent. Across from him stood his mother, whose locks resembled her half sister and his wife, an experienced mother who has felt such joy and such sorrow too, with a maternal comfort gained with experience.

He would not allow a woman filled with hate to the brim in her heart to rob him of the joys of fatherhood and the relief of his wife safe and sound after such birth to their babe. Jace felt relief like no other when he began to see the dark haired head of the child crowning, and the guttural, final scream she exerted as the child exited her womb.

Jacaerys comforted and whispered assurances of gratitude and encouragement to his lady wife, that she be reminded how grateful he was of her efforts to grow their family, of her devotion and love for him, and fulfilling her duty with nothing but grace, peppering kisses all over her flushed face.

As he caressed the fine hair of his child much like own while he fed from his mother’s breast, his elated expression dropped as if in a chilling reminder when she asked for her mother. As despicable as that woman was, he could not deny her wishes if it brought her reprieve. Jace smiled and promised her that she would be coming and has been informed of the birth of her new grandchild.

When Y/N was beyond earshot, he approached the young midwife with a hardened gait, grinding through his teeth. “If the Dowager Queen wishes to see the prince, she will make her way here herself. She can walk, can she not?!"

While his wife was preoccupied and in isolation during the last few months of the pregnancy, Jace had made efforts to convince his mother to move the Lady Alicent to the second floor below the palace where the current royal family lived. “To remind her of what she’s done to us and may feel the pain we have endured.” He told Queen Rhaenyra, who was hesitant but accepted afterwards.

Jacaerys marched his way outside the ornate doors where his wife and their babe rested, raising his chin and standing with his chest puffed out, a cold indifferent expression, back straightened and fists clenched white as his wife’s mother made her way up the stairs with difficulty.

In the years since her queenship, the then young queen had begun to develop striking pain all over her body, especially down her spine and legs no matter what the maesters or foreign healers would advise. Jacaerys thought it was fitting for when he would make his mother walk up with him and his newborn siblings, bleeding across the hallways and staircases due to the green queen’s attempt to humiliate them.

Perhaps he is his mother’s son, as diplomatic, gracious, intelligent and cunning as he may be, grudges linger.

He could hear a pin drop as the auburn haired woman nearly stumbled down the final stairs and tripped over her gown, with a few septas rushing over to assist her but he showed no commiseration.

The doors swung open as Alicent limped towards her daughter’s bedside, slightly softening in consolation her daughter was safe in childbirth and the child was kicking like a goat.

“Praise the Mother, my girl.” She brushed her blood-smeared fingers over her silver hair shakily, whispering. He did not miss the glimpse of disappointment when she noticed the dark brown hair of the child, even when the boy had her pale lavender eyes.

Alicent cleared her throat, avoiding the gaze of those around her. “I see that the prince strongly resembles his father.”

Jacaerys’ eyes narrowed in suspicion, instinctively reaching towards the pommel of his Valyrian steel sword. “Is that supposed to be a problem, Dowager?” He stomped forward, hovering above his wife and child.

“Not at all, my prince. He is a handsome boy-”

Queen Rhaenyra noticed the tension beginning to develop and interrupted with a smile. “She means no ill, Jacaerys. Merely an observation.”

“An observation?! She wished to have us named as bastards to replace you as heir with one of her spawns and humiliate you.” He raised his voice, accusatory at his mother’s former adversary, and he could feel Lucerys next to him, pulling him away to calm him.

His wife Y/N, exhausted and delirious from the birth, began to grow pale and overwhelmed from the commotion around her, just as her babe broke out in tears and wailed. The Queen ordered everyone but Jacaerys to exit the room and give the family their space. The door shut with a thunderous thud.

…

Hours later, the midwives finished cleaning up the afterbirth, bathed and cleaned the lady and the child before they both fell asleep in new linen sheets and fed.

Jacaerys never left his young family’s side, despondent he had lost his cool, distressing his family during a vulnerable moment, turning what should have been a celebration into an altercation.

He cringed as he could only imagine what the murmurs and whispers about his behaviour and the events that followed with his wife’s mother would share about him. He had brought this upon himself and his family.

AS Y/N began waking from her first rest since the labours, he turned to her as soon as he could hear her rise from her sheets, reaching for her hands in his.

“I have failed you, wife. I should have protected you but I have only raised in anger over old wounds and created altercations when I should have.” Jacaerys felt his tears brim, cheeks red with ignominy and shame.

Her eyes fluttered awake, still weary from the long delivery but visibly more rested already. She shook her head in understanding with an enervated sigh.

“I understand your relationship with my mother has been tense, for what she had done to Her Grace and your family. But I can assure her she has changed, if she is not with me, she is on the knees at the Sept begging for forgiveness and giving alms-”

“She looked at our son the same way she used to look at me and my brothers as children, when she would use her tongue to call us bastards! I fear she will do the same to you and the boy. What good will alms do if she still wishes to see me and our son six feet under ground for the colour of our hair!?” Jacaerys exclaimed, lips quivering in fear as he felt tears brim in his eyes.

Y/N brought their son closer to her arms, only comforted by the sight of her child and her beloved.

“I will handle her, trust me. She thinks I do not pay attention to these things, but I do.” She reaches her free hand to his, unmoving to not wake the babe and squeezes his larger palms into her own.

Jacaerys sniffles, wiping his tears with his sleeve. “I do not wish to drive you apart from your mother, my love. I only worry about you and our family’s safety, and the throne. That you and our son may not suffer on my behalf.”

Their son had just begun to fall asleep in her arms, and she began bouncing him instinctively, quickly gaining the ropes of what it took to be a good mother. Jacaerys knew she would be nothing like her own mother, eagerly learning from his mother Queen Rhaenyra, speaking with other royal and noble mothers and even listening to wet nurses and nannies on how to rear children best.

“Are you sure you can handle this conversation? Would you like me outside or in the room with you?” He asks with uncertainty, not entirely confident with his wife even with her own mother.

The wife of the heir to the Iron Throne and Princess of Dragonstone nods fiercely. “You forget I am a dragon too. We do not bow to these snakes that suck from their prey.”

…

In the overmorrow on the first day of spring, Y/N had just put her son in his cradle, handcrafted in limestone and marble with seahorses and dragons, lined with sheets of silk with pearls and aquamarines, befitting the future King, and the scion of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon.

She hummed as she watched him sleep, having gone through feeding him herself to the surprise of the wet nurses she had followed through, unlike most royalty. She swore she would leave nursing and care to others if she had no other choice.

Underneath sat the hearth of the magenta and mauve swirled dragon egg surrounded by pieces of coal, emitting whirls of smoke that signified the life alive in those eggs. The egg was special as it was the first from her young ride, a nervous flighty thing who only managed to hatch when she found out she was expecting herself, rarely only having one dragon when most on Dragonstone laid many.

As she hums old Valyrian nursery hymns from the crypts of ancient Valyrian text retrieved from the tombs of the Keep’s libraries, she recognizes the steps of her mother without a glimpse.

In her jade hued robes, Lady Alicent was quaint yet undaunted to remind the court of her former standing as once the queen who ruled these halls. A black veil hid part of her auburn hair that turned to flames in certain lighting.

Her mother grimaces with a smile that does not reach her eyes, but relief is painted all over her being. “You are well, daughter? I presume so is the babe.”

Y/N curtly interrupts her. “The babe is your grandson, my child when I am your flesh and blood, mother. Most importantly, he is the future heir to the throne, second in line to my husband.”

Alicent frantically fidgets with her fingers, tugging at her old emerald rings in consternation.

“Of course, yes. His name, Aemon, is fitting for a future monarch.” She could hear the strain in her mother’s words, laced with lies. All her life she had learned those sealed with malice and deceit.

“You forget yourself, mother. My husband and my children are of the blood of the dragon, as do I. You do not understand the ways of the dragon, in your jealousy of wanting to unseat my sister and put Aegon on the throne. Your attempts to disgrace and dispossess my future husband and his brothers has brought the Stranger hanging over mine and my own son’s head!” Y/N chides in betrayal, voice tinged with disbelief her mother would do such a thing.

“Y/N-”

“I could not believe you, mother, that you still harbour such ill will after many years. My marriage with Jacaerys should have buried whatever disagreements you may have had with Queen Rhaenyra, but you value imbuing hate and division on this house more than choosing the peace and stability of this kingdom!”

“Your husband and your son are unbecoming of what Targaryen princes are supposed to look like-” The Dowager attempted to reason, but was impeded as her daughter held an imposing hand towards her.

“Unbecoming? Have you not glimpsed into a mirror? You are nothing of what a Targaryen queen should be, a mere second son’s daughter who brought nothing of value to the throne, and only sought discord to advance her family. Who replaced the Targaryen tapestries with ones of the Seven in hopes of bringing your radicalism to the rest of the kingdom!”

Guards barge in the doors of the babe’s nursery, their armour and swords clattering loudly in the quiet hall.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Y/N coldly turns away from her mother, even as she frowned the same way she would. “By order of the Princess of Dragonstone with the seal of approval of the Prince of Dragonstone and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,

I order your arrest for treason, and insubordination not only for your past grievances but your efforts to call my son a bastard. You will be stripped of your privileges of Queen Dowager, and turned into a septa who will serve the Seven for all her days.”

The former queen is astonished, struggling among the grips of the soldiers who surround her. “Daughter, you are mistaken, please do not do this to me. For all I have sacrificed for this realm and for your father, you must understand why I am the way I am.” She pleaded on her knees, hands clasped as she cried for mercy.

“No, you have served your ambitions and my late grandsire’s treacherous longing for power and the throne, that you would put the Hightower banners and replace Targaryen customs with the Seven and southern ways, that you would tear the kingdom apart for it. I have given you too many chances, forgiving you and turning the cheek in hopes you have accepted it and at least been happy for me, but I am a fool. I am not as forgiving as my father was to your digressions!”

Y/N paced slowly around her mother, sorrow on her face, but no regret or forgiveness.

“You are lucky I will not be putting you in a cell, because for better or for worse, you are still the mother who birthed me. But you would understand, there is nothing a mother would do to grant protection to her children.”

The princess dazed into the window, grasping onto the rails as she heard her mother being dragged out the halls and stripped of her royal ordinances. She could feel herself biting into her nails nervously after years of no longer doing so.

Jacaerys sauntered carefully, approaching his wife with comfort, rubbing her shoulders and bringing her into his arms, looking down at their son as he slept.

“Was I not too cruel, Jace?” She whimpered, weeping into his arms as she was devastated at whether treating her own kin in such a way was a fatal mistake.

He rests his chin on the top of her head before pressing kisses on her temple. “I understand why this troubles you, wife. As abominable and misguided she was, you still are her blood, her daughter.”

She glimpsed at her son, cooing at him as he quietly sleeps. “As a mother, I want to be nothing like her. My son will never be safe while she is around.”