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inexperienced!simon sending you the most detailed voice notes while he's jacking off. he hasn't done it before... he hasn't done anything like this really, so he's very focused on descriptions since the visual won't be there.
“hi, love,” simon grunts out, sounds of a slick rhythm settled just under the rumble of his greeting. when he pauses to take a shuddering breath, you can really hear them. “uh–i had t’ start already, sorry. jus’ couldn’t stop thinkin’ about ya… oh, this is simon, by the way.”
more wet strokes sound before the audio cuts out.
onto the next.
“uhm. ‘m proper leakin’ right now. ma head won’t stop–not my head head, but the one on m-my cock. keeps crying for ya.” another punched-out groan cuts off simon’s ramble. he curses a couple times under his breath before remembering the rest of his words. “i spit on it, too. helps like y’said. haven’t even come yet, ’n i’m already makin’ a mess.”
a hissing sound ends that one. next...
“my, uh, my top is off. already was ‘cause’a the heat, but left my briefs on. the-the white ones. cock was so–shit– hard, i nearly popped outta them. when you… mmm–when you come over later, can you do th-he sniffs-that thing where ya. like. lick over the fabric? ’n nose at me, that kinda stuff? look so pretty when you do that…”
on the next note, the strokes are faster. louder. accompanied by a touch of impatience.
“fuck me, love. wish y’could see me right now. c… god, cock’s feelin’ bigger than usual. thicker, too. can feel it fuckin’ pulsing. ’n my balls, jesus. they miss ya’real bad. i think they’re–maybe aching a bit? but it’s the kind that feels good, too. like, uh. like they’re jus’ full. sensitive. and it feels nice when i do this…” there’s break in the strokes and a shuffling noise, then a deep groan. “y-you can’t see but ‘m wrapping my fingers around them. like that ring we got, ’n the pressure feels nice. gonna make me cum ‘f i do it f’too long.”
by the time the next one starts, simon’s hand is wrapped right back around himself. his breathing is louder now, accented by badly-hidden whines, and you can hear the way he’s started to squirm against the sheets of the bed.
“i-i can’t wait t’fuck ya tonight. been getting better at holdin’ it. practicin’ my form–fuuuck. oh, fuck. s’close, baby, i can feel it… auh, i wish-i wish, uh, fuck. i can’t think. my fuckin’ legs, they won’t stop shaking.” god, you can hear it in his voice. the poor thing, with his voice croaking out an increasingly wobbly tone, cock sounding wetter and wetter with each tug of his hand. he’s probably sweating, too. he always is when he gets like this–horny and flushed and damp with sweat over how good he’s feeling… how much he feels for you. “ooouh, i wanna come… i wanna come… fuck, can i blow f’you, please?”
the next audio message is the longest one and nothing but simon falling apart. the volume fluctuates, his grip on the phone less reliable with his head in other places and his throat going raw with all the noise he’s making. groans and wails of everything from your name to swears that aren’t comprehensible (thanks to the unconscious thickening of his accent) tumble out of him in between arches that puff his chest in the air and the tight gropes of his twisty, pumping hand. it feels like it’s lasting forever, simon’s release. he goes on and on, having to sniff a few times when tears try to well in his eyes.
the last note takes him a good minute to send. he starts it with a thick sigh.
“uhm… uh, t-there’s so much cum, love. hand’s covered in it… everywhere else, too,” simon makes himself laugh with that one. he lets out a deep, tired chuckle before a quiet smack sounds. “tastes good. gonna… gonna send you a pic, yeah? little preview f’later. and ‘cause it really is a lot. think this is the most i’ve ever come without ya here…”
one last buzz from your phone.
FROM SI 🤓♥️:
1 image
opening up the picture, your entire body warms with buzzy feeling.
against his cum-covered hand rests his softening cock, still appearing as thick and as heavy as ever despite the size of the load that’s oozed out all over him self. the photo is all spit and cum and slick, which forces you to have to swallow down the groan that tries to escape your throat.
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“Criston Cole’s death is anticlimactic” THATS THE FUCKING POINT! He thinks that he is this great warrior who is going to die heroically in battle after taking down tons of other soldiers but instead he is killed by a woman and the rest of his men get slaughtered. His misogyny against Rhaenyra is what lead him to the green’s side of the war. For a woman to take him out like it’s nothing is a fitting end. It also shows how pointless this war has become. No one is really fighting for green or black, it’s just fighting to fight and in the end death is meaningless. Media comprehension is in the toilet in this fandom.
ormund arrives in king's landing expecting to witness the corruption of daeron's siblings, just to find you---a shy, sweet-smelling targaryen.
obsessive!ormund and afab!reader, scent kink, imaginations of grooming, mentions of ormund dubconing you, good ol hightower sexism, male masturbation, no descriptions of reader are used, this is kinda giving frollo tf, // wc: 2.6K // drabble idea post // @cursed-carmine as credit for the divider // may turn this into a full-on fic idk but hope u enjoy
When Ormund is invited to King's Landing, he comes expecting a vile decadence that he will mislike and mislike only. He knows himself so. The court, he finds, is loud and gaudy. King Viserys is much weaker than Alicent's letters suggested. There was, unfortunately, no expectation that the man would reek of disease as much as he does.
But he expected Aegon to be exactly as...undisciplined as the rumors claim, and that's him being as munificent as he can. Aemond, on the other hand, Ormund can sense the boy's chaotic resentment without him speaking a word. This is no surprise.
He expected to find his cousin's children thoroughly spoiled by their father’s weakness and their own blasphemous blood, and although it is not in his right to crowly boast, he's sure all the effort he's put into raising Daeron has been a triumph.
That is true enough, looking at his brothers. This, again, he had all expected.
But Ormund does not think to expect you.
You are the youngest daughter of Alicent and Viserys, a soft-spoken princess hidden between your unabashed, strange siblings. He is more than aware of your letters to Daeron, ones he used to personally oversee earlier in the boy's youth until the scribbled nonsense of childhood conversation began to bore him.
It was unassuming enough that he didn't think much of you in concept, and that seems to be the same for the rest of your family.
Have you been overlooked often enough that gentleness somehow settles in you?
He watches you lower your gaze when others address you. You thank servants for the most meager of mandatory tasks. And Ormund is sure, when he makes the mistake of having his attention linger too long on you, that your cheeks warm without you helping it.
It lingers solely due to curiosity, really, because it is your scent that creeps around the corner before you do.
The first breath of you, through the stale smells of the Red Keep, seizes him.
Ormund would be right to claim that you smell of devilish temptation. Temptation has been given a body...of immense beauty. My, he has to keep hold of himself upright before you even curtsy.
What is this fucking nonsense that he has been met with?
"My lord."
He finds you to be a quiet, shy, gracious thing. Quiet, shy, gracious, presumably drenched in lavender and vanilla.
…Possibly something hazel-esque, something floral, but it's a pleasant feminine oil, he tells himself. Nothing more than an indulgence that any disciplined man like himself could withstand. He has dealt with the likes of common whores throwing himself at him. Your scent, your beauty. No fucking matter.
But...you bow your head, eyes lowered. Is he the first man of the day to make you timid?
The thought soothes Ormund from the way your scent seeps into his throat as you do.
What had seemed floral grows intimate on your skin, as if the sweetness rises from the pulse at your throat and escapes your lips! It clings, clings, clings to the inside of his nose. He can even still smell you after you leave the room, this isolent savor of a Targaryen girl. Have you left it to linger to test him? Must be.
Ormund's resentment of you grows quickly. Quiet, shy, gracious. He'd rather you be brazen, but no, no---you are what he deduces to be silently deceptive. How else would the Gods challenge him?
"I praise you for your propriety, princess."
A Targaryen princess cannot simply be gentle. If there is gentleness in such blood, it must be a lure. It could very well be that your Valyrian instinct has been only made subtle by Alicent's upbringing. In his time in the Red Keep, he witnesses all the signs of your mother's influence.
There is your careful words, reverence for the Seven...
Alicent has done commendable work. At the very least, she has managed to raise one dragon properly. You laugh when he tells you so.
"Your mother’s influence is apparent. She did well in caring for one Targaryen. As have I."
Well enough that the boy is more Hightower than anything.
"I presume my little brother is perfect?"
You humor Ormund with your tease behind your fingers, shyly. Do you think even your amusement requires apology? How intolerable.
How good.
The conversation delves into your wonder about your brother. Beneath all your courtly restraint is a painful hunger to know the boy. Ormund does not know what to make of your questions. Is he happy? Does he have friends? Why has he stopped drawing dragons and swords in his letters to you?
It is a mutually beneficial talk, as he answers with more pride than the questions warrant. He'd ask for forgiveness in the light of the Seven if his claims weren't true.
Daeron is very diligent. Courteous and devout. Well with a sword, regardless of the humble lies within his correspondence with you.
He speaks of you more than he speaks of his other siblings. Yes, that's not saying much, but it's as if he could possibly have any memories to miss you by.
"Oh, good! I'm glad he has had your love and care to bear, Lord Ormund."
At that, Ormund begins imagining what might have happened had you been sent to Oldtown too.
...He could have raised you more than properly.
The guardian he could've been to you, a firm hand set upon a promising but dark flower. The girl he imagines, rising in the Starry Sept and repeating prayers after him.
You'd learn his approval is a priority...
And that his displeasure demands the occasional punishment. He could've cut away every filthified tendency inherited from your father’s blood before it bloomed, even though he has not seen much of it from you, saved for the cunning scent.
By womanhood, obedience would come so naturally that you would never think to call it surrender or suffering, as young women who deny the natural order of things so often do. His voice might have lived inside your currently unknowable mind.
These thoughts horrify him, but only because they are a fucking waste. They are nothing more than fantasy, and it is fantasy that makes him feel cheated of the opportunity of taming you to be rewarded until pleasing him feels no different from virtue itself, if your mother did well enough to teach you virtue's importance.
Nevermind, to the bane of his being here.
"Might I ask what perfume it is that you wear, princess?"
You place a palm on your chest, and Ormund's gaze follows in a way he will never name as helpless.
"I do not know the exact mixture, my lord. My handmaid prepares it differently every other morning. Sometimes I think it is lavender, but I believe she will use vanilla. Do you...mislike it?"
"I find it pleasant, but excessive." He nearly slaps your hand when you reach for your neck, where you must've applied it earlier. "But there is no need to apologize or to alter your habits on my account."
You nod.
"...As you wish, my lord."
Those words follow him into the night. Your scent does too, along with the dangerous, indulgent thought that, perhaps, you are not beyond salvage.
Your soul, despite the dark of your blood, might still be trained into something as lovely as the way you smell.
It lingers in galleries after you have left and blooms in halls where you passed an hour before. He swears on it! It is through no fault of his own that he can scent your movements through the Red Keep like a fucking hound dog---which chair the princess has occupied at supper, that the flight of stairs he walks upon just had her in its grasp.
No. It is not his fault. You linger, and if this is all done with sneaked intention, Ormund would have every right to call you a cunning whore. To lead the overseer of Oldtown astray with some perfumed concoction, to play sweet and innocent to have him believe you good. Yes, every right indeed.
It gets to the very point that Ormund could also have every right to claim he is merely observing a threat. Temptation should be studied before it can be mastered, yes?
Yes, he shall lecture Daeron on this when he arrives home.
"You are the princess's handmaid, yes? I require a favor of you. She has informed me that you mix her oils yourself. What does it contain?"
The need to find the exact ingredients that cause him to bear this dangerous curiosity is great enough that he corners---happens upon your handmaid in a quiet passage.
She lists them. Ormund smiles.
"I require a vial. Just one."
"...A vial?"
"For examination only."
He certainly does not appreciate the cautious look that grows on the young woman's face. She blinks in confusion. "...My lord?"
"Do you require me to repeat everything? The fragrance is unusually strong, and I only wish to determine whether it may affect those sensitive to such things. I will compensate you for your efforts...as long as you do not trouble the princess with the matter."
The maid agrees. And how funny is it that a successfully coerced cooperation of a young bitch maid who can't keep her expressions to herself makes him fear the possibility that he was...diminished by said conversation.
No matter, he was not, even a scholar such as himself bears insecurities. The vial arrives that evening, carried by a servant in a cloth.
Ormund opens it and brings it to his nose. It is, up close, a wonderful scent.
...And utterly fucking lifeless!
Every ingredient is present, yes, yet it does not seize him nor make his blood simmer hot beneath his divine flesh as it did when you first bowed to him, and he to you.
There is no instant thought, with the vial to his nose, of your neck against his tongue or your skirts pushed above your thighs that he has yet to see. Where is it, sweet whore? That ravenous need to bury his face in your bosom and how deeply your perfume seeps?
The missing ingredient is you. Is it your warmth that causes your scent to thrive? Your skin? May the Seven forbid that it might be your filthy, ancient blood he has spent his life regarding as savage.
The irony in the thought is strong when Ormund knows you pass his chamber.
He is only rubbing the oil into his wrist with force just before you do, damning the thing to take him whole as you did, sniffing the---alright, pathetic attempt to reconstruct you from its lifeless ingredients while the fantasies worsen and turn his temper to frustration.
The laugh he hears you give as you pass follows your true scent.
It somehow floods the room and puts the counterfeit oil to shame. It upon his nose, his wrists...his elbows, it all turns offensive, to the point where Ormund rises from his chair so quickly that it screeches against the stoney floor as the life of your lush, warm savor burns itself into the back of his throat.
The moment when he nearly makes the weak mistake of opening the door is wild. The only moments a somewhat untrained Targaryen can produce, it seems.
He has half a tempted mind to call you inside under some pretense concerning your little brother. He imagines your eyes of startled confusion when you find the vial in his hand, your stammer when you realize he has obtained the scent you wear on your skin?
Would it give you a fright? Would it flatter you? Would sweat deepen the scent as blood rushed to your cheeks?
...And, hopefully, untouched cunt?
Ormund's cock hardens painfully at the thought.
He braces himself against the desk, breathing the last traces of you from the corridor. Cruelly, barely...it is enough to turn your slightest corruption of him into bodily need.
Ormund thinks it fair, he has given you the satisfaction of his temporary ruin, as well as happy thoughts of the brother you can only remember as a babe.
It is just enough.
He opens his breeches by the laces, yanking them and letting his cock spring free. He's already leaking at the tip when he turns the vial down to slather the thick oil over the length of his shaft. It's slick, warm, how he imagines the glide of your cunt would be.
He wraps his fist around himself and strokes at a brutal pace. His eyes close, and there is only the picture of you beneath him---shy no longer, your knees parted with force, your mouth trembling those little my lords until you are brave enough to say his name.
As he pumps with friction, the skin of his cock pulling in the twist of his sticky palm, there you are, arching your back as he claims you in fantasy. He would be gentle at first, you have to be with a woman in the beginning. He's sure he must convince you that there is no shame in yielding to a man better equipped to govern you.
The whole of you.
Ormund presses his scented wrist against his mouth. The oil is bitter upon his lips. Still wrong, and the inadequacy only drives him to pump faster, near frantic---he humps his own stroking, precum-covered hand.
Imagination is what he must make do with to supply your warm skin where there is only his own. The man can almost feel your cunt, tight, dripping the way the oil does against his thighs. Oh, how you would welcome his thickness while he whispers filth into your ear. Filth that will be forgiven.
Or easily justified. Well, welcomed? Welcomed...that Ormund cannot be too sure of.
Even with the mother of bastards leading the line to the throne as your half-sister, which is why he cannot also be sure of your own virtue...would you welcome him so easily? Seems unfathomable that you wouldn't, but...
...Once again, a firm hand comes to mind.
Only as his hips begin to jerk, boots sounding out against stone as he hunches over the desk.
Ormund would have to make you acknowledge what your scent has done to him, make you hold his gaze while your breath against the leftover mess you leave upon his aching cock, and if you were good enough, he would tell you how wickedly sweet you must taste, and that you must try you for yourself.
Firmness would do well enough to make you understand that kindness does not leave you harmless, nor does it mean you can move through any hall he paces, leaving your scent for him to find, and expect him to think you honorable of wholesome fucking thought!
...But there can be redemption if you confess what you have done.
Ormund's breath turns harsher, the tight knot in his balls demanding release. The thrusts into his fist burn violent, and he can only bite his lip and groan against his teeth. The oil fills his nostrils fully, and it brings him to the brink of his own pleasure.
"Gods!"
Past the point of no return, you bring him.
With one final, squeezing stroke, Ormund lets out a calmorous groan as his body shudders. His breaths come in quickened hitches, but his ropes of cum splattered across stone and wood in long ropes, long enough that he can pump himself through the mess.
He milks his cock and leaves himself completely spent once finished. If sin had a smell, it would be what he has to wash his shaft of. His wrist. His lips. He looks at the vial with disgust. He must be rid of the rest, surely...
The matter requires further thought, at least until morning---where, in your own chambers of the Red Keep, you wake without the faintest fucking idea that Lord Ormund Hightower has begun resenting...
Dreaming of how beautifully you will bloom under his hand.
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Painfully shy reader getting absolutely obliterated drunk at the pub, losing all sense of timidity, and telling Gaz and Soap "I bet the reason Ghost actually hides his face is 'cause he knows everybody'd wanna sit on it".
Ghost overhearing, leaning over your shoulder, and letting you know "I'm just keeping your seat clean until you're ready to sit on it, love".
Obviously Simon fucks the embarrassment out of you the next day, but only after making sure you get your reserved seat nice and wet.
Tags: readers first makeout🫶 fingering F reviving, Handjob, cuddling, fucking on the floor👏, arranged marriage, Maekar doesn’t want a 2nd wife (what else is new), near drowning incident, PnV sex, unprotected sex, losing virginity, brief mention of blood, Maekar experiencing guilt (and reflecting on it *shocker*)
Summary: you’ve married Maekar but the only people who have really welcomed you to Summerhall are his youngest three children. When you risk your own life to protect them Maekar finally has to admit that you do have a place here!
word count: 6.1 k
A/N: I loveeee grumpy Maekar but am shit at writing those snappy quips so that’s why he’s always troubling enamored so quickly by the reader in my fics 🙈
“Don’t-“ you were so winded when you grabbed Aegon’s arm that you needed to breath for a solid moment before continuing on. “Don’t run off like that.” You scold him bending a bit so you two were eye to eye.
You’d been lucky to not need to do much scolding of your husbands children. Which had benefitted you greatly while navigating the complexities of running a hall that had been devoid of a lady, a mother for some time. The little ones probably liked you because of the attention you gave them, because of how you enjoyed playing their silly games when their father had no time…or patience for it.
Though with the cold weather their temperaments changed. They never seemed to have enough avenues to exert their energy since their playing was all stuck inside.
The cold did not feel as suffocating to you. It was just apart of life in the north and the storm land hardly got as frozen and bitter as things got back home. Which was why you had decided to bundle the younger ones all up and take them for a walk. You thought they might like to see the frozen leaves, perhaps look for one of the robins that’s feather became easy to spot again the white forest floor.
Maekar had not looked up from his papers when you suggested it at break of fast. The only way you knew he had even heard your proposal was the warning he grumbled out to Egg, Daella and Rhae to behave for you.
Perhaps you should have then them each out individually because the three of them together just led to far to much energy.
“There pond is around here somewhere and the last thing you need is to wind up under broken ice!” You warned him. It was serious, you did not want to see them injured….and it was your responsibility to see to them.
Maekar had made that clear. You knew before the wedding that he had not sought you out. You’d just been conveniently there when the topic of him taking a second wife came up. It was all rather flattering, the Queen herself suggested you to Maekar. She’d seen you knelt down in the gardens helping his children catch little red lady bugs and worms. His mother had convinced him of the value a maternal figure might bring to his household…that additional stability from another an adult could temper issues before they began.
You’d been so excited, foolishly so, but he was a prince it made sense that you were flattered and thrilled by it all. You’d even found yourself remarking on his serious but striking apperence, on the deep tome of his voice…you’d told your lady maids, with flushed cheeks, that you were looking forward to your wedding night.
You hadn’t been looking forward to the bedding ceremony…being grabbed at by random men and touched. Though when he deny the event at the end of the feast you had known something was off right away. He had not asked you of your feelings in the matter so it did not come across like he was doing you some great kindness by avoiding it.
He denied it for himself. You found that out the moment you entered his chambers and he handed you a cup of wine. He did not sit with you on the edge of the bed…did not even look up when you got down to your chemise and chewed your lip eagerly waiting for him to make some sort of advance. You knew what happened in a marriage bed but not enough of the specifics to initiate anything yourself. He stay in the chair by the fireplace that entire night. Not moving as he told you he had taken your hand for his children, so they could have another person looking after them, he told you he wanted no more children, did not need companionship and had no desire to bed you.
Maekar was many things but he was not a liar. All those things he had made painfully clear to you on the wedding night had remained true. You were not here for him, just them.
“Look mother! There’s a red feather!” Rhae exclaimed. She and Aegon had each slipped and called you that. It always made you feel quite important but you were truthfully worried about Maekar hearing it. What would he think? Had you been to involved with them? Should you correct them?
Slowly you let go of Aegon’s arm after giving him one more warning look and then you followed Rhae towards the tree that had a vibrant feather laid on one of the branches. You were mid lifting her up so she could try and grab it when you heard a piercing shriek.
It was so loud, in an otherwise quiet woods, that every bird suddenly flew up out of the trees just as started as you were.
Rhae looked around, gripping onto your shoulders. “What was that?” She whispered her legs winding around your midsection as you began to move in the direction of the sound.
“Daella?!” You called. It sounded like her shout.
When there was no answer to your call you began to run in the direction of the sound. Dropping Rhae down the moment you saw the pond.
Gods, oh gods. You were here to look after them.
Before your eyes Maekars oldest daughter was grasping at the edge of broken ice, her upper body was above the water but everything below her hips was submerged. The air infront of you was clouded white from how quickly you were breathing, your lungs burning a bit from brining in so much of the cold air.
“help!” She cried and you instantly started out onto the pond. It wasn’t nearly cold enough here for the ice to get so thick that it could safely support a person. You should have been watching them better.
“Rhae, go back to the hall, tell the first person you come across about this.” She urged the child and heard her little feet pad against the frozen ground back up to the keep.
You bent down, basically crawling out to her, knowing you needed to distribute your weight so the ice would give out under you as well.
“I’ve got you, just-“ you grabbed her wrists trying to pull her towards you. “Can you kick your legs?” Her skirts were waterlogged and that made them very heavy.
“Come on Daella!” You grunted as you got closer and grabbed her under the arms hoisting her up over the jagged edge of of the hole and she landed right over you. Both of you panting, Rhaella shaking and her teeth chattering loudly.
“Breathe, I’ve got you.” You were holding the back of her head, squeezing her against you as your adrenaline came down. “I’ve got you.” You kissed her head and started to try and sit you both up.
“Egg…” she whimpered. Her teeth were rattling so much it was hard for her to speak. “Egg fell in.” She eventually got out and you scurried out from under her quickly looking at the hole and freezing water.
“Go to the bank!” You directed her sternly and knelt over the edge gasping as you reached your arms down into the water feeling for him. The fact that there was no thrashing around made you uneasy. Had he sunk down to the bottom? Did he breathe in the water?
You took in the largest breath you possibly could and willed yourself right down into the water. The air was pushed out of your lungs almost Instantly from the shock but you attempted to keep moving as much as you could.
It would destroy this family…another loss. Especially rambunctious but loving egg!
Your long dark hair swirled around your face in the water making it hard to see but your foot bumped Into something and you grabbed at it. The only warmth, as mild as it was, in the blinding cold. The pond was not that deep, and so on your tip toes your hands could breach the surface. You shoved Aegon on and somehow dragged your own self up onto the ice.
“no…no wake up.” You started to shake at the little boy a bit and when you saw his hands and lips were purple you found the strength to lift him up into your arms. His feet dragged as you carried him through the woods but it was the most you could manage. Daella shaking, terrified and dazed from it all held to your stiff heavy skirts as you went. He had to get inside, needed to be warmed and see the maester. He was coughing into your chest now, water heaving from his lungs.
You were one of sorts yourself from being submerged and althought you heard shouting you did not actually see anybody coming your way. Not until suddenly Aegon was being lifted off of you and Daella was snatched up as well.
“get her inside!” Maekar, who had been informed after the first guard had been alerted to the issue at the pond, managed to barrel ahead of any other person heading down toward the forests edge. At the time all that was known was that Daella had been on the pond and the ice cream as broken. That was more than enough to put him in this state. The knight would get there, but not as quickly as he would.
The prince was sprinting up the pathway to the keep and you started right after him before any guard reached you to assist. Aegon looked limp in his father’s arms and you were so terrified that you just continued through the hall after the three of them despite maids urging you to stop.
“get off of me!” You warned pushing their hands away and successfully getting into the maesters work room. Aegon was already stripped and being covered in blankets and warmed stone and you saw Rhaella shaking in one of her septa’s arms as she was brought away to be changed and looked over. She seemed, scared and if that was all than she was quite lucky because her brother had still not opened his eyes.
“I told them to stay away from the pond-“ you began trying to squeeze your way closer to the bed the little prince was laid out it. “H-he was coughing when I pulled him out, there was water in-in his lungs.” You managed to shared with the maester, dark eyes wild and frantic as you spoke.
“Get her out of this bloody gown” Maekar directed the comment towards a young women stood near the door, clearly unsure what she should be doing in the mist of this chaos. “now!” He barked snapping his hand against the side table to jostle the maid from her stagnant position. He had pulled his hand off of its spot on his sons head, he’d been stroking the light silver hair back since getting him into this bed.
“I’m quite a-a-alright.” You told the maid quickly, teeth were clattering so much that it took you so long to get that sentence out that the use of ‘alright’ was quite unbelievable.
Maekar could feel the chill that was emanating off your body behind him and suddenly he turned at once, wide shoulders clearing his way as he grabbed the soaked fabric around your waist and backed you up towards the bathing chambers.
“m’lord-Aegon needs you.” You start but are quickly turned around. You supposed it made sense that he could move you and your heavy waterlogged dress so easily, his strength during the rebellion had resulted in songs after all!
“Fucks sake”
You gasp when his fingers sink between the little spaces in the lacing down your back and he pulls the fabric and strings apart. All the grommets would be torn, it was completly wrecked. it was also handing down at your feet now, some relief did come from no longer being squeezed in by such cold fabric.
“He needs you to still be breathing when he wakes…” Maekar muttered out grabbing your chemise and tearing that fabric as if it was nothing more than a single piece of parchment.
He wasn’t wrong, staying dressed like this would have you catching your death. Had you been less panicked you would have likely attempted to get some of the layers off of you down by the pond but the adrenaline had not allowed for proper thinking.
“Your grace,” the maester called from the other room. There was alot of coughing and voices of people telling Aegon to lay back down. You shivered in front of him, back still turned away and your arms had wrapped around yourself half for warmth and half for shielding. You’d never been undressed with him present.
Your eyes facing forward was a gift to the prince because it gave him a moment to take in the sounds of life that were obvious in the other room. His son was alive. He wasn’t losing somebody else, he had not failed again. His chest deflated a bit as his eyes closed and he took in the coughing. They opened again when the maester called once more and he pressed his hands down against your shoulders.
The touch warmed you so much you whimpered a bit, his palms did not retract at the noise right away but when he heard your teeth begin to clatter together again he gave you a squeeze before letting go.
“Get in the bath.” He demanded, there was not alternative option that could even be thought of in your mind when you heard his tone. Instantly the maid came towards with warmed buckets of water and began filling the soaking tub that you had obediently stepped into.
He closed the door on his way out and as the warmth engulfed you your eyes began to close, the feeling of being okay mixed with the combination of your adrenaline crashing left you utterly exhausted.
The next thing you felt was a rumbling against your cheek. Which made you groan and shift about some.
“Give me that,” Maekar sighed pulling the blanket from the maids hands, his forhead had not relaxed for one second since the knight had entered his study two hours prior and told him what his youngest had been shouting as she came up towards the stables.
You leaned towards the sound and your arms, which finally felt less stiff, wrapped around your husbands neck as he lifted you from the now room tempature bath. The towel was draped over you but he was holding you to his chest so you were getting him quite wet.
“Have broth be brought to my chambers.” He directed and carried you from the maesters quarters through the keep. You hadn’t fully smarted to the concept that your husband, you husband who had not even kissed you on the lips when you married was holding you…letting you nuzzled your face against his warm neck. He knew you were seeking more heat.
Gradually, when he set you down in his bed, tucking the towel around the front of you now, you realized Maekar had been the one taking you from the bath. He did not like how red your cheeks still were of that your fingers were still slightly blue.
He’d had a conversation with Daella, an interrogation was more correct of a name for it thought because Maekar demanded to know exactly what had happened. How this, possibly deadly, mess came to be. He’d waited until she was in her thickest dress, wrapped in a fur and being given her favorite tea before he started but he had not given her any time to rest, he needed to know it all as soon as possible. He did not like having to use his imagination to fill in the blanks.
You grabbed the ends of the towel and pulled the fabric around you tighter brining your feet up as well so your knees were tucked into your chest. You’d never been in his chambers. It felt odd…almost intimate.
“you jumped into the water?” He was laying a dark fur across a chair near the fireplace.
“is he alright?” You finally spoke, voice a bit horse from all the shouting earlier.
“Do Starks believe they cannot freeze?” He glanced over his shoulder at you.
“no more than Targaryen think they cannot burn.” You exhale and straighten your shoulders. “Is Aegon well?” You insist to know. Surely he would not be speaking to you if the boy was dead, right?
Maekar shoulders raised a bit, like he had chuckled at your attempt to demand something from him but the sound did not quite reach your ears.
“he is already telling stories of fish frozen in place in the water.” He informed you, finally looking back at you and seeing the relief flood through you.
You smiled, a bright real thing and you chuckled a bit. He was as such a clown of a little boy, it was charming to you even if it came with some wreckless behavior.
“I think he was the only frozen thing in that pond.” You remark shaking your head a bit.
“I think my son is alive because you went down in that water to save him.”
The comment stopped your giggling instantly. It was serious and honest and…this was more sensitive than you had ever known him be. The intensity of his eyes on you, the shock witnessing his forehead ease, it made your skin tingle and every hair on your rise.
“you could have died attempting to rescue them from something that I know they have been warned about.”
You swallowed looking down gripping a bit tighter to the damp towel and you took a moment to figure out what it was that you should say…what you wanted to say.
“I love them Maekar, I could not just watch it happen.” You looked back up to him finding that he had made his way from in front of the fire back to the bedside, that he had taken his cloak off and had as currently undoing the laces that kept his tunic on.
“Thank you.”
You blinked, he’d not thanked you for anything in the 7 moons that had come to pass since you wed. It was obvious that he was not the type to lean to flattery in conversation. That did not bother you, not as much it might some other lady, it wasn’t as if people in the north were exceptionally warm.
Actually when you thought about it they were quite kind, deeply loyal and unmistakably dedicated to people…if they deserved it. If they had good reason to value the person infront of them.
Maekar was not much different. He did. Or bother with unwarranted flattery. You could appreciate that.
“You can go see them later, once you’re warm enough.” He assured you when it seemed like your attention drifted to the door.
“I will dress, I’m warm enough.” You made to stand but his hand was back on your shoulder again, stopping you in your tracks.
“I will deem when you are warm enough wife.”
His jaw tightening gave away that your surpised reaction to the title made him feel bad. Had he truly never used the term once? Was denying you any affection for his first wife’s sake or was it just him being cruel. He’d always told himself he was distance out of respect for Dyanna’s memory. What would she thinking about the women caring for her children never being thanked? Never being welcomed as she should have been into their family?
You watched his light eyes water and stayed still and silent. She must have been very kind…very beautiful. You had heard from the staff of the hall how deeply he had loved her, how he laughed with her.
When he cleared his throat and looked back down at you there was some new found understand of himself in his eyes. He’d hated you, simply because he resented that the longer you were around the more he noticed how attractive you were and worse…that he felt genuinely drawn to your personality. But What favor was he doing Dyanna, or his family by becoming more cold and bitter simply because he wanted to deny anything that brought him joy while she was not beside him?
When your shoulders shook twice, the shiver impossible to suppress Maekar came back to the moment. Back to you.
He motioned for you to stand up and finally undid the last tie that kept his chest covered.
“Clothes and a blanket would do.” You assured him, but your eyes were looking at the expanse of his chest..the pink skin there that you knew would be so warm.
“Body heat is best, I thought you’d know that. What did they teach you in Winterfell woman?” He raised a brow while you got up on your feet. Once you were up he touched your side, grunting at the damp towel that was wrapped there and he pulled it away, quickly pulling you in front of the fire. He sat down first in the chair and then looked to his lap. When you hesitated he sighed. The exasperation that you were used to seeing from him flaring up.
“you are my wife, it is not indecent to sit down.” He rolled his eyes a bit and his hand touched your bare back urging you down to his lap. Pulling the fur that had been warming in front of the flame over you at once. He felt your freezing fingers nervously grabbing at the fur, brushing against his stomach in the process. Quickly Maekar gathered them in one hand and brought them up to his neck cupping them there in that hot region.
You kept your eyes on him, waiting for his feeling for change, for him to suddenly decide again being so close to you. Especially in this state of undress. When he lifted your fingers up to his mouth and cupped them against his lips so he could blow warm air onto the icy digits you realized belatedly that he was not likely to push you away. You relaxed some as that understanding sunk into your mind, and you allowed yourself to sink back against him. Back naturally bent instead of all rigid to keep your figure away from his.
“your warm.” You breath out eyes closing as your cheek rested against one side of hai chest.
“Aye” he grunted in agreement. He would not of been sat beneath you if he wasn’t, he of found something warmer.
He could feel your legs curl up a bit so that your knees pressed to his side. He quickly brought a hand under the fur and wrapped it across your back and around your waist. Hand rubbing over your side pushing the chill off of you.
You savored the heat he offered and eventually you pulled your hands from his palm and held his shoulders rubbing slightly as you gained feeling back. It let him have use of his other hand to rub down the length of your leg and give your feet a few squeezes to ensure blood was flowing there as well.
His hand settled at your hip rubbing the join firmly as he looked down at you. His breathing had gotten a bit deeper, his nostrils flared some when he exhaled and you found that despite your mind telling you to look away from him your eyes were trapped on his. Your hands slowly sliding down from his muscular shoulders to his chest under the blanket and you trailed your fingertips over his pectoral muscles. Straightening some of the hair there as you went.
“I thought of this, before today.” He gripped you hip a bit harder and you pushed yourself instinctually against him more, chest to chest. He could feel how hard and cold your nipples were as they dragged across his chest. He knew how to warm those. It made his mouth salivate a bit.
“of what m’lord?” You blinked once before he slumped his head and down sought out your lips with his. Somehow that part of you was pink and warm and now he craved more contact there. Quickly raising his hand to hold your jaw up towards him so he could devour you in a kiss.
Your lips were clumsy and deeply unsure of what they should be doing but when he felt your soft tongue suddenly slip against his he groaned. You wanted him. He’d been to blind on the wedding night by his own mourning and guilt to notice that that nerves you were showing were those of uncertainty…and excitement. Not anxiety and disinterest. He felt even more guilty for his coldness now knowing that you would of been open to advances over that past many moons.
He groaned when you sat up some more to try and reach his mouth better, you’d been putting quite a bit of weight right over his lap…right over the growing bulge he had and now that that contact was lifted he could suddenly feel that aching need!
You moaned at his calloused hands drifting to your back, warm and thick fingers trailing against either side of your spine and you straighten up a bit which let the fur slip off of your shoulders, letting him see you better. The way her looked you up and down made you feel warmer than the bloody bath did.
When Maekar’s eyes raised back, finally, to meet your own after cataloging every inch of you he smiled, small, but it was unmistakably affection.
You lurched forward and kissed at the corner of his mouth where his lips at tilted up and you grinned the moment his hands found your bottom, callouses from his hilt feeling rough against that delicate pale skin.
You let your head fall back between your shoulders when his beard tickled your neck and his lips pressed pecks until he reached your collar bone and began to lay wet hungry kisses there. Your hand dropped from his chest and shoulder and one hand kept you stead in this position by holding his firm stomach, the other found its way to his breeches. Looking briefly up at him for assurance.
He groaned, deep and throat rattling and it was so assuring to you that you sunk your hand right down into the cloth and felt for him. He was hard and pulsing and extraordinarily erect so your fingers simply needed to fan out to feel him.
“it’s so hard…” you breath out, the earnestness of your surprise had his head spinning and pratically all of his blood rushing down to his cock.
“I am old, but not so old that my prick remains soft.” He lectured and you giggled a bit at the feeling of his hand squeezing your bum as a warning. Acknowledging your innocence, that he had denied you the understanding of how husband and wives function was to much for him to address internally at the moment so he’d decided to pretend you had been taunting him. That was easier for him!
“harder-“ he grunted hand sliding up your side looking for the handhold he wanted while your small fist wrapped around his shaft. “You can grip me tighter than that.” He breathed out nodding as you instantly corrected. “Good, that’s a good girl.” His four fingers settled wrapping against your ribs and his thumb splayed out under your breast lifting it up slightly and he puffed his chest out some to feel your hard nipple slide over his scarred skin.
“like this?” You looked at him bitting your lip as you squeezed much harder at his pulsing length and brought your hand up and down. Your fingers glided easily, he was producing plenty of lubricant himself. when his eyes closed while trying to reign in a moan and you leaned forward kissing the tension away. He held it in lines at the top of his noses bridge.
“I don’t deserve you.” He lowered his head when you kissed his forhead and his mouth dragged against the tops of your chest. It seemed like he was finding the perfect spot before settling in but when he did you gasped at the feeling of his tongue streching out to graze over one of your nipples.
“no…” you breathed out nodding a bit as you stroked him faster. “You don’t.” Your voice was breathy from how nice his mouth felt on your skin. How his nose nuzzled into the soft meat of your tits and he consumed as much of you as he could fit between his lips.
“Easy.” He warned you while his hand let go of your arse and he slipped his hand under your thigh finding your spot instantly because that part of you was radiating heat. You were wet as well, enough that he could feel that the raven black hair on your cunny was slicked into a mess.
When your hand faltered in its motion and your breath hitched at the suddenly presence of his fingertip dipping between you, breaching into your body, Maekar felt the shiver. Unsure if it was genuine chill or nerves he kissed your jaw and lifted you up with him as he got off the chair and then was over you on the fur rug infront of the fire.
“it’ll hurt-won’t it?” He could feel you tensing, feel your core squeezing at just the first bit of his finger entering. It was the princes turn to kiss you worry away, to stroke your cheek and hush you.
“it will hardly be worse than a frozen pond.” It was the truth, he wouldn’t offer you lies, and for that you were glad.
You breathed slowly, to calm yourself and soaked in the feeling of his hand on your hip, his weight leaned strategically against you, how he panted into your neck while slowly working two fingers into your core.
“Ahh!” You gasped at how filling they felt, at how odd…and electrifying it was to be able to feel him moving within you.
“Seven save me-“ he grunted kissing your lips and rubbing soothing with his thumb against your pearl. You realized quickly when an inner warmth began to bloom in your belly, that you would benefit greatly from his experience. He knew how to please a women. You suppose a man did not end up with as many children as he had without his wife wanting him in her bed!
He recognized the expression right away, the parting of your lips…the scrunching of your brows and how the column of your neck hallowed out a bit from how you tensed.
Your climax rolled through you before he could even comment on it. One moment you were getting stiff and tense under him, your knees rising up to push against into his sides and then next you were panting and as soft as dough under him.
Maekar pulled his soaked fingers from you and nodded at your whinny breathing. For a moment when you had clearly reached your release he considered ending it there. Letting you simply enjoy what had just happened. Though that whimpered strained noise you man when his hand was removed from you had the last good sense in him dissolving. You wanted more of him, wanted to feel him there between your legs.
“while you’re still calmed,” he pushed your hair back and then planted his bent elbow beside your head “I’ll- fuck me” he groaned his hand pulling his straining cock free from his breeches and instantly it slapped down against your swollen lips.
“please…” you mewd hands splayed out over your stomach where you had felt the intensity just moments ago.
Between your soft begs and the fact that he her not felt a women, in this way, for years Maekar could not resist a moment more. His eyes closed as he fed himself into your fluttering core. Pratically growling at how the warm squishy sensation of you hugged his prick so deliciously. His hand was fisted at your side, helping to keep him hovered above you some so he would not be fully engulfed by your sweet pussy.
“Oh gods” your teeth were clenched and your fingers dug in a bit to your stomach as it felt like his length began to displace things within you. He seemed large, it felt quite giant to you. Maekar’s hand suddenly went back to your hair the moment he saw your eyes fly shut and felt a warmth flood within you.
“That’s?” He picked up on the unease in your tone and saw how a little tear squeezed its way out of your shut eye. His hips stopped pushing ahead instantly. Actually he pulled out of you an inch or so. Glancing down to see the ring of blood around his shaft.
“it’s just blood…same as a cut.” He assured you, fingers flowing through your raven hair trying to bring you comfort. He wasn’t an overly affectionate or gentle man, and from what he saw you northern women did not want coddling. It made it easier for him to give you some small comforting remarks, ease that worry because this had been the first time he ever sense anxiety within you.
You breathed a bit slowly as the hand he had at your side rubbed under your clenched fingers to ease the tension in your lower belly. You opened you eyes now looking up at him, he was sweating some…the end sod his hair glued to his temple and the stern line between his brows was back. That worry was there for you, his concern and attention was on you in this moment, not the papers in his study, or a mess bis children created.
“it doesn’t really hurt.” You finally told him, it hadn’t ever really hurt, it was just pressure and a feeling you hadn’t anticipated.
“such a strong women.” He murmured. The affectionate tilt to his voice was not covered up at all by some put on huffing and puffing that you imagine he had not actually meant to say it outloud.
You looked down to see half of his cock was out of you and his body was being held up away from you. You wanted all of him-not just half!
“you are meant to be keeping me warm m’prince” Shivering for good measure before wrapping your feet up over him trying to weigh his back down so he would sink down against you.
He grinned some, hand shifting from your stomach to the small of your back and lifting you up towards him a bit more.
“Very well, wife.”
Finally Maekar pushed into you completely, in the manner that had started to haunt his mind over the past few moons when you were near him. He’d begun to have distasteful daydreams of pinning you to the break of fast table in his solar, stoping you on your walk to to rookery and pressing himself to you u til your back was flush against the stone wall. All of these imaginary scenarios ended the same.
His cock pressed fully into you. Tip twitching against your cervix and his stones slapping against you as he rocked in and out of you.
His mind has let him conjure up details about these various situation and still not one had come close to capturing how wonderful you felt beneath him, how dizzying the feeling of his cock engulfed fully within you left him!
“mmmm fucking hells” you swore when he continually bottomed out within you. The cursing made him kiss your jaw. He liked that you had a mouth on you, that you weren’t some sensitive flustered lady. Perhaps this pairing had been made with more thought, on his parents part, than just political strengthening?
“I can finish in my hand-“ your eyes searched for his instantly when he said that. “If you wish me too” he added after seeing the wave of worry in your eyes.
“n-no, I need-please keep going Maekar.” If not for a babe than at least for the orgasm that was building up in you so heavily that the tops of your ears felt heated.
Maekar kissed you, for a moment on the lips and then he pressed one to your temple, hand brushing down your hair and keeping your body pressed down towards his pelvis so your body took each thrust he gave, instead of getting bumped back and forth against the rug.
He felt how your hands squeezed at his sides, they were trembling a bit so he knew you were quite close to another peak. Finally you felt him start to lose his restraint, his weight was heavier over you, his hips rutting more than fully thrusting in and out. But you enjoyed that motion because it provide lovely contact for your clit against his pelvis. It had you moaning quite loudly-your eyes closing because you needed to focus on the intense wave building within you.
“ugh-“ he came with a low grunt, so deep that it came out muddled by vibrations and you gasped. Feeling him come appart, feeling his warm seed squish within you, it made you see stars.
Both of you were breathing heavily though your youth allowed you to revived before him.
Mmmmmm….. knight!Simon who fell in love with whore!reader and promised he’d return when he had earned enough to buy her freedom and take her as his wife. He disappears, and you hear rumors of his capture, that he has almost certainly died. You weep for him— of course those romantic dreams were too good to be true.
Only for a knight in dark armor to approach your brothel on horseback, a skull plate welded to his helm, a sword with blood still flaking from its pommel at his hip. The madame has you all lined up, smacking those who dare to tremble in front of an honored guest with her riding crop. A bag of gold, far more than the price for a single night, gets tossed on the counter as a hand gauntleted in black steel points at you.
“Sir, this is more tha—“
“Not ‘ere to stay the night. Oi’m takin’ that one with me.”
summary: phoenix invites the boys to her salsa class, big mistake.
pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader
word count: 3k+
warnings: swearing, alcohol mentions, suggestive nature lols, me not knowing anything about salsa
my return to writing with a fic i teased over a year ago!! i hope you all enjoy
ps requests r open :p
“Nix, if you think I want to spend my Sunday evening learning to salsa dance with a bunch of soccer moms then I think your concussion hasn’t healed properly.” Jake sasses in response to Nat’s invitation.
“Yeah, I’m sorry Nat but Sunday is my chill out day, when else am I gonna beat Fitch’s ass on cod?” Fanboy reasons.
Natasha knew it was a stretch asking the boys to join her salsa dancing class, but she thought it was important for them to get out more. At the moment, seemingly all they did was trudge from work to the Hard Deck over and over again.
She sighs, “it would be good for you guys to get out more, y’know?”
“I’ll go, Nat,” Bob smiles, nodding to her from where he is perched on a stool behind her.
“Thank you, Bob.” Nat nods back to him, “the rest of you can suck it.”
“Hey!” Bradley yells as he appears back from the bar, beers in tow, “what did we say about using that type of language?”
“Shut up Dadley,” Nat rolls her eyes as Bradley flicks his tongue out before handing her a beer.
“As much as I’d truly love to attend that class ‘Nix, I’m already a salsa pro and I wouldn’t want you to feel embarrassed about your skills,” Bradley declares, before taking an obnoxious sip of his beer.
“Yeah fuckin’ right, and my dad is prima ballerina,” Jake snorts.
“Let’s not discredit Papa Seresin, I saw him tear Boogie Wonderland up at your sister’s wedding.” Coyote nods.
“Yeah and even that shit was better than what Rooster could pull off,” Jake decides.
Bradley only shrugs at the jibe, a lazy smirk plastered onto his face, which serves only to piss Jake off more.
“Dance off?” Fanboy proposes, standing to head to the jukebox.
“No?” Jake frowns.
Fanboy drops back to his seat with a sigh, “was worth a shot.”
Nat shakes her head with a snort and brings the conversation back to the matter at hand.
“Look it’s fine, I’m just saying I think you guys would enjoy it!” She reasons.
“I’m sure it’ll be fun!” Bob adds happily.
Nat can only sigh at the lack of response.
Bob is already waiting outside the community centre when Nat arrives, looking down and nervously picking at a thread on the bottom of his gym shorts.
“You ready?” Nat questions, trying to alleviate his nerves.
When Bob looks up his brows unfurl and he lets a small smile sip onto his face.
“Yeah, sure, let’s do this!” He pumps his fist a little awkwardly.
Nat can only chuckle in response as she makes her way to the room at the left of the reception where the class is held. You’re stood by the door chatting with one of the older women in your class when Nat comes into your view.
“Natasha! How’s my best student?” You tease, stepping towards her.
“I’m great, thanks!” Nat blushes before gesturing to Bob, “I hope you don’t mind, I brought a friend.”
Bob sucks in a breath as you finally lock eyes with him. Shit. You were beautiful and those leggings were doing you an undoubted amount of favours.
Sadly, Bob had an incredibly annoying habit he was unable to shake. It was known as “embarrassing himself in front of beautiful women” and that seemed to strike him just as you stuck your manicured hand out to shake his own.
The breath that Bob had sucked in caught in his throat which was drying up increasingly as he took you in, leading to an unprecedented coughing fit doubling him over. What seemed to make it worse was your shocked gasp and immediate move to lean over him and pay his back gently. Bob tried not to focus on your cleavage directly next to his face and instead on regulating his breathing. It was proving difficult, especially when he could hear Nat cackling at his misfortune from behind him.
Once almost fully back to normal, you squeeze his bicep and chuckle,
“I don’t think I’ve ever quite literally taken someone’s breath away!” You giggle, voice oh so sweet.
Bob can’t even let himself feel embarrassed with the way your soft hand feels on his arm.
“I’m so sorry about that,” he cringes.
“Don’t worry about it,” you smile reassuringly.
Nat is growing seemingly agitated by Bob’s lingering near the door so she steers him forwards away from you.
“Best get set up!” She announces, dragging him into the room.
The classroom is spacious, a high ceiling and large windows on the left wall. The wall facing the door is covered in mirrors that amplify the light in the area.
Before Bob can speak up again, two men who look to be in their late 40s rush over towards Natasha. They’re the complete opposite of one another, the first who reaches for Natasha is tanned and has dark curling hair with flecks of grey throughout.
“Natasha! Darling it is so great to see you!” He exclaims with a slight accent, holding her hand in his.
The other has embraced the grey in his hair, he’s relatively pale but has clearly kept his physique, he nods towards Bob with a glint of something in his eye, “I thought he wasn’t your type?”
Nat snorts, clueing Bob in finally on what the two men were hinting at.
“My best friend, boys don’t worry,” she teases.
“Thank God, I’ve been trying to set you up with my niece for how long now?” The dark haired man smiles.
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m always busy at the moment,” she shrugs apologetically before turning back to Bob, “Bob this is Marco and Luke.”
They both shake his hand and size him up as they do so, the grey haired one (Luke) declares.
“He’s cute, Nat, where have you been hiding him?” He prods.
Bob exhales at the approval and watches as Nat breaks out into laughter. “Away from you!”
Marco and Luke break into laughter alongside Nat and Bob can’t help himself but join. Just as they’re all catching their breath, Bob jumps out of his skin again as he feels his hand on his shoulder.
“Boys, we’re being welcoming to our newcomer aren’t we?” You hum.
Your hip is touching Bob’s and the soft skin of your hand on his shoulder has him malfunctioning, luckily he isn’t forced into replying (or choking) this time.
“Of course we are beautiful, what do you think of us?” Marco gasps in faux shock.
“I think that I know what you two are like,” you roll your eyes before making your way to the front of the room.
You send Bob a sly wink before finally beginning, “It’s so great to see you all again!”
Everyone in the room blurts out greetings at you as you begin, “We’ll continue on from last week,” you strut over to the stereo in the corner and a latin pop track floats out into the room and Bob vaguely recognises the tune.
Marco and Luke are quick to start fluidly moving around the floor space and Bob notices that others in the room are doing the same. You make your way quickly over to him and place your hand on the small of his back, straightening his posture.
“I don’t expect you to get it immediately,” you smile into his ear, “we’ll start off with some basics and turn variations.”
Bob hopes you can’t see the nervous perspiration already forming on the back of his neck and nods a little too eagerly at your words. He looks back to Nat for some encouragement but she’s already dancing and chatting with a group of women next to the tall windows.
“I don’t bite,” You giggle, shocking Bob who looks back to see you holding your hand out for him to grab onto.
“Sorry, I’m not the best dancer-” Bob’s self depreciation is swiftly disrupted by you placing his hand on your waist and the other in your own.
“All the more for me to work with,” you smile, and Bob feels himself smiling back.
Although a tad clunky, Bob manages not to step on your toes and has some surprisingly fluid hip movement which intrigues you ever so slightly.
By the last ten minutes of the class, Bob is twirling Marco around as Luke and Nat chat to you about technique.
“What were you nervous about?” Marco probes Bob, “you’re a natural!”
Bob can only chuckle shyly in response and he glances over at your frame. Marco seems to notice Bob’s longing glances and slowly stops their dance.
“Go for it.”
“What?” Bob splutters.
“She’s been making googoo eyes at you the whole time mister, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”
Bob reels for a moment at Marcos admission before straightening up. “You think?”
Marco rolls his eyes. “I know.”
Before Bob can reach you you’re already strutting back towards the stereo to lower the volume of the music and gather everyone’s attention.
“Thank you so much everyone! You’ve all been brilliant today and I can’t wait to see you next week!” You beam at everyone.
People begin to gather to chat and start to disperse and you begin to gather your own belongings, stopping to make conversation with others as you do so. Luke and Nat join Bob and Marco with sly smirks on their faces.
“So…” Nat begins, “You’ll be coming back next week I presume?”
Bob flushes at Nat’s knowing look. “Yeah,” he looks to you, “definitely.”
Bob didn’t mean to let it slip. Like seriously, his lips were so sealed. Air tight.
“But HOW hot are we talking?” Mickey slurs over the nth shot he’d done with Bob at the Hard Deck’s happy hour.
So maybe not air tight.
It was Thursday evening and the rest of the daggers had politely declined drinks with Fanboy, but Bob (the ever dutiful friend) had accepted, hoping to be in and out within the hour. But alas, here they were.
“Fuckin’ smoking,” Bob mimes an explosion with his hands as Mickey nods enthusiastically to his answer.
“I choked on air when I saw her and almost popped a boner during a Justin Timberlake song,” Bob continues to ramble, once given the chance to talk about you he clearly wasn’t going to stop.
“And when is this class?” Mickey slumps closer to Bob, tequila breath hot on his neck.
“Ummmm, Sunday evening at 6 I think?” Bob nods, remembering the details Nat had sent him in a text the week previous.
“Good to know,” Mickey hums, reaching his hand forward to signal for another round, knocking someone’s drink over in the process. “Oops.”
Bob is quick to drag Mickey away from the bar top after that, realising they’d probably overdone it a tad for a weekday evening.
As the cool sea breeze hits Bob’s flushed face whilst him and Mickey wait outside the Hard Deck for their uber, he can’t help but let his mind drift to you, what you were potentially up to, do you teach other classes during the week? Do you dance professionally? God, you definitely could, the way your hips moved-
Bob shook his head, as if to get the image of you stuck in his mind out. He looked to Mickey hanging off of his arm, he was looking to the ground and shaking as if to stave off the imminent vomit that was about to leave his mouth any second now.
“Let’s get you home man,” Bob pats Mickey on the head, dragging him towards their Uber pulling up.
“Hey, Bob!” Nat yells across the parking lot, catching the back of her friend’s tall frame leant against a pillar near the front of the community center.
When Bob turns around, Nat notices two people next to him who she was not expecting to see.
“Fitch? Fanboy?” Nat cocks her head to the side. “I thought you guys were too busy to come?”
Nat’s accusatory eyes meet Bob’s sheepish expression as he awkwardly clears his throat.
“We heard the teacher was hot as fuck.” Payback shrugs.
Fanboy giggles next to him in excitement, “I’ve been practicing-”
“Bob I swear-” Natasha begins, finger pointing right into Bob’s chest.
“Sup, biatches!” Jake yells, alerting everyone of his and Javy’s presence. “Who’s ready to get their salsa on?”
Nat spins around on her heel, eyes shooting daggers into Jake and Javy.
“Bob, I’m going to kill you.” She states, eerily calm.
“Oh come on Phe! You wanted us here just last week!” Jake exclaims, walking round to slap Bob on the shoulder and greet Payback and Fanboy behind him.
“Yeah! When I wanted you guys to get out and do something productive! Not fuck my lovely salsa teacher, who by the way, was not socialised by wolves! So will absolutely not be charmed by any of you fools!”
With that, Nat turns and walks into the community center, leaving the boys to sprint in after her.
“At least this can’t get any worse,” Nat mutters to herself, pulling the door to your studio open.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nat stills in the doorway, the rest of the boys behind her peeking their heads in.
“What now?” Bob asks guiltily.
Nat opens the door fully and allows the men behind her to file into the studio, where her fellow classmates are stood in a semi circle whooping and hollering at you dancing in the middle with none other than Bradley Bradshaw.
“Fucking Bradshaw,” Jake scoffs, pushing his way ahead whilst checking himself out in the full length mirrors that line the opposite wall of the room.
“Chicken never told us he could dance!” Jake yells over the latin music filling the room, successfully interrupting your dance with Bradley.
Bradley’s head whips to the side at the sound of that familiar ear grating voice. He gives you an apologetic look as he walks over to begin squabbling with a man you presume he knows. The commotion between the boys alerts you to the presence of Natasha and Bob as well as three other unfamiliar men. When Bradley had introduced himself with a smirk and a drawling voice as a friend of Natasha’s you had to wonder whether all of her colleagues were so handsome and by the looks of it, they were.
Nat is quick to walk over to you with an apologetic smile. “I want to apologise in advance for the next hour. They are insufferable.”
You look behind her to where the gaggle of men she calls her close friends are stood, you can see Marco and Luke itching to get their claws in and you have to giggle. This should be interesting.
After instructing the rest of your class to continue practicing the routine you had been working on, you figure it was only fair to come and personally consult your newest joiners.
As the boys (and Nat) notice you wandering towards them, they all begin to elbow each other like school boys giggling amongst themselves. Bob and Nat can only keep their embarrassment internal for so long.
When you come to a stop in front of them, the man you’ve come to learn as Jake smiles dazzlingly and stretches his arms above his head,
“God it is hot in here!” He begins to reach for the bottom of his shirt, aiming to impress you with his toned stomach.
“The A/C is on full blast dumbass.” Nat swats at the back of Jake’s head, causing him to drop his shirt again and rub at his temple. “Ow!”
Snickers fall from Javy and Mickey, who quickly straighten themselves up when they see you casting your eyes over them.
“As I said to Bob last week, with all my new starters I’ll begin with some basics for you guys and then we can ease into a routine,” you smile, heading towards Bradley and Nat.
“Since you two already have some experience you can help me teach!”
Bradley preens under your praise, already assuming the role of teacher’s pet, whilst Nat looks mildly irritated at having to teach her imbecilic friends how to dance.
“Alright guys! let’s partner up!” you shout at them, giggling as they all rush towards you, you note how Bob lingers back behind his more extroverted friends and grin.
“I should clarify, I meant with each other.” You shoo them backwards and watch as they couple up.
Mickey and Reuben clap each other on the back and Javy and Jake nod at one another leaving Bob, stood on his own. You saunter towards him and grab at arm, dragging him to the front with you.
“Looks like you’re with me,” you tease.
“Uh, who do you want me to partner up with?” Bradley scratches at his head obliviously.
You cock your head to the side with a confused laugh.
“I hate you so much right now,” Nat spews, gripping Bradley’s arm and pulling him into position with her.
“Oh, yeah. Right, sorry Nat.” Bradley chuckles.
Your lessons continues with explaining how someone will have to take the lead and the other will follow, and you wander around positioning their hands and postures correctly.
“Javy, you are like a brother to me, but your hands are too fucking low right now.” Jake grits through this teeth.
“Right! Ha, sorry man,” Javy’s hands shoots back up towards the middle of Jake’s back.
Bob is still apprehensive when he places his hands on your waist, but you’re quick to affirm him in his position. Leaning towards him you whisper, “don’t worry you’re still my favourite.”
A smile graces his face at that and he relaxes in your grip.
“Right guys! We’re gonna start with some turns and variations now!”
You quickly learn that trying to wrangle these men is proving difficult, as Payback almost spins Fanboy into a wall after zoning out stating at how your hips moved.
“I’m good bro, don’t worry,” Mickey is quick to readjust himself, hoping the room stops spinning soon.
You can’t help but laugh when Javy attempts to dip Jake to the floor in a move he thought would impress you, but it seems he forgot to account for how tall and heavy Jake is, as he goes toppling down with him.
“Fuck dude! You’re heavy!” Javy groans, rubbing his knee. Jake clearly didn’t take kindly to his words as he shoves back at Javy childishly.
“Boys! Come on get up!” You snap, trying to sound stern but still fighting off giggles.
Jake and Javy are quick to get back on their feet, but you catch them in your peripheral poking and pinching each other when they think you aren’t looking.
Even Bradley who was so light on his feet when he was showing you his moves earlier, is clearly distracted, constantly stepping on Nat’s feet as they practice variations.
“If you step on my toe one more time, Rooster I swear to God, you will not see daylight again,” Nat threatens.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! She’s just so…” Bradley trails off as he watches you dance slowly with Bob, stopping every now and then to correct him kindly or answer questions from others in your class.
“I know! And you guys are scaring her off by acting crazy.” Nat sighs, moving back as she senses Bradley’s feet heading for her toes again.
“I mean I wouldn’t say crazy…” Bradley scratches the back of his neck.
“Well I walked in to see you spinning her around like you’re a pro on dancing with the stars so maybe you should reevaluate.”
“You think I’m that good?” Bradley smirks to himself.
“Oh shut up,” Nat rolls her eyes and looks back to the rest of her friends around the room.
Payback and Fanboy were continually stumbling around in circles as they each try to catch your eye, pissing off everyone else in the room as they bumped and knocked into others. She caught Marco and Luke’s judgy eyes flicking back and forth between her and her friends and groaned.
Jake and Javy looked either one wrong move away from fucking or fighting, Nat couldn’t really tell.
God this was embarrassing.
Luckily, your voice rings out across the room, interrupting her moping.
“Thank you guys for today! And Thank you to my newcomers!” you gesture to the group of men stumbling over each other and stifle a laugh.
“I’ll see you all next week!”
Your regular attenders start filing out slowly, some coming over to chat and collect their things. You can see Nat trying to drag her friends away out they seem intent on lingering long enough to catch some time alone with you.
“You guys might as well go, she clearly wants me.” Jake shrugs, pulling the front of his shirt up to wipe his face.
Mickey is quick to dispute, “Are you kidding me? I twirled like a ballerina, I’m so in.”
Nat is moments away from body slamming her friends who she once loved when it goes silent around her. She figures you finally made you way over.
“Hey guys, thanks so much for joining today! I’m really sorry I’ve got to get going but um- ”
You pause and sense eyes on you.
“Bob, I was just wondering if I could get your number?” you smile, walking towards him and squeezing his arm. “You know, to talk about how we can improve your technique,” your reasoning clear as day even with your coverup
“Yeah! Yes, of course I mean,” Bob composes himself, taking your phone with shaking hands and typing in his number.
“Great,” you wink, retrieving your phone, “I’ll text you.”
You end with that, sauntering past the group and waving goodbye to Nat with a knowing look.
Everyone seems stunned by your words, but mostly Bob who blinks slowly, seemingly still in shock by your acknowledgement.
Nat finally breaks into laughter, doubling over at the confused faces of her other friends.
“Man!” She shouts through her giggles, “you just cannot make that shit up!”
The grumbles around her don’t even phase her as she goes to pick up her bag and head for the door, a group of downtrodden looking men following her and Bob with a newfound pep in his step.
“By the way Rooster, how come you actually are so good?” Nat asks as they make their way into the parking lot.
Bradley stills, silent as he contemplates answering.
“If I tell you, you have to promise to not go searching for anything.” He looks around at his friends.
Following their nods he continues, “I used to compete professionally, when I was like 13, my mom forced me to.” Bradley cringes at the memory of his tween self in sparkly shirts his mom always hand picked out for him in the most hideous colours.
Bradley looks back up to see Jake grinning mischievously at his phone, and his stomach drops.
“Is this you?” Jake smirks, turning his phone around to show everyone an old video on youtube titled.
SALSA NATIONALS 1999 - BRADSHAW / DONNA SUMMER HOT STUFF
Bob suddenly felt as though his coughing fit over you wasn’t the most embarrassing thing he had to witness anymore.
a/n: it is great to be back gang xx i’ve missed writing and ofc i had to bring back the bob agenda!! it’s what i stand for :) i’m thinking mayhaps a part 2 where i explore the dynamic between sexy salsa teacher and bob bc atm this was just a chance for me to make fun of the daggers 😣
i hope you enjoyed reading and tysm!!
pls reblog, comment or drop me an ask and tell me what you thought!! feedback means sm to me considering i’m a lil rusty
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Simon Riley’s never thought that before—until they’re barreling down his driveway, barking up a storm at you. A pretty thing in the neighborhood, pushing a stroller.
He follows after his stubborn German Shepherds, gruffly ordering them to heel. They won’t hurt you, of course, but you don’t know that. He braces himself for the screams when he rounds the mailbox. A terrified mother and her child, chased by three trained-to-kill dogs and a masked man—
Laughter stops him in his tracks.
Cap, Kilo, and Mac are planted on their asses, tails wagging, tongues hanging out. Your toddler’s giggling so hard she’s nearly tippin’ out of her seat as she yanks on Mac’s ear, earning a face full of slobber for it.
And you—you’re bent over, one hand holding Cap’s paw, the other scratching behind Kilo’s ears.
“Cute pups,” you say.
Cute...what?
You look up at him, past his mask and into his eyes. He freezes. But you just smile.
“You military?”
He ends up not replying, because the setting sun catches in your eyes and his brain is temporarily short-circuited. You’re not deterred, however, your chin tilting to the gun holstered at his hip.
“My husband was, too.” Your gaze drops to the paw in your hand. “He did an op down in Coal Ridge last year.”
You don’t have to say anything else. Everyone knows what went down in the ridge.
Ghost tries to find something—anything—to say. Condolences would be a start. But nothing he thinks of is good enough, or sounds right in his head. So he just stands there, looming over you, watching you pet his assassin dogs.
And then—it hits him in the chest like a bullet.
You’re all alone in that house at the end of the street with your little girl.
Something rears its head under his ribs. A protective urge so strong it’s almost staggering.
“Well,” you sigh, straightening and offering him a playful, cute little salute. “Have a good one.” Your eyes flick to the insignia on his sleeve. “Lieutenant.”
As you stroll away into the setting sun, Simon watches you go, and the ‘cute pups’ whine at his feet as you leave.
And suddenly, three guard dogs don't seem like enough after all.
