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bumblebeesfromvenus · 4 months

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Siren!Leon headcannons 🧜🏼‍♂️🐚

A/N: this was so much fun!!! I got a little carried away, but I feel there's still so much I could add here, so let me know if you want to see more! There's not smut in this one sadly, because um... idk.. how that would work?

~Fi 🐝

《Prompt》: lovely request by @maviettt is here!

《Warnings》: brief mentions of gore and Leon eating people, obessesive and possessive Leon, some angst, insecure Leon :(, lots of luv for the fish boy <3

《Word count》: 2.4k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

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Siren!Leon, who spends his days luring all the pretty sailors to their demise, having himself a tasty meal of naivety and pure unawareness. I mean, what girl wouldn't be enarmoured with this handsome and so kind merman, right? With his blue, ocean eyes and shiny scales.

Siren!Leon, who lurs them in with promises of love and care, only to yank them into the deep sea and tear into them with his pointy teeth. He's not too fond of doing this, but he doesn't really have a choice, and you get hardened over the years.

Siren!Leon, who casually swims through a nearby Lagoon, catching a glimpse of you and your sisters lounging in the sun. You're laughing, and Leon swears that you're the Siren in this scenario. You look so pretty with your colorful, glittery tail. Your damp hair that's drying up from the salty water. The small trinkets braided into your locks and hung from your body.

Siren!Leon, who is always drawn back to this Lagoon, always wanting to see you again. He thinks you're a bright, shining pearl, and the world is your oyster. But he also understands that you're off limits to him. You would be scared of him, wouldn't you? You're such a pretty thing. His treasure.

Siren!Leon, who admires you from afar, always hoping to see you smile once again. He's infatuated with you. He's sighing dreamily when he sees you throw your head back in laughter or hiding your giggles behind your hand.

Siren!Leon, who looks for you after he hasn't seen you at the Lagoon for a while, only to find you washed up on the beach, all tangled up in a net. You look so... dry. The colors of your tail are dulled, and your skin doesn't look like it was kissed by the morning dew anymore.

Siren!Leon, who is so conflicted. He needs to help you, but what if he scares you? He doesn't want to risk that. You're the favorite part of his day! Alas, he relents and carefully swims up to you as close as he can before gently tugging you back into the water by your tail.

Siren!Leon, who holds you until you've gotten some of the ocean's energy into you. He can basically watch you flourish as you're returned to your home. But his heart breaks when you gain back consciousness and immediately try and get away from him.

Siren!Leon, who tries to explain to you that he just wants to help. You're still bound in the net, and you can't swim properly like this. You're obviously skeptical. Acting all kind and luring people in was kind of his deal as a Siren, after all. But there's something so soft about his voice and expressions.

Siren!Leon, who truly has no bad intentions, but he has to restrain himself from pouncing on you the second you give him the go-ahead to free you from the net with his sharp teeth.

Siren!Leon, who doesn't miss your blush, when his lips brush against your skin while he's chewing you out of your bounds. He can't help himself and grins, and accidentally bumps his lips against your scales more just to see you react.

Siren!Leon, who is quite flustered himself when you thank him and tell him that he's not as scary as you thought he would be. And when you tell him you like the color of his scales and his cute little fin ears, he is over the moon!!

Siren!Leon who tries to hide his malicious side from you as best as he can just because he is terrified that you would be scared of him. Maybe even disgusted. He doesn't want that.

Siren!Leon, who sees you wave to him on his usual morning round past the Lagoon, and he almost passes out. Yeah, he had saved you, but for you to so boldly be nice to him in front of your sisters? He's thinking of that for the rest of the day.

Siren!Leon, who gets bolder each day, waving back with a smile, maybe even greeting you and your sisters until he fully swims up to all of you! He's kinda crushed when your sisters scatter like little anchovies. He just wanted to say hi :(

Siren!Leon, who gets comforted and assured by you, saying that "they don't know you like I do." You explain how, although Leon is a Siren, he's so sweet! He saved you from certain death, after all.

Siren!Leon, who eventually gets taken in by your sisters, and he gets to lounge in the Lagoon with you. Some are still a little weary, but as time goes on, they all warm up to that smile and those pretty eyes.

Siren!Leon, who only has eyes for you. You are the sun in his sky, the moon that guides his tides. He's head over heels for you. It started off as forbidden glances, admiring your beauty, and now he is making you laugh and spending as much time with you as he can.

Siren!Leon, who knows you're falling for him too when you start bringing him little treasures and trinkets that you found. It's usually a shiny rock or a seashell, but sometimes you bring him valuable shinies from recent shipwrecks that you're not supposed to be around.

Siren!Leon, whose heart pumps out of his chest when he sees all your sisters nudging you in his direction with your hand behind your back and a red face. He revels in your cuteness when you shyly press the rock into his hand and speed off.

Siren!Leon, who starts calling you his treasure or his pearl. That's exactly what you are to him, and he needs the whole seven seas to know that. Plus, your pretty smile and the kiss to the cheek he gets from you after is a nice bonus.

Siren!Leon, who lets you decorate him and his tail when you run out of space on your own. You tie cloth and braided seaweed around his fin and arms, adding one of your little trinkets at the end. He wears them with pride because everyone knows they're from you.

Siren!Leon, who loves to braid your hair for you. You're always finding more pretty things to put in your hair, and you can't see the back, obviously, but he loves doing it for you. He gets so good to the point that he's doing all of your sisters' hair, too.

Siren!Leon, who rarely goes back to luring humans to their death, simply because he would rather spend time with you. He's acquired a taste for small fish, which unfortunately can't match the salivating taste of humam flesh, but he's willing to give it all up for you. he's still so worried that you'll catch him one day and see the monster he truly is.

Siren!Leon, who sits in the small tide pool close to a bay, soaking up the moonlight with you, and the way it makes you look ethereal. You look even prettier like this than in the sun. The silvery streaks reflect off of your features so beautifully, and he knows that he's doomed.

Siren!Leon, who spends all of his nights with you, not wanting that image of your lovely self dipped in the rays of Mother Moon to go away. He loves talking to you at night. Sharing quiet stories and tales interrupted by soft giggles.

Siren!Leon, who kisses you for the first time on the beach where he saved you. He melts when he finally feels your lips on his, and he's holding you so tight and full of love that you can't imagine being anywhere else.

Siren!Leon, who found a pearl at the bottom of the ocean, your favorite color, and he gives it to you as a gift under one of those moonlit nights. He's confessing his love to you, giving the pearl to you as a sign of always wanting to be with you.

Siren!Leon who doesn't know whether to blush and hide or be giddy like an idiot when he sees you wearing his pearl the next morning, showing it off to all your sisters who are all in awe of its beauty.

Siren!Leon, who loves to spend his days lying in the sand with you, playing with the many small braids and twists that adorn your silky locks. There's not much to do, but you make the days go by so fast.

Siren!Leon, who goes ballistic when your sisters rush to tell him that you've been captured by some filthy pirates while you were out exploring a new shipwreck, trying to find more odds and ends for your collection.

Siren!Leon, who can feel his blood boil in his veins. It's like a switch was flipped, and he falls back into his bloodthirsty and feral ways. It scares your sisters, but they know he's doing it for you.

Siren!Leon, who follows your scent and your soft pleads for mercy as the pirates decide whether to gut you or keep you for themselves. He has never swam this fast in his life. He had a strong tail, no doubt, but he pushed himself to his limit only to get to you.

Siren!Leon who feels so deeply and can feel the storm brewing inside of him. He can't help but feel somewhat reassured when dark, thick clouds rise in the sky and heavy winds, rain, and thundering streaks of lightning descend from the sky. He thanks Mother Moon with all his being for helping him rescue his treasure.

Siren!Leon, who sneaks close to the ship undetected, due to the heavy rain and loud thunder. He is out for blood, and one thing is clear; that ship will sink today, and he will make them pay.

Siren!Leon who punches holes into the body of the ship with his strong tail, making the ship sink slowly into the dark embrace of the ocean.

Siren!Leon, who when he finally gets to the bastard pirates, tears them to shreds without a thought. Thick crimson spills into the rowdy waters, and you can almost see the red reflecting in his eyes.

It's a mess of limbs and guts, the blood clinging to his pale skin like a curse. He doesn't want to admit how refreshing this felt- he was still a siren after all.

Siren!Leon who snaps out of his craze and immediately starts searching for you, calling out your name with desperation and fear. The lightning gets worse as he looks around frantically.

Siren!Leon, who finally spots you clinging to a piece of wood with bloody hands and teary eyes. He rushes over to you, and the relieved cries that rip from your throat make his heart hurt.

Siren!Leon, who scowls at the deep gash on your tail, no doubt courtesy of those pirates. He embraces you so softly, kissing your temple and whispering sweet reassurances to you.

You sniffled and looked up at him, the rain slowly washing away the blood that tarnished his skin. You spotted tears of his own welling up in his blue eyes, pained by the image of your wounded self. He never stopped stroking your hair and wiping away the rain that mixes with your tears as it falls on your face.

"They... they only hurt me because I didn't want to give them... this.." You spoke quietly, opening your bloody hand, revealing the pearl he had gifted you now smeared with blood. Leon felt his heartbeat all the way in his head. The gusting winds, loud thunder and the electrifying strikes of lightning died down and the surface of the water stilled into a soft ripple as he stared at you, not knowing what to do, or to feel.

Only the soft patter of rain on the ocean filled the silence that lingered between you two. Leon swallowed thickly and cupped your face, finding his words.

"My treasure, My pearl... why?"

You'd never heard him this hurt, defeated before.

"Because you gave it to me."

With your simple answer, he pulled you tight against his chest with his lips pressed to your forehead, hoping the rain would cover the tears that ran down his face, soaking into your hair.

Siren!Leon, whose blood freezes in his veins when you catch a glimpse of the massacre he had left and absolute horror washes over your face. He can feel his heart shatter with the way you look at him, with so much fear and- ...gratitude?

Siren!Leon, who gets the words knocked out of his head once again, when you softly touch his cheek and tell him that you're not afraid of him. You're still shaken up, in agony, and dismembered bodies aren't part of your usual routine.

But you tell him that you could never be scared of him. You know he would never hurt you, he loves you, and he only did what he needed to in order to rescue you. You're fully aware of what he is- a Siren, not a monster. He proved that to you many times with his gentle and kind nature. He feels pathetic when he breaks down as you whisper that you love him and press kisses to his hair. You're hurt, and he's crying, utterly overwhelmed by you and your love.

Siren!Leon, who will take care of you and the wound on your tail until it's fully healed. He gently drapes seaweed wraps over the gash and always makes sure you're not in any pain. He will make you hang onto him by his neck when he swims so you can still get around but not put any strain on your tail.

Siren!Leon, who plucks a scale from his tail and gifts it to you as full proof of his love and devotion for you. It hangs around your neck, right next to the pearl he had given you, and he can't help but smile when he sees how his shimmery blue scale looks against your skin.

Siren!Leon, who wears one of your scales on a cloth, tied around his arm, proudly showing it off whenever he can. Because he's as much yours as you are his. <3

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I loved writing this so much!! Lmk your thoughts on Siren!Leon <3

More Leon works are here 🩷

《Tag list》: @dmitriene @k-fallingstar @vampkennedy

Comment to be added!

#bumblebeesfromvenus #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil leon #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #Siren!Leon #Siren!Leon Kennedy #f!mermaid!reader

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maple-the-awesome · 2 months

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The Chain Meets You, His Partner || 1/3

Part 2 || Part 3

Pairing: Warrior, Twilight, Legend x GN! Reader

Requested by @temporarilyablog: i see requests are open still so im coming to you with a thought i had recently: how about a Link from the Chain interacting with the reader, another Link's s/o from their original adventures, when *their* Link isn't around. i can see some teasing another Link with the reader that they've only known through little stories here and here, or others grilling the reader relentlessly because another Link was so shy about their relationship and partner, and wants to know how that Link is like around someone he allows himself to relax. its kinda like when the Chain met Malon for the first time and interacted with her for stories about old man Time and as always stay awesome, i love your writing!

Zelda Masterlist 💙Fandom Masterlist

Concerningly delighted or eerily eager - the Chain can't quite agree on which descriptor best described their teammate the best once he realized they had all landed in his Hyrule. Bubbling with excitement ever since while maintaining a pace some of the other boys have to jog after, Link doesn’t waste breath saying where he’s leading them, although that giddy smile upon his face - as much as he tries to hide it - is plenty for the wiser heroes to get the hint...

Taking numerous shortcuts that avoid public attention, Warrior skillfully navigates the familiar streets of Castle Town with his only pause being at the doorstep of his apparent destination. There, he takes a quick second to smooth his hair and perfect his uniform before knocking a fist against the chestnut wood.

The curious murmurs of the boys huddled behind him adds ambience to his impatient wait where his thoughts temporarily worry that perhaps you aren't awake yet, after all the sun is only just rising above the waking town, however true to your many letters which have complaint of insomnia during his absence, the door soon opens not more than a minute later to reveal your tired figure.

Even with a mess of bedhead and a robe tied lazily around yourself, you look beautiful and sacred in Warrior's eyes - an observation he isn't alone in making. Some mainly Legend had doubted that you were even real or at the very least matching to the Captain’s honey-soaked descriptions, although none can deny how well you truly hold up to that image.

You awake in a snap and leap into your lover's arms with a cry of joy; a feeling that is contagious throughout the group who watches on in silent amusement. Suddenly their friend's excitement makes plenty of sense, especially knowing how much he's missed you throughout their journey. Seriously, he's never shut up about it!

You can't rid of the smile on your face when Warrior finally takes his attention off of you long enough to introduce the others, all of whom you’ve already learned about from his letters. Without hesitation, you invite the group of worn travelers into your home while waving off any concern raised about possibly intruding at such an ungodly hour.

"Nonsense. You’re all welcome here any time. I know from personal experience how much rest can mean during a long and perilous journey.”

"My love is a captain, as well~" Warrior brags proudly, his arm wrapped snugly around your waist as you both stand aside to let the others file through into the warmth of your home.

"We know. You've only mentioned it a dozen times," Four rolls his eyes teasingly while passing by.

"So I take it you all already know about me then. Hopefully all good things?" You eye Warrior with mocked suspicion, yet he’s hardly fazed, dodging any blame by pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

"Of course. The trick is getting him to shut up about you," Twilight says, earning a laugh. You couldn’t deny it if you tried - that sure does sound like your Link, and seeing as he does nothing to argue against the claim, instead pressing another longer kiss to your cheek, he recognizes he’s a guilty man.

The group is simply happy for the chance to finally rest their feet somewhere homely, although none complain to your offer of throwing together breakfast, even if it’s just a small one made up of some toast, eggs, and a first-come-first-serve fruit bowl. While you gather this makeshift meal, Warrior remains practically glued to your side, sneaking kisses and lingering touches whenever he can manage before you shoo him away playfully.

The heroes have all experienced their fair share of interesting and distinctive adventures, however rather than saying much about themselves, they favor asking about you, wanting to confirm if everything Warrior has said is true, after all he’s built you up to be a talented soldier who’s sword should be feared by even the fiercest of monsters. It’s not to say they doubt it based on your build and stern undertone, but it would still be nice to hear from you personally.

You admit to your reputation, however are too modest to exactly rave about your military achievements or detail your victories during war. That role is left to your boyfriend who’s unafraid to brag for your sake while tying in as many compliments as possible, both professional and of the romantical sort. As for the boys, they only interrupt with brief questions or comments, mostly related to your relationship as curiosity and thirst for mischief get the better of some of them.

“Sounds like he was smitten at first sight,” Sky smirks after hearing the story of your initial meeting, not that he could ever judge. If anything, seeing you both together warms his heart with the memory of his own lover.

“Was the feeling mutual?” Someone else asks teasingly.

For once, Warrior remains silent, glancing at you subtly in an attempt to hide his own interest towards the answer. While you certainly struck him dumb with one look, your own expression had always held a bit of resentment during those early days, your attitude strict and standards held impossibly high - higher than they were for any other subordinate.

Link never blamed you, though. If anything, it made perfect sense for you to not be his biggest fan. All of your hard work had been largely overshadowed by the discovery of Hyrule’s new hero, his simple existence being to blame for the war you then had to fight tirelessly through. You weren’t willing to give him a pass just because of his shiny title and pretty face, instead holding him to expectations you’d set for anyone destined to defeat Ganondorf. He had to earn your trust and love overtime, at least what he always assumed.

Yet to Warrior’s surprise, you become slightly bashful as you stubbornly redirect your gaze and answer, “...I admit I found him attractive - both in appearance and personality…A little too cocky, though, and not the best listener there in the start. He had to be trained out of that habit.”

Startled by this revelation, Warrior mocks offense, “You barely gave me the time of day!”

“I was putting your ego in check,” You reply easily.

“So you were playing hard to get that whole time?”

“Oh please, you were enjoying it,” You smirk, leaning in for the challenge with your noses centimeters apart.

For a second, it’s as if you’ve forgotten about your guests, too busy staring into each other’s eyes affectionately, that is until Legend scoffs while biting into an apple, "If our captain here was smart, he'd hurry up and put a ring on it before you finally come to your senses."

Warrior’s eyes widen into a look of horror after the Veteran's comment, yet you take it in stride, laughing as you pat your boyfriend’s chest, “There’s really no need to rush, after all, life has only recently started calming down following Ganon, and the hope is that neither of us will be going anywhere anytime soon…assuming that you boys help keep this one out of trouble during your adventure.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” The group cheers with a chorus of amused laughter resulting from Warrior’s flustered face; a rare sight they plan to memorize.

Your smile remains even as you lift yourself to sit on the counter where you can nibble on your piece of toast, Warrior following in suit with a huff while he shamelessly pouts like a child at your side. Alas, you merely find it endearing, kissing his cheek which seems to be addicting enough to have him chasing after your lips, pecking them as he takes your free hand in his and whispers in your ear for no one else to hear, “I’ll have you know I already have a ring.”

“And I’ll have you know I’ve already found it,” You smirk, placing a finger against his lips, “Keep trying and maybe one day you’ll be able to get one step ahead of me, my dear captain.”

He huffs again before stealing a quick bite of your toast.

The boys chase Twilight blindly through what appears to be a forest no different than the many others they’ve already traveled through during their adventure, however it’s when crossing a long wooden bridge over a canyon that they begin to connect the dots as to where they really are; a point soon proven correct once reaching a small treehouse standing by its lonesome amongst a meadow.

Even Epona seems eager to arrive here, confirming this is somewhere familiar to the two. She’s pleased to busy herself by grazing outside while her rider has other plans, leading his comrades up a steep ladder and into his cozy home. He invites them to make themselves comfortable, although he’s still clearly distracted by another thought himself.

His eyes search the house excitedly, disappointment echoing on his face when he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for. He looks no different than a kicked puppy, his smile drooping into a frown that he doesn’t explain. There’s no need to. As quickly as his joy had soured, it returns in a blink when the front door once again opens from behind the group.

You’re understandably startled to look up and find eight heavily armed men crowded around in your house, however your surprise doesn’t stand long. Swiftly, you’re scooped up into someone’s arms then spun with ease. It only takes you seconds to realize it’s your lover doing, having already assumed he’d be somewhere within this party of travelers seeing as his loyal mare had been there to greet you just outside.

To say you’re both delighted to see each other again would be an understatement. You’ve been impatient awaiting the day Link returns, only having so many ways to distract yourself from his absence in this small village. With that said, you have no objections to the deep kiss he steals, instead savoring it as your arms steady themselves around his neck while he still holds you off the ground against his chest. It’s a display that has some of the boys gagging in mocked disgust, although most merely smile, finding joy through that of their brother’s. After all, if he can be this happy, maybe there’s hope for all of them.

Twilight has, of course, frequently mentioned you before to the heroes, but had never gone into too much detail nor had he exactly specified the extent of your relationship. Nevertheless, the boys already assumed you to be a lover, after all, you would have to be someone special to always occupy a rent-free space in their dear rancher’s head.

Only Time, Wild, and Four knew the exact specifics because one, they had actually gone out of their way to respectfully ask, and two, Twilight trusted them enough not to relentlessly tease. Seeing how long it took Warrior to drop the dog jokes after finding out his ‘wolfie secret’, Twilight could only imagine the jester that damned captain would become if possessing any other information about his intimate life…A fear proven rational now that the cat’s officially out of the bag.

Fortunately or unfortunately - Your boyfriend has yet to decide - you seemed to instantly forget that the eight travelers are total strangers to you and insisted they all stay the night; a kind hearted offer born from good intentions, but also the perfect opportunity for the boys to plan their rancher’s downfall by mercilessly interrogating you about your relationship.

“When did you guys meet and where?”

“Did he make the first move or did you?”

“How’d he ask you out?”

“Do you ever get tired of the dog smell?”

Twilight rolls his eyes, finding himself slowly regretting this whole show-and-tell of his lover. He should’ve just slipped away from the group and snuck home to visit you. They would’ve been none the wiser seeing as he often strays as Wolfie anyway. Surely had he told Four or Wild, they would’ve covered for him. Now he’s stuck listening to this meet-and-greet with the one person who knows all the good dirt there is to be found on him. It doesn’t help that you answer every question as if it’s your sworn duty assigned by Hylia herself.

“We met in Castle Town - back when he first set out to become a hero. Poor guy was completely lost, so I took pity upon him by pointing him in the right direction.”

“He made the first move, although I’d like to think I gave him a good push.”

“Oh, that’s one of my favorite memories! He set up this beautiful little picnic at Lake Hylia. It was very romantic.”

“...Sometimes, yeah.”

“Do you have any embarrassing stories to tell about him?” Wild asks with a devilish grin, taking joy in the betrayal that cuts across Twilight’s face.

“The better question would be where to start -”

“- Alright, alright. You’ve all had your fun. Don’t overwhelm them now,” Twilight cuts into the conversation at last, moving behind you with his hands set upon your shoulder. You wouldn’t be able to see it from where you sit, but he’s sending a warning glare to the other heroes who are hardly intimated.

“Oh come on! We’re just making up for lost time since you refuse to tell us anything about this lovely beauty,” Warrior punctuates his sentence by winking your way, making it clear he knows exactly how to push his friend’s buttons.

Twilight almost growls, seconds away from kicking everyone out under the stars for the night, however with your soft hand set upon his own, you smile up at him sweetly, “They’re okay, Link. I don’t mind the questions.”

‘I do,’ he wants to object, but he’s weak against your pleading eyes. With no other choice, he’s forced to sigh and take the seat next to you. The price of this compromise is your hand which he refuses to let go of, instead keeping it rested against his lap as the group eagerly continues teasing him questioning you.

“Have you always lived together?” Sky asks, perhaps the only one here who is truly innocent with his curiosity.

“Not until recently. It took some convincing for my family.”

“What, the goats and farm smells didn’t appeal to them?” Legend snickers playfully.

“Not exactly…” You grimace.

“They’re a well known noble family from Castle Town,” For once, Twilight answers a question himself, squeezing your hand with a smile that’s really closer to a smirk, “‘don’t think they cared much for their eldest running away with some plain o’ ranch hand.”

You return the action just as smugly, “But you won them over in the end.”

“Or they were just happy to get rid of ya’.”

“Why not a little of both?” You shrug before pecking his nose which leaves him grinning like a lovesick puppy. Legend sticks his tongue out and Warrior tells you both to get a room, prompting Twilight to promptly remind him whose house they’re currently in.

The rest of the Chain laughs heartily, save for Time who has been the only hero apparently mature enough not to actively take part in poking a wolf. He has simply been listening in respectful silence with his arms crossed over his chest and a small smile of amusement upon his face. Honestly, his presence could’ve been completely forgotten if not for him finally choosing to speak up as soon as the laughter dies down, “And does he behave himself around you?”

Twilight nearly chokes on his saliva and even you blush at this question, but you don't hesitate to offer an endearing nod, “Oh, of course. Link’s a perfect gentleman. I couldn’t possibly ask for anyone better.”

This seems to satisfy Time who returns your nod proudly, his smirk evident when Twilight dares take a peek at him, although the younger man struggles to fully face anyone beyond that; he’s too busy rubbing away the embarrassment from his face.

Taking this as a sign that he’s officially reached his limit, you dismiss any further questions while placing a comforting hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder, yet your sympathy is a poor mask placed over the clear mirth even you take in his flustered state.

Legend never bothers announcing himself upon arriving home, although that’s something you’ve come to expect from your adventurous and often absent roommate. Seeing as you don’t get many visitors, it’s safe to assume it’s either him or Ravio whenever the front door creaks open, but nevertheless, you poke your head around the corner just to be certain. Yep, it’s Link…along with a group of strange boys?

“Funny. I didn’t think you had any friends,” Is your greeting as you lean against the doorway.

“You’re one to talk,” Legend scoffs back while simply brushing past you towards his chest room, “I’m just here to grab a few things and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Ah,” You nod, already accustomed to this pattern. As common as it is for his homecomings to lack any fanfare, it’s also fairly usual for his presence here to be short-lived so long as he has his sights set on adventure. Occasionally, he’ll take the time to fill you in on what he’s exactly doing, especially if planning on staying for a meal or nap, but other times, he’s in and out that door without a word.

You don’t mind, after all it’s exactly what you knew you’d be getting yourself into when you first agreed to move in, however it seems this group of travelers Legend’s brought along with him aren’t so used to his solitary ways. They all huddle awkwardly around the door, their eyes darting across the room and at times landing on you in clear curiosity that goes unspoken for now. You take it they’re unsure as to what they should be doing while waiting for Legend.

“Make yourselves comfortable. I’m sure he’ll only be a minute or two,” Your invitation is gladly accepted by the boys who quickly fill into the room instead of remaining in their crowded bundle. A few sit on whatever stools there are available at the table, but most remain standing.

Faced with either awkward silence or a basic conversation, you decide to introduce yourself, telling them all your name with a friendly smile, “‘not sure if Link mentioned me or not, but I live here with him. I promise I’m not just some homeless person who broke in while he was away.”

“We didn’t think you were,” One chuckles stiffly, likely taking your comment as an odd ‘joke’. If only they knew about Ravio…

“Sooo, are you Lege - Link’s…Um -”

“- Roommate? Yeah. ‘have been for the last year.”

A brunette boy raises an eyebrow, even going as far as to squint his eyes at you as if you’ll suddenly confess to being a robber or something, “Are you only ‘roommates’ or…?”

"Well, what else would we be?" You ask, cocking your head to the side innocently. The boys all stare at you in disbelief.

“It’s just - The Vet talks about you all the time. Like, all the time!”

“Does he?” Now that’s a nice thought: Legend going out of his way to tell his traveling companions about you, speaking your name as if you’re someone important to him who always occupies a section of his mind…Oh, but you doubt it’s anything like that. He’s likely only mentioned you once and they’re exaggerating.

“I don’t know if he does ‘all the time’,” The shortest of the room argues almost as if reading your mind before adding more seriously, “But he has mentioned you. Pretty fondly, I’d say.”

“With the lovey-dovey eyes and everything,” The knight of the group nudges one of his friends teasingly and they both share a laugh.

You find it contagious, “If that were true, I’d suggest you check to make sure he hasn’t gotten a concussion. ‘Lovey-dovey’? Now that doesn’t sound like my Link.”

“What doesn’t sound like me?”

A few of the boys go pale while others smirk almost as if they take pleasure in having been caught. You never even heard Legend approach, although one look to your side and you see him already standing there with crossed arms, his eyes narrowed towards his friends.

You open your mouth, prepared to brush aside his worries and assure him they haven’t been saying anything bad about him behind his back, but then the youngest boy suddenly blurts: “Have you guys ever kissed before?!”

His question earns him a sharp elbow to the side and an even quicker scolding in a whispered tone, however the damage has already been done, particularly to your face which feels rather warm now. So that’s why they all seemed so confused by the whole ‘roommate’ thing. Apparently they doubt that’s the full story…

"No! I-I mean, not really...- It's not like we're a couple or anything if that’s what you’re thinking. We're just friends who decided to live together for convenience sake, that's all!" You explain in a rush.

“I needed someone to watch my house and stuff while I was away!” Legend adds, his face as red as his own tunic. Whether that’s from embarrassment or anger, you can’t tell, although the later might be the best guess given his puffed up cheeks.

“Exactly! And I needed a place to stay.”

“Precisely! It was a ‘kill-two-birds-with-one-stone’ type of situation.”

“Simple as that!”

The group of travelers sit in silence, their eyes switching between Legend and you. Despite the diversity amongst them, they all manage the same deadpan expression; not a single one of them believes you, but then again, you’re not here for their approval. Hell, they’re in your house - Well, Legend’s house - NOT THAT IT MATTERS! You don’t owe these people an explanation for why you happen to live with a guy you may or may not find attractive! They’re not going to get one either!

Clapping your hands together, you do your best to change the subject, “So, no one’s told me how you guys have met yet. Let’s talk about that.”

Legend said they’d only be staying long enough to change his items, however that was a couple hours ago. You had lots of questions about finding out every stranger in your house was actually another version of him, all brought together across different timelines and kingdoms. A whole recap and dinner later, it had gotten late with many of the boys looking visibly tired from weeks on the road.

“What’s with the face?”

You want to call Link - your Link - a hypocrite because he’s had the same stupid pout on his face ever since he lost the vote on where they’d be staying for the night. You insisted that it be here, seeing no sensible reason for them to go camp elsewhere in the cold when they could have a warm roof over their heads. He did everything he could to argue, yet nine outweigh one.

“I’m just thinking about what your friends said earlier,” You sigh, rolling onto your back where you can stare at the ceiling instead of into his eyes as he lays next you. With the living room overflowing with guests, you’ve been forced to share a bed for the night not that you haven’t occasionally done it before, “I can’t believe they thought we’re dating. We’re friends who live together. That’s not illegal, is it?”

“Hmm.”

“And before they were saying you talk about me all the time like that means you’re in love with me or something. Like, I’m a fact of your life, sure, but I’m not your life itself, you know? It would be weirder for you to completely avoid mentioning me to other people.”

“...Yeah…”

“A-And maybe - just maybe - we’ve kissed before, but no further than a peck to the cheek or forehead…Only once have our lips actually touched…” You roll back onto your side to face him, biting your lip as you whisper, “...Maybe we should start putting more distance between ourselves to avoid any more misunderstandings like this…I’m sure if those boys already think we’re dating, the whole village must think it’s true.”

“...Or we could just do the opposite…”

“What do you mean?”

Legend curls his face further against the pillow and his folded hands, doing everything he can to avoid your eyes as he mumbles barely audible words, “Clearly everyone is going to assume we’re in a relationship anyway, so we might as well avoid the hassle of having to explaining they’re wrong each time by just making it official…”

You blink, his hinted suggestion taking a few seconds to set in, although once it does you can’t help smirking. Leaning forward, you kiss his nose, causing his cheeks to flare as he stubbornly jerks away, “How convenient! I was recently thinking about looking for a boyfriend, but so long as you’re offering, you’ve saved me the trouble of finding someone as good as you!”

Legend grumbles, however that doesn’t stop him from inching closer to you and kissing your forehead, “...Just don’t say anything to them tomorrow or else I’ll never hear the end of it.”

#lu legend x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda #link x reader #lu warriors x reader #lu twilight x reader #x reader #reader insert

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 month

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1968 [Chapter 4: Zeus, God Of Thunder]

A/N: Can you believe we're already 1/3 done with this series?? I sure can't! I hope you enjoy Chapter 4. I'm so excited to show you where we're headed. The times are indeed a-changin'... 😉

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 7.3k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs @minttea07 @babyblue711

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You unzip the floral suitcase that Alicent gave the nurses to pack for you. Inside are the hundreds of greeting cards sent by people from the Atlantic to the Rockies; downstairs, Eudoxia is distributing a dozen bouquets of flowers throughout the house with appropriate grimness, and more arrive each hour. You lift cards out of the suitcase by the handful and lay them down on your bed. Every movement feels slow, every thought muddled, bare feet in cold wet sand that swallows you to your ankles. The windows are open, the sheer curtains billowing. The wind whips in off the ocean, smelling of brine and sun glare, life and death.

Aemond emerges from the bathroom in a gale of steam. He finishes adjusting his eyepatch and then dresses himself: white shorts, blue polo. Aemond wears a lot of blue. It is Greek, is it American, it is the Democratic Party, it is the color of the sky that was once believed to hold Olympus, it is everything he’s ever been or wanted to be. He’s humming The House Of The Rising Sun. It’s the first time you’ve truly been alone since the night before he caught his flight to Tacoma.

Beneath the greeting cards you find the books, cosmetics, and three new sundresses, none of which you ended up wearing home. Alicent bought you a plain black shift dress, matching gloves and flats, and opaque sunglasses to hide your face from the journalists who waited outside the hospital. And there is one last item to unpack. At the bottom of the suitcase is a clear plastic bag containing fabric, white dotted with bruises of common blue violets. At first you are confounded, and then you turn it over to see the dark, saturated stain of crimson. It’s the sundress you were wearing the day you were rushed to Mount Sinai to have Ari. The nurses hadn’t known if you wanted to keep it, burn it, bury it.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, like he’s surprised by the question. He goes to his writing desk and turns the chair around so it’s facing you. He sits, crosses one leg over the other, leans back and hides his hands in his pockets. His tone is gentle, but his gaze is hard. “By the time I heard that you’d had the baby, it was already over. You were out of surgery, he was in an incubator, and that was the immutable reality. I figured there was nothing I could do at that point to improve the outcome. And that’s true. Me flying back early wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But you should have been there,” you insist, eyes wet, voice quivering. “You should have known him like I did.”

“Winning Washington was important.”

“Washington is a basket of votes, Ari was our child, he was real.”

“No one told me he was dying—”

“Because you didn’t pick up the fucking phone.”

Aemond is incredulous, like he couldn’t have heard you correctly. “It’s not like I was playing golf or drinking myself under some bar, I was campaigning 20 hours a day and it worked.”

“Nothing on earth could have kept me away from you when you got shot in Palm Beach.”

“So maybe it wasn’t just about Washington,” Aemond says, and his words aren’t gentle anymore. They are razored, dauntless, daring you to battle him. “It’s about the whole picture, it’s about the momentum. If I had underperformed in Washington, the dominoes would fall in Kentucky, and Utah, and Virginia, and then at the national convention in August, and then against Nixon in November. I don’t have the luxury of disappearing from the public eye to sit adoringly by your bedside when we both know there isn’t a single goddamn thing I can do to help.”

“It would have made you look like a better man.”

“But not a better president.”

And like a fracture being snapped back into place, you remember what Aegon said on that bloodstained night in Florida: You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you. You stare down at the ruined dress entombed in plastic, still clutched in your hands. You don’t dare to let Aemond see your eyes. You’re afraid you won’t be able to disguise the betrayal glistening there. You ask, a whisper, a whimper: “Why aren’t you sad?” I thought you loved him. I thought you were always so worried about him.

“Of course I’m sad,” Aemond says, more kindly now, patiently, like he’s speaking to someone who can’t be expected to comprehend. “But it’s different for the mother.”

You can’t reply. If you do, something lethal will pour out, smoke and poison and arrows, something that shoots to kill. Ari was quietly interred at the Targaryen family mausoleum in Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park. It had felt so wrong to leave his tiny casket there in a silent stone prison full of strangers.

Aemond is behind you now, trying to knead the tension out of your shoulders. And for the first time in two years, you wish he’d stop touching you. Your belly hurts, your head hurts, your heart hurts, you are a garden blooming with bruises and scars. “I know you aren’t in your right mind. Everything will be better soon. I promise.”

Tears gather on your eyelashes. “I miss him.”

“We’ll have others. Here, let me take that…” Aemond grabs the bag holding your ruined dress and it’s out of your reach before you can think to resist. “You should get ready for dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply numbly, now gazing down at your empty palms. Aemond leaves with his grisly parcel, and you never see it again. But once he’s gone you don’t shed your black mourning dress, blood-soaked pad, bandages, and shake loose your hair and step into the shower. Instead, you walk around the bed to pick up the mint green rotary phone on your nightstand. You speak to a series of operators before you reach the Harbour Rocks Hotel in Sydney. While you listen to the ringing through the intercontinental wire, you sit down on the bed. You’ve never felt low like this. You’ve never felt so unmoored from everything you had believed about your life.

A gruff, familiar voice answers. He’s just waking up, slurping on his morning coffee, dabbing his moustache with a napkin. “Hello?”

“Daddy, I don’t think I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“What?” he asks, and immediately he is no longer groggy but desperately concerned. Your parents are away on a month-long tour of Australia and often incommunicado. By the time they received news of Ari’s death and called Mount Sinai in hysterics to speak with you, you had told them not to rush home. You were about to be released, and they would not make it in time for the funeral regardless. Aemond insisted on a swift, private ceremony, a detour on the drive back to Asteria, like it was something he couldn’t wait to put in his rearview mirror. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“Aemond, he…” He’s not the man I thought he was. I don’t know him, I don’t trust him. “He’s not acting right, he’s not…he didn’t…Daddy, it’s like he doesn’t care. And I don’t want to be here anymore. Can I fly down to Tarpon Springs when you and Mama get back? Can I stay with you for a while? And then…and then…” You don’t even know what words you’re looking for. They don’t exist in your universe.

“Listen, honey,” your father says with great tenderness. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” You’re trying to stifle your sobs so no one downstairs hears you.

“You’ve just been through something terrible. So terrible I can’t even imagine it. And of course you’re feeling out of sorts. But Aemond is your husband, he’s your protector and your ally, your best friend, your partner in life. He’s not the one responsible for what happened. You can’t misdirect your heartache at him.”

“But he’s…Daddy, there’s…there’s something wrong with him.”

“Oftentimes, it’s easier for women to talk about their emotions, both good and bad. But for men—especially men like Aemond who are so self-disciplined by nature—it can be like pulling teeth to express themselves. They don’t like to be vulnerable. They actually think they’re failing in their commitments to their wife if they let her see how much they’re struggling. Aemond is hurting just like you are. He might not show it in the way you expect, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Of course he cares.”

How do you know, Daddy? Have you cut him open and studied his brain, his ropy nerves, the dark chambers of his heart? “I thought he saw me like you see Mama, I thought he included me in everything because he loved and respected me, but that’s not it. He just needs someone to help him get elected, that’s all Ari and I were to him, and I can’t…I just can’t…the thought of him touching me now…”

“Sweetheart, Aemond is a good man,” your father says. “He does love you. He does respect you. And he’s doing such incredible things for this country. I have friends in Florida who’ve been voting Republican since Hoover, but they’re crossing over for Aemond. They think he’s the one to clean up this mess. Vietnam, poverty, civil rights, the riots, the shootings, the hippies, the drugs, the Russians, the Chinese, someone has to pick up the pieces and create something that makes sense. Do you think Nixon or Humphrey would end the war by this time next year? Do you think either of them would compel the South to enforce voting rights or desegregation?”

“No,” you say, closing your eyes. But that doesn’t mean I can forget what I’ve learned about Aemond.

“Here, your mom wants to say something.” Your father vanishes; your mother’s voice comes piping across the copper submarine cables that span the length of the Pacific Ocean. You wonder—randomly, distractedly—if any of the wires connecting you to Sydney run through Arizona, the place Aegon told you he didn’t want to leave.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Mama.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, distraught, hearing the exhaustion and misery in your voice. “You’ve got the baby blues, and no baby to hold good and close to help them run their course. I’m so sorry. It’s just awful, so awful.”

You speak before you know what you’re going to say. “I don’t want to be married to Aemond anymore.”

“You’re confused, sweetheart. Your hormones are all over the place, you’re in pain, you’ve just had major surgery, and after this year with all the stress from the campaign and that horrific shooting in Palm Beach—”

“He’s not like Daddy.” Tears are flooding down your cheeks; your voice is hoarse. “I thought he was, but he’s not.”

“You cannot make a mistake like this,” your mother says, and she’s turned from silk to steel. “If you do something drastic now, you’ll wake up in a month or six months or a year and realize you’ve ruined not just your life, but the chance this country had at a better future. Don’t you realize what’s at stake here? Every marriage goes through tough times. Every husband needs to learn how to care for his wife, and every wife how to best support her husband. That’s natural, and you’ve only been married two years. Of course you and Aemond are still learning how to navigate life together. It only seems so much worse because of what’s happened to the baby.”

Is she right? Am I wrong? “I don’t know,” you say weakly.

“If you leave now, what happens?” your mother demands. “You abandon the campaign and Aemond’s support plummets. You are a divorcee, a sinner, a failure. You don’t get your son back. But you do lose everything you’ve helped build. Marriage isn’t an experiment, ‘oh let’s give it a try and if we hit any bumps we’ll call the whole thing off.’ No. It’s a covenant. Marriage is for life.”

Yes it is, in just about every faith, and certainly for the Greek Orthodox Church. You are suddenly consumed by mistrust for your own body, this flesh that failed your son and now is deceiving you with doubt so heavy—like cold iron or lead or platinum—it masquerades as truth. How could you imagine a life after Aemond? What waits for you in Tarpon Springs besides the promise of an eventual remarriage that is banal, powerless, bleak, exactly what you’ve always plotted so willfully to avoid?

“Do you understand me, honey?” your mother asks, and she’s soft and kind again. “I don’t mean to be strict with you. My heart breaks for you, and I love you. I’m not trying to upset you. I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

“Yes.” There are people getting massacred in Vietnam right now; there are people who can’t afford roofs over their heads. Who am I to complain? Your tears have stopped; your breathing is now slow and measured. “Yes, Mama. I understand.”

After you’ve hung up, you stay where you are for a long time, your hands folded limply in your lap and gazing at the paintings hung on the pale blue walls: small replicas of The Birth of Venus, Romulus and Remus, Prometheus Bound, Perseus Rescuing Andromeda, Echo and Narcissus, Jupiter and Io. Then you get up to sift through the greeting cards you’ve piled on the bed, not really seeing them. Only one captures your attention. Only one jolts you out of the fog like a flash of lightning through dark churning clouds.

You take the card Aegon gave you back when you were still a mother and set it upright on your nightstand, consider it for a while, wander into the bathroom to scrub the despair from your skin and change into something less somber for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re playing Battleship with Cosmo by the edge of the swimming pool while all the other children splash around, howling with laughter and diving for toys they throw to the bottom and then fetch with their teeth like golden retrievers, G.I. Joes and Barbies and Trolls and even a waterlogged Mr. Potato Head. The nannies are observing intently, poised to leap in if anyone should appear to be at risk of drowning. If Ari had lived, I wouldn’t have wanted nannies to raise him, you think. I would have wanted him to have a normal childhood. I would have wanted to know him.

“Your turn,” Cosmo says with a grin. He’s the one who looks the most like Aegon, or how you imagine Aegon must have looked before the pills and the booze and the long caged decades. His hair is so light a blonde it’s nearly white, his eyes huge and glimmering and mischievous. Battleship is a bit advanced for a five-year-old. Cosmo keeps guessing the same coordinates over and over, so you periodically lie and tell him he’s sunk one of your ships. When you launch a successful attack against his, he seems to think it’s fair game to relocate the vessel to a more advantageous location.

“D7.”

He picks up his aircraft carrier and repositions it. From the record player drifts California Dreamin’. “Nope! Nothing sank!”

“Wow. I’m so bad at this.”

Cosmo is snickering. “Yeah, you are. Really bad.”

“If I got drafted, the Army would be better off leaving me at home. I’d just be a nuisance.”

“What’s drafted?”

“Never mind. Your turn to guess.”

“J12!”

The grid only goes up to 10. Nonetheless, you slap your own forehead dramatically. “Oh no, not again! You sunk my battleship!”

“Yay!” Cosmo cheers, then turns to the Jacuzzi. It’s brand new, just installed last month. “Mom, did you see? I’m winning!”

You glance over at Mimi. She has passed out, her latest Gimlet drained and her head resting atop her crossed arms, propped on the rim of the Jacuzzi. “Uh, Cosmo, run inside and ask Doxie to make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, okay?”

“Okay.” He scampers off, toddling on reckless little legs.

With no shortage of difficulty, you manage to stand. Each day your abdominal muscles feel less like they’ve been shredded and then mended with threads of fire, but the pain is still bad, very bad, and there are spots of skin on your belly that are numb when you skim your fingertips across them. You will have a long vertical scar like Aemond’s, an irreparable reminder of the blood you’ve paid to the cause. And for all your anguish, this particular fact doesn’t torment you. It is proof that Ari existed, however briefly, however futilely.

You amble over to the Jacuzzi, your roomy lavender dress flowing in the wind, and shove one of Mimi’s shoulders. “Mimi, wake up. Get out of the water.”

She mumbles incoherently in response. You reach for her before remembering you can’t lift anything. You look around. Alicent and Helaena are on lounge chairs at the other end of the pool; Alicent is trying very hard to look interested while Helaena shows her about 100 different butterfly species pictured in a kaleidoscopically colorful book. Criston is off giving Ludwika a tour of the property, flanked by a flock of Alopekis hoping for treats. Ludwika is Otto’s wife of six months but only newly arrived, 30 years old, perpetually unimpressed, modelesque, golden blonde, if Barbie was from Poland. Aemond, Otto, and Viserys—his sparse threads of silver hair hanging like cobwebs around his gaunt face, grimacing and clutching the armrests of his wheelchair—are conspiring on the lawn between the main house and the pool. They haven’t noticed your predicament. Fosco is sauntering by wearing some of the tiniest swim shorts you’ve ever seen. He is the son of an Italian count, gangly and chatty and from what you’ve seen almost certainly addicted to gambling.

“Will you help me move Mimi, please?” you ask him. “I’m afraid she’s going to drown.”

“Of course, of course, no problem. Let me handle it. Do not hurt yourself.” He has her half-dragged out of the Jacuzzi before Mimi startles awake.

“What’s going on?” she slurs. “Put me down, I can walk.”

“I doubt it,” you say.

“You are alright?” Fosco asks Mimi as he steadies her on the cement, wet with pool water. She clutches at his forearms helplessly.

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

“Mimi, go inside,” you say. “Eat a sandwich. Tell Cosmo you’re proud of him for winning Battleship.”

“Battleship? Well, that’s just ridiculous. He’s five. Five-year-olds can’t play Battleship.”

“And yet you will congratulate him regardless.”

She can feel your impatience, your judgement, sharp like wasp stings. Mimi retreats like a kicked dog to the main house, somehow summoning the will to remain mostly upright.

You look to Fosco. “Do you know where Aegon is?” You want to see him, but you also don’t; each time you’re in the same room now is a disorienting storm of familiarity, curiosity, painful reminders, annoyance, awkwardness, longingness to again feel as close to him—to anyone—as you did during those fleeting moments at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.

Fosco chuckles. “Where is he ever? Napping, sailing, drinking, on the phone with one of his lady friends. I could not say. I have not seen him recently.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway.” The music stops—the record needs to be flipped over—and now you can just barely hear what Aemond, Otto, and Viserys are discussing.

“And you criticized me for going too young,” Aemond says to Otto. “What’s your age difference with Ludwika? 40 years?”

“She’s good publicity. She defected from the Eastern Bloc in search of the American Dream.”

“Being married to you?” Aemond quips. “I think she found the American Nightmare.”

“Speaking of wives,” Otto continues. “I assume since yours had one surgery, that’s how all the future children will need to be born, is that right?”

Aemond nods, frowning. “Yeah. And the doctors said she shouldn’t have more than three. It weakens the uterus, I guess, all that slicing and suturing. Do it too many times and ruptures get more likely, and those can be fatal.”

“Very unfortunate,” Viserys rasps. “Children are our greatest legacy. I wanted at least ten, but your mother…well…after Daeron, it just never happened again.” And you know that this is just one of the ways in which Aemond had planned to win his father’s admiration: by contributing more new Targaryens to the dynasty than anyone else. Now that’s impossible.

Otto sighs wistfully. “To have a brand new baby to parade around in the fall…that would have been wonderful.” For the first time in two years, you can sense that you have disappointed him. Fosco is watching you, uneasy, ashamed, sorry without knowing what to do about it.

“Absolutely,” Aemond says, as if this is not the first time the thought has crossed his mind. “But it’s done now. There’s no sense in dwelling on what might have been. We must look forward. It’s feasible that…well…if we try again and get good news by October, we can announce in time for Election Day…”

You can’t listen anymore. Your belly aching, your bare feet hurrying through warm emerald grass, you traverse the lawn and disappear into Helaena’s garden, painstakingly tended and continuously expanded since she was a little girl. There are marigolds and daffodils, tulips and roses, azaleas, asters, butterfly bushes, chrysanthemums, lilies and lupines, sunflowers, violets, life blooming in a hundred different shades. There are tiny statues too, tucked away in random places, stone angels and untamed creatures, alligators and turtles and rabbits and cats, the only sort the Alopekis will tolerate. At the very center of the garden is a tall circle of hedges with only one opening, an arched doorway cut into the thick lush green. You’ve been here before, though only with Aemond. On a property shared with so many family members—and the occasional intrusive journalist—it’s a good place to escape prying eyes. You pass through the threshold with a hand resting absentmindedly on your belly, as if you’re still pregnant. You keep doing this. Each time you remember you’re at the end of something rather than the beginning, it carves you open all over again.

Around the inside perimeter of the circle are twelve sculptures positioned like numbers on a clock: eleven Olympians and Hades, confined to the Underworld. In the middle of the clearing is the largest stature of all, a wrathful Zeus hurling lightning bolts and surrounded by a gurgling fountain of glass-clear water. Under the shadow of Zeus, Aegon is sprawled on the ground and smoking a joint. “So you’re hiding from them too, huh?” He gives you a sly, welcome-to-the-club smirk, then offers you his joint. “Want a hit?”

You shake your head, not taking another step towards him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He is confused. “Done what?”

“Any of it.” I told him about my life before. I made the mistake of thinking I could go back.

Aegon still doesn’t seem to understand. “You’re scared I’m gonna snitch?”

You shrug, evasive. It’s not just the fact that he knows. It’s the sensation that you’ve unlatched something—an attic room, a jewelry box, a birdcage—and now you can’t get it locked again, and the door rattles with every footstep and storm wind, and you are no longer Aphrodite or Io but Pandora, a hunger growing in your stitched womb like a child.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” And that’s always how he says it, not what’s the matter or are you alright or what did I do or how can I fix it?

“I’m kind of…embarrassed, I guess.”

“Embarrassed,” Aegon echoes. “Because of me?”

“I feel like I said and did a lot of things that were out of character because I was emotionally compromised.”

“They were out of character for who you’ve been trying to convince everyone you are since you married Aemond, sure. But they weren’t out of character for you.”

He’s treading too close now, arrows piercing their mark, a tremor near the epicenter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Au contraire, I have acquired many interesting revelations recently.”

“Where’d you learn French? From Mimi?”

His smile dies. “Boarding school.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to be around Aegon without either hating him or letting him see parts of yourself that you’re trying to drown like Icarus in the waves. You glance yearningly towards the doorway cut into the hedges.

All at once, Aegon is furious. “You don’t want to talk to me? You want to go back to how it was before, you want to pretend Mount Sinai never happened? Fine. You got it. Wish fucking granted. Whatever you have to do.”

He turns away from you. You flee from him. But that night when Asteria is hushed and still—Aemond, Criston, and Otto are attending a fundraising dinner in Philadelphia, and you are temporarily excused from accompanying them as you recover—you creep down into the basement of the main house to apologize. Mimi sleeps in a bedroom on the second floor, but here Aegon can keep odd hours and drink and smoke to his heart’s content, and even entertain clandestine guests, girls who are beautiful and giggling and never invited twice.

Aegon isn’t here. He might be passed out somewhere, or at a party, or maybe even upstairs with Mimi, and something about this idea twists through your mending guts like a blade. In his absence, you take a quick look around his room, something you’ve never done before. You hadn’t had any interest; it wouldn’t even have occurred to you. There’s a large green futon, a matching shag carpet, a television, a bookshelf full of notebooks and paperbacks—Kurt Vonnegut, Harper Lee, Sylvia Plath, Truman Capote, Ken Kesey—and vinyl albums, a record player, and his two acoustic guitars. The first is unpainted maple wood covered with stickers. I’d rather be nowhere reads one; Burn pot not people proclaims another. The second guitar is the souvenir he bought in Manhattan, an aquamarine blue six-string.

There's something strange on his end table. Along with a dozen empty cups is a full ashtray, and there’s a folded piece of paper tucked underneath. You slide the paper out and open it. It’s the receipt you used to solve the long division problem in your hospital room.

Why would he keep this? you think, mystified. There are footsteps above your head, and you quickly return the receipt to where you found it and leave before your trespass can be discovered.

When you emerge from the basement, Fosco is waiting in the hallway and carrying a Tupperware container filled with something that resembles kourabiethes, Greek shortbread cookies. “I thought I saw you sneak down there. What were you looking for?”

You scramble for an explanation. “One of the dogs is missing. Alicent wanted me to check the basement.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” He passes you the Tupperware container. “These are for you. I hope they are not too bad. I baked them myself.”

“Are they…” You shake it. “Biscotti?”

“They are ossi dei morti,” Fosco says. “Bones of the dead. We make them to remember loved ones we have lost. They are hard, so you should dip them in coffee or tea before you try to eat them.”

You open the lid. Inside are long thin cookies coated with powdered sugar. You inhale almond flour, cloves, cinnamon. And you are so touched you cannot find your words.

“You know, there still places in Italy where mothers wear black for years to mourn their children.” This is not trivia; it is an acknowledgement. Your son is gone. There is no shame in the grief that is left behind. In another house, it would be expected, it would be required.

“Thank you, Fosco.”

He smiles warmly. “We are in this together, no? We are pieces of the same machine.”

Then he plods off towards the living room, sliding a rolled-up horse racing program out of the back pocket of his tight plaid pants.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re in Louisville, Kentucky, where thunder quakes the eaves. An hour ago, Aegon was popping Valium and leisurely plucking at his pool water blue Gibson guitar, slumped against the wall, nipping at a flask filled with straight Bacardi. But he’s not anymore. Now he’s gathered around the small color television with you, Criston, Otto, Fosco, Helaena, and Ludwika. The news is just breaking. There was a civil rights protest at the University of Kentucky in Lexington one hour to the east. Someone threw a rock, or someone claims someone threw a rock, or someone threw something that was mistaken for a rock, and in any event the situation escalated from there and local police who were monitoring the demonstration opened fire on a crowd, killing five students and injuring another dozen.

Outside, word is spreading through the crowd of over 2,000 people that have gathered for Aemond’s planned speech at the historic Iroquois Amphitheater, a New Deal project finished in 1938. Rain is pouring, and the venue has no roof. Aemond is already 20 minutes late. The voices are becoming louder, more demanding, more wrathful. They’re shouting that Aemond is too afraid to face them now, that he’s trying to figure out what his statement will be, that he’s cowardly and calculating; and if President Lyndon Baines Johnson was here tonight instead of cursing his bad stars up in Washington D.C., he would certainly have something to say about the capriciousness of voters who love you, hate you, carry you higher, drag you down, all without ever knowing you.

In truth, Aemond is not stalling on purpose. He’s in the bathroom trying to get his prosthetic eye in. It’s been giving him hell all afternoon. He wears his eyepatch at home, but he’s never made a public appearance without his glass eye clean and perfect in his voided socket.

“He’s going to have to say something about it,” you tell the others as you watch the news coverage.

“Say what?” Otto snaps. “If he doesn’t treat those dead kids like martyrs he’s going to get booed off the stage. If he condemns the police he’s going to lose the suburbs. They’ll run to Humphrey now and Nixon in November.”

The weather report called for storms—which is why Alicent, Mimi, and the children are already back at the Seelbach Hotel for the night after a long day of shaking hands and smiling gamely—but no one expected it to get this bad. The room you’re huddled in is just off-stage, so you can see it all: the wind ripping signs and flags from people’s hands, drenched clothes, sopping hair, snarling faces, rain turning puddles to rivers. The stomping of boots is now as loud as the thunder. Rocks and bottles are being pitched at the stage.

“Is America always like this?” Ludwika asks, scandalized.

“No, not at all,” Otto says. “Goddamn animals…”

Aegon replies, not taking his eyes from the television: “You’d be mad too if cops were shooting your friends and the only graduation present you had to look forward to was getting disemboweled by guerillas in Vietnam.”

“I’ve had it with you and your Marxist bullshit! You want to liberate the dispossessed masses? Why don’t you start by donating your monthly drugs and rum budget to the—”

“We should cancel,” Fosco says. “Just call the whole thing off. Tell them Aemond is sick or something.”

“That’s the headline you want? ‘Senator Targaryen hides from grieving supporters who braved a thunderstorm to see him’?! Just give the White House to Nixon now!”

“I don’t think we can cancel,” Criston says softly. “I think if we tried to leave, they’d swarm the car.”

“It’s a riot,” Otto moans, rubbing his face with his hands. “This is what happens when you court voters like this, college kids and hippies, professional malcontents…”

“Aren’t there police outside?” Ludwika says anxiously.

“Yeah, a handful,” Criston tells her. “And if they try to do anything this will erupt and we can add to the body count in Lexington…”

You leave them and follow a hallway to the men’s bathroom; on the periphery of your vision, you can tell that Aegon is watching you go. You push the door open and find a row of stalls and three sinks, one of which Aemond is standing in front of as he stares into his reflection and attempts to shove the prosthetic eye into his empty, gore-red left socket. His suit is navy blue, his hair neatly slicked back, his shoes so polished they’re reflective like a mirror.

“Fuck,” he hisses, flinching. His right cheek is wet with tears of frustration and agony. It’s July 26th, and tomorrow are the final three state conventions in the Democratic primary. Humphrey is almost certain to take Utah; Virginia will go to Governor Mills Godwin, who is only running in his home state to control the delegates and will hand them over to whoever he feels is most worthy in August. But Aemond is the favorite to win here in Kentucky. Or at least, he was an hour ago.

“What can I do? What do you need?”

“You can’t do anything. It’s…it’s this goddamn nerve pain, it feels like I’m being fucking stabbed, I can’t get the muscles to relax enough…”

Like an apology, you say: “Aemond, the crowd is getting out of control.”

“So you came in here to rush me?”

“No, I’m here to help.”

“You’re not helping. You’re doing the exact opposite.”

“I think you should give this speech with your eyepatch on. It looks good, and you’ll be as comfortable as possible, and the crowd won’t have to wait any longer than they have already.”

“No.”

“Aemond, please—”

“No! FDR didn’t make speeches in his wheelchair and I’m not making mine without my eye in.”

“Do you want me to get you Aegon’s pills? Rum, weed?”

“You don’t think I’ve already taken something?” He tries to force his eye in again and strikes his fist against the sink when he can’t.

Then you ask gingerly: “Do you know what you’re going to say about the shooting?”

“Get out!” Aemond shouts. “You’re making it worse, just get the fuck out! Go!”

You bolt from the bathroom, hands trembling, throat burning. You don’t want to return to the television where the others are standing; you’re worried they’ll be able to tell how upset you are. You go to the edge of the stage, arms crossed protectively over your chest, and peek out into the crowd. Above their chants and jeers and howled threats, lightning splits the sky.

I don’ t think we’re going to be able to find our way out of this one. I think this is the end of the road.

“Hey,” Aegon says, tapping your shoulder. “Back up.”

“I’m fine here.”

“No you’re not.” He grabs your arm and tugs you farther backstage. Seconds later, an Absolut Vodka bottle explodes into crystalline shrapnel where you were standing. You yelp and Aegon gives you a little eyebrow raise. I told you, he means.

“Someone has to go out there,” Otto says, still lurking by the television. Fosco is comforting Helaena, who is quietly weeping; Ludwika is watching the news coverage in horror, surely reconsidering all her life choices. A sixth University of Kentucky student has been declared dead. “We can’t wait.”

“No we can’t,” Criston agrees. Then they both turn to you expectantly.

Your blood goes icy. Tonight was meant to be your first official appearance since the baby. Your hair is up, your dress a navy blue to match Aemond’s suit, gold chains around your wrist and throat, a gold chain of a belt. You thought you were ready. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Don’t you look at her,” Aegon says, sharp like a scalpel, like a bullet, like something that punctures arteries and lungs. “They’re throwing glass. You figure something else out, don’t even look at her.”

Otto relents, perhaps halfheartedly. “No, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Criston starts heading for the bathroom to get Aemond. Otto is watching the television again, his face vacuous as his ambitions are carried away by a flood of rain, wind, rage, blood. Aegon snatches his guitar from where he left it by the wall. He tosses the strap over his head, gives the strings a few experimental strums and retunes them, starts walking towards the stage.

“Aegon, what are you doing?” you ask, panicked.

“Someone has to distract the crowd.”

“No, stop, you can’t—”

“Hey,” Aegon says. And when you glance past him at the uproarious, storm-drenched frenzy, he turns your face back to his to make sure you’re listening. His hand is insistent but gentle, his voice steady. “Don’t go out there. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, startled.

He gives you one last small, parting smile, a flash of his teeth, a daring glint in his murky blue eyes. Then he’s out in the torrential rain, soaked to the skin in seconds. His frayed green Army jacket clings to him; his hair is ravaged by the wind. As he takes his place behind the microphone, a stone that someone has hurled skates by him and nicks the apple of his left cheek. You can see a trickle of blood snaking down his sunburned skin before the rain washes it away; you feel a desperate gnawing dread that someone will hurt him, not just here but anywhere, not just now but ever. The crowd is still seething, shouting, stomping their feet to join the inescapable growl of the thunder. Aegon’s pick flies over the guitar strings as he begins playing, raindrops cast from his fingers like spells. At first, you can barely hear him.

“Come gather ‘round, people, wherever you roam

And admit that the waters around you have grown

And accept it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone

If your time to you is worth saving

And you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is settling down now. Some of them are singing along. You can feel that Otto, Ludwika, Fosco, and Helaena are gathering around you, but you don’t grasp anything they’re saying. You can’t tear your eyes from Aegon. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, this radiant sunbeam of a man, a light in dark places, a constellation that whispers myths through the ink-spill indigo of the night sky. How could you ever have hated him? How could you ever have thought he was worthless?

“Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pen

And keep your eyes wide, the chance won’t come again

And don’t speak too soon, for the wheel’s still in spin

And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s naming

For the loser now will be later to win

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Aemond and Criston appear beside you at the edge of the stage; Aemond’s prosthetic eye has at last been successfully placed with no lingering evidence of a struggle. You expect him to apologize for what he said in the bathroom, but he doesn’t. Instead he says when he sees Aegon: “What the hell is he doing?”

“Saving your career,” you reply simply.

“Come senators, congressmen, please heed the call

Don’t stand in the doorway, don’t block up the hall

For he that gets hurt will be he who has stalled

The battle outside raging

Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Now Aegon peers pointedly off-stage to where Otto Hightower is gawking. Aegon beams, throws his head back to get his dripping hair out of his eyes, comes back to the mic.

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land

And don’t criticize what you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly aging

Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Everyone you can see in the crowd is singing and swaying. It’s not just a Bob Dylan song from 1964 but an anthem, a prayer, a rallying cry, a dire warning for the powers at be.

“The line, it is drawn, the curse, it is cast

The slow one now will later be fast

As the present now will later be past

The order is rapidly fading

And the first one now will later be last

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is applauding and whistling. Aegon steals a glimpse of where you are standing backstage, checks that Aemond is still there with you and that he’s ready.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aegon broadcasts with a wicked grin. “I am now proud to present the next president of the United States of America, Senator Aemond Targaryen!”

And Aemond is crossing the stage, no trace of pain or self-consciousness or prey-animal fear, no mere mortal but someone chosen by the gods, and the rain is slowing to a drizzle, and the clouds are opening to let through rare pinprick aisles of daylight, and the riotous spectators are now his disciples, exorcised of any rage they’ve ever felt for the scarred senator from New Jersey. He and his family are not the enemy; they are the solution. They are revolutionaries who have bled for the cause. They bring with them the change that is required. Aegon steps back and the rest of you join him in a semi-circle like a crescent moon behind Aemond. When you walk out onto the stage, the cheers swell to screams.

Aegon takes off his guitar and then leans into you. “He’s lucky you aren’t 35,” Aegon whispers, soft lips that curl into a smile as they brush your ear. And he’s teasing you but he’s not mocking, he’s not mean. He’s so close you share the same atmosphere, the same gravity. “Maybe when he finishes up his second term you can start building your resume for your first.”

“I want your endorsement.”

“From the disgraced former mayor of Trenton? What an honor. You’ll have to fight for it.”

You ball up a fist and playfully bump your knuckles against his chin. He pretends to bite at you. And you laugh for the first time since a doctor and priest entered your hospital room 13 days ago. Aegon slings an arm around your shoulders, pulls you against him, soaks you in his rain.

“Today in Lexington, we lost six brave and brilliant souls,” Aemond says, his voice booming through the amphitheater. A hush ripples through the crowd as they listen, enraptured. “Their sacrifice was for the most noble of causes, but they should never have been forced to pay the ultimate price. They deserved long, full lives in a better America than the one we now call home. This tragedy is a symptom of the sickness that has infected this nation, a fatal failure to empathize with our fellow countrymen, a deafness to pleas for justice, a blindness to mercy. But the remedy is within all of us, for it is our own humanity. When we purge the diseases of war, prejudice, and ravenous greed, we will reclaim our best selves—our true selves—and our nation will at last be cured.”

The amphitheater is illuminated with not only strobing lightning but the flashbulbs of cameras. The journalists have arrived just in time.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii fic

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itsonlydana · 14 days

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Heyy I just wanted to ask if you could write something for Thranduil x gn!reader just something really light and fluffy maybe like how he takes care of reader what they do in a day and just spending time together doing romantic things and reader really just enjoying life without a care in the world... (Deine Fanfictions sind soooo super ❤️Ich stecke grade sowas von in der Prüfungsphase es ist echt Gold wert wenn man deine Stories zu Lesen hat🤌🏻 )

Spoil Me, Pamper Me, Love Me | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x gn!reader 👑

a cozy day spent with Thranduil

warnings/tags: none, fluff!

words: 1,4k

an: such a lovely request; had such a fun time writing it :) take the elvish terms of endearment with a grain of salt.. i literally googled them lmao but i made sure to use gender neutral names. [Ich wünsche dir viel Erfolg bei deinen Prüfungen, anon! Ich hatte meine im Februar und hoffe du kommst da gut durch <3]

+ masterlist + rules +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Being Thranduil's beloved comes with positives as well as negatives – he is a king, a leader after all, and most of his waking hours are dedicated to keeping up his political alliances.

This spanned from week-long travels to other kingdoms to meetings that could last long enough for most of the day to pass without seeing each other much.

Many of these affairs do not require personal attendance though and only expect Thranduil to correspond through letters; a convenience you both treasured admits all the dragging conferences at round tables that were more draining the less importance of the topic to be discussed – even a royal elitist like Thranduil, who took great pleasure in all things rich and extraordinary drew the line after twelve hours of staring at two types of wood to repair a bridge.

Paperwork days – as you called them – were the perfect opportunity for lazy mornings between you and Thranduil. Drowsily cuddling underneath silken sheets that caught the sunrise in their translucent fabric, shutting out the world for unhurried fooling around in each other's arms and with only your giggles and his huffed laughter carrying any indication you were awake at all.

Breakfast was served in your shared chambers and instead of getting up and dressed you took the small feast in bed, unbothered by the missed chit-chat and gossip that eating in the great hall brought forth for Thranduil's kisses are much sweeter than anything anyone could have done.

There is nothing the Elvenking wouldn't do for his significant other, including providing you with the ripest fruits to feed you only to lose himself in peppering kisses to your lips – chasing after the taste of the fruits that colored your lips red and pink.

"The sweetest," Thranduil mumbles, his lips moving from one upturned corner of your mouth over the bow of your lip to the other corner where he breathes another kiss into the crinkle of amusement that makes no effort of hiding across your whole face.

You are sprawled across the bed, still in an airy night robe that's pushed up to your thighs to leave room for Thranduil's hands to gently caress the skin.

The elf himself towers over you, the comfortable weight of his lean yet strong body pressing down on you as his hair falls over the both of you like a curtain of starlight. Your hands trail over his muscles as kisses the spot behind your ear that has you giggling and nudging your knee against his abdomen to push him away.

"Stop, my King–" you laughed, hands sprawled across his chest without any real strength behind them, "you know I can't stand this teasing!"

You feel the pull of his grin against your skin before you hear the rumble of his deep laugh. "I do, meleth e-guilen, I do," Thranduil says, and tipped his nose against yours, "but that makes it all the more tempting."

Your hands trail up to his shoulders and gather some of the light strands of hair, sweeping it over his back. His skin glows in the sun pouring through the window, thrumming under your touch, and with him draped over you, one warm leg between yours, the heat travels to you even if his broad back blocks out the golden light.

"Awful," you huff, "you are nothing but a dreadful lover, keeping me trapped here in bed." Like your hands on his chest, the words carry no harm behind them or any attempt to push him away from you.

If anything, you revel in the attention he peppers you with. The last weeks had dragged you apart and moments like this, where you had to think about nothing except for your lover's care toward you.

"Awful?" he repeats in a playful tone and makes a move to sit up. "Whatever did I do to deserve such harsh treatment?"

Instead, he quickly grabs you by your waist and before you can realize what's going on he has flipped you over, laughter bubbling up your lungs and spilling out while he falls back onto the mattress, pulling you with him and leaving you to topple over across him.

His fingers dig into your sides, holding you down onto him so you can't even escape the tickling that he dooms you with. "Awful, they say! I will show you dreadful, you minx."

Whenever you do make it out of bed eventually, hair all messed up by his hands, Thranduil insists on dressing you.

He treats you like you are made out of glass, warming up the milky creme in his hands before he massages it into your skin so that the chill doesn't bother you, and he sits behind you on the bed while he combs through your hair.

"Looks like thrush nested here," Thranduil chuckles. He barely evades the hand you swipe back at him as you snort indignantly. "Careful! You will scare the birds if you are not mindful of them"

The curse you throw at him instead has him gasping at the pure filth that leaves your mouth that, after hearing his reaction, curves into a smirk. "Get back to combing, Your Majesty. I do not have all day."

"Your word is my command, guren vell."

Thranduils lips kiss your neck, featherlight and then again, lingering. You sigh and let your head drop backward, falling to his shoulder, and blink up at him through lowered lashes, your eyes full of adoration.

His smile lights up a fire in your heart, the softness of it on marble features a reason to go to war just to see it again and for you to be the only recipient of this gentleness with which he wraps his arms around your middle, the hair comb long forgotten, that fuels the fire for all eternity.

On any other day, the duty to dress you would lay in the hands of your most trusted servants or your own, though nothing reached the level of wonderful that Thranduil made you feel right now, helping you to flowy robes.

For you, he even sinks to his knees, the only being alive that deserves this honor of the Elvenking kneeling in front of them, and you smile down at the crown in his hair, the silver circlet glittering just like his cerulean eyes in the midday sun, as he fixes your shoes for you but not without breathing more kisses on the inside of your calf which he carefully holds.

"Shall we walk through the gardens later?" Thranduils hand falls to your lower back on your way through the intricate floors of the underground palace, evoking a pleasant buzz in your stomach.

"We could go riding out," you muse, thinking back to the last time you and Thranduil had taken out the royal elk.

Thranduil steps closer, ignorant of the servants and elves rushing past you with lowered heads and bows, to nip at the curve of your pointed ear.

For everyone else, it looked like he had just kissed you, but his teeth grazed the delicate skin in a hidden manner.

That's how the public display of his utter devotion to you goes; loving kisses that – away from prying eyes – turn completely devoid of etiquette, as well as his hands that never seem to leave you, whether it's in the form of a simple pressure in your lower back or resting on your side to hold you close to him.

Thranduil did not need to put you on display for everyone to know you were his, the expression in his eyes told the story of a King completely in love in a way that didn't need flashy gems or luxuriant robes; not that those weren't gifts you regularly found yourself unpacking nevertheless.

"Whatever you wish for. My heart is your loyal servant," Thranduil vows, smiling at the bright-eyed expression you gift him at that.

The letters on his desk could wait for a day longer, he had all of eternity to manage his kingdom.

Thranduil spends the rest of the day tied to your side – or behind you on our royal moose, as you take him outside to the forest, Thranduils arms around your waist and his chin propped up on your head, as you let yourself fall into his chest. In these woods, with your beloved's sharp senses taking in all of your surroundings even while he busies himself with twirling the fabric of your robes between his fingers or drops kisses to your shoulder and neck, you are completely safe.

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

#📁files: thranduil fanfics #thranduil x reader #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x you #thranduil oropherion #king thranduil #thranduil #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

Text

All the Good Girls Go To Hell 20

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Friday! (again)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

It takes until noon to get yourself together. The world around you feels disconnected and hazy, beyond your reach. You just want to hide from the chaos your life has become, but you know you can't do that. Bucky says as much, telling you to take it all in small steps. The first; get your car.

You slump in the passenger seat of Bucky's range rover, arms folded over your fraught stomach. Never again. It's never worth it, even if it lets you forget. You just have to remember it all the next day, all while feeling shitty as hell.

He pulls up in front of Harry's house and you slowly sit forward to look around him. You gulp and fish out your keys, the jingle making you wince. You blow out a breath and undo your seat belt.

"Should I come with you, doll?" He offers, one hand on the wheel.

You look at him. His long hair is draw back into a ponytail at the back of his head, a few strands dangle loose to his chin. His square jaw is speckled with dark stubble and few patches of silver. His steely blue eyes shine as his plain white tee and blue jeans offer a perfect canvas for his easy allure. The way he looks at you makes it hard not to notice how handsome he is.

"No, no, I'll just go get my car and follow you back to your place. Should be easy."

You pull the door handle before you can lose your nerve. You're grateful for Bucky's help but you need to do this on your own. He can't coddle you and you can't expect everything from him. You don't want to be in this situation ever again; cast out and lost.

You get out and gently shut the door. You round the front of the tall rover and push your glasses up your nose. You cross the street, tucking your hands in your pockets as you keep your shoulders curled and head down. You cross the pavement and head up the tarmac, stopping short as you catch sight of your car.

Your mouth falls open as you gape at the mess strewn across it. Shaving cream streaks the hood and roof, toilet paper draped over it in tangled strips, and eggs smashed into the worn paint. As you get closer, you notice the only blank patch is keyed with the words 'dumb bitch'. You stare stunned at the desecration of your only possession.

You shake your head and don't look up at the house. You can guess it was probably Harry and his friends. This is the type of stuff the got up to in high school and these people made it clear that you're an outsider.

You near the car and grab a few strips of toilet paper, pulling them off and wadding them up as you try to wipe off the yolk and half-melted cream. Some of it's caked on after sitting for at least half the night. You sigh and focus on just tearing the tissue off. You can hit a car wash but you don't know what you'll do about the scratches.

As you scrape off what you can, you hear a door and sense a shadow. Harry's laughter rattles in the afternoon sun and you ignore him as you toss clumps of cream and toilet paper onto the ground. You unlock the door and he catches it from the outside, holding it in place.

"Do you get the hint now?" He asks darkly.

"Leave me alone," you tug on the door and it doesn't budge.

"Naomi is better than you. You're just some stupid nerd who doesn't know her place. The only reason Peter was interested is because he wants to make MJ jealous--"

"I don't care--"

"You're too boring for her," he sneers, "so better go off back to your corner and cry, little girl."

"Frig off," you spit at him, "and let go!"

You try to jerk the door away and he just snickers again. You bear your teeth in frustration and roll your eyes. If he wants you gone, why won't he let you go?

"She helped. The eggs were her idea," he taunts. You don't care if she did or not, her loyalties are clear enough. You saw them last night.

"Hey," Bucky's voice rips through your standoff and you turn as he storms up the driveway. "Back up, jackass."

"Jesus Christ, not this geezer," Harry snarls.

"Yes, this geezer," Bucky barks, "go inside before I show you what an old man can do."

"Whatever, bro."

"Whatever," Bucky stomps past you and stops only inches from Harry, looming over him, "I'm up for whatever you choose, boy."

Harry huffs and curls his lip. He raises his hands and takes a step back, "you're not worth the trouble."

"Sure," Bucky keeps his shoulder in front of you, blocking you in, "go on and run back to your posse of dumbasses."

Harry waves him off and turns on his heel, slides flopping under him as he tramps like a toddler back to the house. You shudder and look at Bucky as he turns to you. He rests his hand on the top of the door.

"You alright, doll?" He softens his tone.

"Yeah, fine, he's just dumb."

"Mm," he looks past you, "assholes. Let's get this thing cleaned up and--" He pauses and shifts away, bending to examine the message etched into the paint, "hmmmmm," he growls, "good thing I know how to buff this stuff out." He stands straight, hands on his hips, his pose accentuating his chest and biceps, "you want me to drive this thing till we get it washed or--"

"No, no, it's okay," you murmur, "I just wanna get out off here."

"Sure thing," he tries to smile but his cheek ticks as his eyes drift angrily to the house, "don't let appearances fool you, there people are trash."

🌞

When you get back to Bucky's, he unfolds a lawn chair and points you to it. There's little argument to be had as his anger has you tongue-tied. You know it's not directed at you but you can feel it steaming off of him. You've never been good at handling that sort of emotion, especially from others.

It's probably for the better. Your head is pounding, even in the shadow of the awning, and you stomach is still wobbly with uncertainty. You rest your chin in your hand as you watch him spraying your car with the nozzle of the hose. As he does, the splash back dampens the front of his tee, the fabric clinging to his stomach as he sneers at his task.

He shut the hose off and grabs the sponge from the bucket, scrubbing at the harder to get patches until has has it mostly clean. He gives it another rinse with hose and rolls it up, dumping the bucket in the grass and dropping the sponge inside. He puts the pail down and sits on the steps, only a foot away from you.

"Sure made a mess of myself," he looks down at his wet shirt, wiping his hands on it before tugging it upwards. He strips it off and shakes it out as you avert your wiley gaze. "I'll buff the side later and it should be fine. Probably have to find somewhere to fix the paint properly, though."

"Thanks, uh, you've really done... enough."

"Shitty," he mutters clutching the shirt in his hand. As he leans an elbow on his knee, your eyes stray to the trim of hair across his broad chest. You hide your wandering gaze and focus on your hands, "I'm sorry she dragged you into all this. Really... and I know I've probably not made it any easier."

"I guess I'm just confused. I don't know what to do with myself. I guess I should keep looking for a job but at this rate, I won't have one until I have to head back to campus. If I even get to go." You exhale shakily, "my parents split tuition but if my mom cuts me off... I don't know what to do."

He nods and gives a thoughtful hum. He sits back and props his elbow on the step behind him, his muscled stomach tugging at your gaze. No, stop.

"I never had kids. Obviously. Always knew I couldn't give them everything I would want to, you know? But if I did, I'd give them everything I could. I just don't get it. I really don't, you're a good girl and they just don't see what's right in front of them," he sucks his teeth, "well, how about..." he stops himself and lets his leg sway one way then the other, "I could offer you a job. You could do some work around the shop. Sweeping up sawdust and stuff but the pay is good."

You nod and chew your lip. It's a nice idea. More than you deserve.

"What... what about..."

"Steve? You let me handle him. Really, he's just a dumbass. Gets carried away. Besides, sounds like he has his hands full with your mom and his wife," he scoffs, "you'll be working with me, not him."

You wiggle your foot, "I don't know..."

"It's your choice but it'll keep you busy and it could help with money problems," he puts his hand flat, "all you have to do is say yes. Oh, and obviously, whatever you decide, you got a place to stay."

You glance up at the house and frown, "I don't... what about Naomi?"

"What about her? If she comes back, same thing for her. She has a room here. I made promises and I don't break those. However she feels about me, I wasn't the one who hit the self-destruct button."

You drop your head, holding it tight as it feels ready to splinter. It's not just your hangover, it's everything else. You squeak and rub your temples with your thumbs.

"You okay?" Bucky leans forward and touches your elbow.

You lift your head gently, "yeah. I just feel awful. That I ever thought you were... bad. After everything, you won't even turn her away."

"She's lost. She's careless but she's young. I only ever wanted to help her, I was just selfish about how," he shrugs and retracts his hand, "but anyway," he stands and touches his lower back, "I think you should go inside, chill out on the couch, and watch some Netflix. I'll get you something nice and greasy to eat for that hangover."

You whimper and give a pathetic smile, "I'm sorry about that," you stand with some effort, "I don't usually drink like that--"

He laughs, "don't apologise," he waves you up the steps ahead of him, "I'm going to start being honest with you so I do need to tell you that it was really cute."

You giggle and shake your head as you reach for the front door. He's fast and extends his arm past you, opening it around you, close, so close you can feel the heat roiling off of him.

"No, it wasn't," you insist.

"It really was," he snorts as he follows you inside, "you get this pout and it's just..." he's quiet as you slip your shoes off, a lull as he weighs his words, "gorgeous."

You chuckle nervously and rub your neck. He clears his throat and toes off his sneakers. He moves around you cautiously, as if fighting not to get any closer.

"I'll go grab my phone and we'll figure out what to order," he mutters, his tone uneven, "you just make yourself at home."

🌞

You feel a bit more stable once you have a good meal in your stomach. Good being a relative term. The greasy cheeseburger and onions rings are hardly nutritious but they are satisfying.

You slurp on your diet coke as you lay with your head up against the armrest and lose yourself in the shallow drama of the reality show personalities. An argument about a dress really is compelling theatre. You put the cup down and hug the cushion to your chest, laughing as a woman storms out, tossing her wine in the process. Wow, and you thought your life was ridiculous.

You yawn and close your eyes. It's getting late. You should probably go to the guest room and try to sleep off the last of your alcoholic regret.

The end of the couch dips and your eyes snap open. Bucky sits just below your feet, tilting his head at the screen. He arches his brow as his eyes search the television. His mouth slants as he looks at you.

"So, why are these women screaming at each other?" He asks.

"Oh, uh, you can change it," you go to sit up but he firmly puts his hand on your ankle.

"No, I'm curious. Genuinely."

"Really, it's just a stupid show--"

"I want to know," he smiles and glances back at the TV, "they are really angry."

"Well, the blonde one borrowed a dress from the brunette and never gave it back but the blonde claims she did and the other woman is lying. And the other blonde is saying she saw the dress in the brunette's closet," you explain and end with a chortle, "it really is nonsense."

He keeps his hand on your ankle, his thumb rubbing through the cotton of your sock. He nods and squints, "the brunette is lying."

"Hmm? How do you know?"

"You can tell," he points with his other hand, his other slipping down your foot. "She keeps looking left."

"Oh?" You look between him and the television, overly aware of his hand. He pushes his thumb into your sole and you groan at the delightful pressure.

"You ticklish?" He wonders as he drags his thumb along your arch, "huh?"

"A little," you confess, "what are you--"

"Just... being nice," he grips your foot as you try to pull away once more, "just lay back. Everyone loves a good foot massage, don't they?"

"I... I wouldn't know," you push yourself up on your elbows and watch him knead your foot, barely withholding a moan. He knows what he's doing. "Never had one before."

"Really? Well, you got a lot of tension right... here," he poke his thumb into you and your squeal. It sends a zing up your leg. "See? I told you, you need to relax. I'm just helping." He grabs your ankle higher up and yanks, just hard enough to have you flat on your back, "sit back and enjoy, doll. You deserve it."

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier #all the good girls go to hell

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gyll-yee-haw · 4 months

Note

Your age gap writings are so good! Can you write something where the reader is in her 20s in college and Jake protects her from hate from fans or maybe one of his friends is like 'She's way too young for you and she isnt famous or trying to be famous so why are you with her???' and Jake just shuts them down

Thank you so much, babyy <3

I've got a taste for men who are older, can't help it.... 😔

Warnings: age gap, misogyny (not from Jake obv), cockwarming, pool sex, size kink, oral (f), creampie, soft!dom Jake, daddy kink, so many pet names, a hint of innocence kink

Like 3.2k words

---

It was a hot summer day. You were outside by the pool, book open in front of you as the sun burned your skin. You were finally relaxing after an exhausting semester in college.

Poor Jake, though, couldn't join you. He had a lot of things to solve about upcoming projects... you weren't complaining, you were extremely proud. And why would you even complain? Most days he worked from home. He sat with his laptop at the kitchen table, which was separated from the pool area by a glass door, that allowed him to enjoy the view of you in a bikini, living your best life. Well, you earned it, college can be really rough.

More often than not, you would tease him. Like when he was taking an important call and your bikini top would accidentally fall off... or when you (also accidentally) made eye contact with him while enjoying your popsicle a little too much... and all that would lead to him delaying his work just a little bit.

But tomorrow would be different. A few people on his team would come over for a meeting. So you told him you would just hide in the bedroom until they were finished. He insisted that the meeting shouldn't stop you from enjoying your time however you liked, but you said you preferred it that way. Not only you wouldn't feel comfortable having foreigner eyes on you, but you also didn't want to embarrass Jake... you knew by the comments you've been reading the kind of things people called you. You didn't want to give anyone any evidence that you were irresponsible or bad for his career.

So, by the time everyone arrived the next day, you were comfortably snuggling on your pillows, searching for something to watch on tv. Or some background noise for you to nap to.

Meanwhile, Jake was downstairs, discussing important things with his crew.

The meeting itself didn't take too long. But as everyone was saying goodbye, one of his oldest friends, who worked on his image's management asked him if it was okay for him to stay a little longer, so they could speak privately. Jake didn't mind and didn't think much of it... after all, they knew each other for a very long time, and would often talk about non-work related things.

"Hey, man." Jake greeted him as soon as the last person walked out. "Sit down, want something to drink?"

"No, I'm okay, I won't take too long, actually." The man replied in a very serious tone. "There's just something that a few of us been talking about and... we really didn't want to bring it up during the meeting, because it's quite delicate."

Jake's face fell. He had been so happy these last days... and the meeting was so successful, he didn't expect to have any trouble soon.

"Actually..." The man continued, as there was no response from Jake. "No one really wanted to bring it up, but... I'm your friend, am I not? I knew I had to."

"What's going on?" Jake asked, trying to get him to go straight to point, instead of explaining himself over and over again.

"It's about Y/N." He said at once. "Listen, man... I know you, I know you're in love and you're happy, but..."

"Hey, don't start." Jake felt his blood boil as he brought your name up. "I know what people say about her. But they don't know her. And neither do you."

"Jake, man..." he shook his head, hands on his waist as he tried get into Jake's head. "Come on, we all know how much shit starts with you don't know her, she's different..."

"Well, and you know that people on the internet are just waiting for opportunity to misinterpret something... at least you should know, since it's your job." Jake shrugged. "I mean... how many times did we have to deal with this?"

"Jake, I'm not talking as someone worried about your career. I know that these comments will die when they find someone else to cancel." He explained. "I'm talking as someone who's worried about you. You know how these girls are... maybe she finds a richer guy before the comments die, you know."

"Get out of my house." Jake closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to keep his voice low.

"Come on, man..."

"Get the fuck out." He repeated. "If you leave right now, you're just fired. If I have to ask again, I'll make a few phone calls just to make sure you won't be getting another job anytime soon."

"You know what?" The man raised both hands in the air and chuckled. "You do whatever you want, I'm just trying to warn you..."

The look on Jake's face made him walk through the door without saying anything else.

Jake's body felt heavy and he allowed it to fall on the sofa. His heart ached. How could anyone talk about his princess that way? People didn't know how sweet and caring and kind you were. People didn't know how happy you made him.

"Fuck it." He rolled his eyes.

He was stressed and decided to take the rest of the day off. Take the day off to enjoy your company. You relaxed him like nothing else and nobody knew shit about you.

The eager manner he opened the bedroom door made you jump.

"Sorry, baby." He spoke as he climbed up the bed, resting his head on your chest. He left out a frustrated sigh.

"Oh no, what happened?" Your arms automatically wrapped around him. He looked exhausted.

"Just had to fucking fire someone." He replied, feeling his skin crawl. It made him even more angry to remember that asshole's words now, while he was being comforted by you. "Sexist piece of shit."

"Why?" Your eyes widened. He told you it would be a simple meeting... you would never expect things to end this way.

"I don't really wanna talk about it right now." He knew that if he told you, it would ruin your day. It would hurt your feelings, you would get insecure and maybe even feel a little guilty, which you absolutely didn't deserve. "But you could make me feel better, pretty princess."

Your face visibly lit up at the possibility. And that sparkle on your eyes made Jake regret not punching that guy on the face.

"Why don't you put your bikini on, darling?" He suggested. "Wanna spend the rest of the day by the pool with you, how does that sound?"

"Really?" You smiled at him, warming up his heart. "Just you and me, no work?"

"No work." He promised, returning your smile. "Hurry up, angel. I'll be downstairs waiting for you."

You didn't waste any time. You ran to the bathroom to put on your cutest bikini. One Jake himself bought you. You loved it when looking pretty for him could solve his problems. You felt so powerful.

When you were ready, you wrapped a towel around your body and went downstairs. From the kitchen, you could see him inside the pool. His hair was wet and the way he was breathing indicated he had swam a few laps already. You bit your lip. The roles were reversed at that moment. Now you were the one who was appreciating how the sun hit his wet skin so beautifully. His breathtaking body. God, no man your age looked like that.

But his beauty wasn't all that caught your eye. He also looked so stressed. And he tried to hide it as soon as he noticed you approaching the pool.

You tossed your towel on a chair and sat on the edge of the pool, feeling the water cover the lower half of your legs. He swan closer to you and placed his hands on your knees, which you took as sign to spread your legs. As soon as you did, he stood between them and cupped your cheeks with both hands, placing a sweet kiss on your nose.

You shivered as drops of cold water rolled down his fingers through your neck.

"I love you." He said, out of nowhere. "You make me so fucking happy."

"I love you too." You smiled, placing your hands on top of his, still on your face.

His hands went to your waist and he caught how your body reacted, letting out a laugh.

"What? Water is so cold..." you felt relieved by seeing him laugh.

"It kinda is." He admitted, and you knew that look in his eyes. He had an idea. "Why don't you come here and keep me warm, huh?"

"Alright, but give me a minute." You took a deep breath.

"Take your time, baby, I'm yours all day today." He leaned down, spreading your legs a bit more so he could place little kisses on the inside of your thighs, dangerously close to what your bikinis barely covered. "In fact, I'm yours all the time. Everyday. Even when I'm not here, you're all I think about."

"Yeah?" You bit your lip, bringing your hand to the back of his head, grabbing his hair very gently.

"I do." He continued his trail of kisses as he wanted to make sure not an inch of your thighs wouldn't feel loved. "If I could have my mouth on you all day I would, princess. For the rest of my life..."

He grabbed your thighs, making you move foward a bit. Then he used two fingers to pull your bikini panties to the side before getting his tongue on you. He licked your folds up and down slowly, like he was trying to discover what you tasted like. Like he didn't have you for breakfast that very morning. And the way his tongue began to work afterwards, hungrily, in and out of your hole, indicated he liked it very much.

He used his other hand to finger you, one finger in and out slowly, until he felt he could accommodate two, and as your moans got louder, he began curling them inside of you, all while he licked and sucked on your clit with passion.

Your hips bucked against his face and you pulled his hair, trying not to fall inside the pool, since you were dangerously close to the edge.

"Jake!" you gasped loudly. "Gonna cum, gonna cum..."

His mouth was working too hard on your clit and no force in the universe could make him stop at that moment, so he wasn't really able to reply, but you took that as a sign that he really wanted you to. And you did. You screamed his name, pulling his hair hard enough to make him moan against your core. When you were finished, you had to push him away, cause he didn't want to stop.

"Please... it hurts, too sensitive..." you begged.

He separated his mouth from you, wearing an unbearably gorgeous grin. Then he removed his fingers, immediately sucking them clean.

"Taste so fucking good, baby, can't help it, want more..."

"Fuck, Jake, I..."

"It's okay, princess. Won't you join me?" He helped you fix your bikini as if nothing had happened.

"I will, turn around."

He immediately understood what you meant. He turned his back to you and you hopped on it like a koala, gasping as you felt the water involving your whole body, arms and legs wrapping tighter around Jake's body.

"Easy, baby, you'll get used to it." He chuckled, moving around the pool with you in his back.

He was right, soon enough you felt your body relax against his.

"See, I'm keeping you warm." You said, kissing his shoulder.

"Oh, sweet girl..." he laughed. "That's not what I meant."

Your eyes widened at the realization. "Oh... I'm sorry, I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid. You're my sweet, innocent little girl, aren't you?" He comforted you.

"I guess..." you felt your face grow warmer.

You untangled yourself from him, feet touching the floor. He turned around to face you.

"You're so pretty." He murmured, touching your face softly.

"Wanted to look pretty for you." You smirked. "Make you forget all your worries."

"You did it." His hand wrapped softly around your neck. "You're such a good girl for it."

"Hmm..." you started feeling him through his swimming shorts. "You're so hard."

"Yes, pretty girl. You did this." He brought his lips to yours, brushing softly as you reached inside his shorts.

His hands went to your hips and he kissed you to distract you from the fact he was getting rid of your bikini panties, then threw them somewhere outside the pool, keeping an eye contact that was enough to make you clench around nothing. He pulled his shorts down just enough to free his cock.

"Ready, baby?" He asked sweetly and you nodded. "Don't move, okay? Stay very still and relax."

You wrapped your legs around him and he entered you slowly. When he was all the way in, he stopped everything, just held you tightly.

"Just wanna relax with my pretty girl today." He said, giving your forehead a kiss. "Cock buried deep inside her, where it belongs."

It was the way he spoke the dirtiest things in the sweetest tone that always drove you crazy. That made you wanna bounce on his cock like no tomorrow. That made you moan under your breath, but he always, always heard you.

"What's wrong, princess?" He mocked.

"You're so fucking hot..." you almost cried as you watched him lift your bikini top and pinch your nipples.

"So cockdrunk and I didn't even fuck you properly." He kept playing with your tits.

"Please..." you whined.

"Y/N, it hasn't been 5 minutes." He kissed your neck. "Be patient, I thought you were a good girl... I just need a break, can't you see that?"

"I'm sorry." You moaned. "But... but you can take a break, and maybe I could move, just me?"

"Come on, you can do better than that." He laughed at how incoherent you sounded. "I know you know how to beg, baby. Just say the words, you have to be more clear."

He pinched your nipples again as he saw you hesitate.

"Jake, fuck!" You moaned in pain, feeling your pussy squeeze him. "Let me sit on your cock, PLEASE. I will be good, I promise..."

"That's better." He removed himself from you, earning protests. "Calm down, baby, I'm gonna do what you asked, unless you wanna be a brat..."

You bit your lip, to keep quiet.

He fixed his shorts and got out of the pool, signaling with his hand for you to follow him, and you did, like an obedient puppy obsessed with it's owner.

He sat on a chair, beside the pool, legs spread, waiting for you. You had to take a moment to appreciate his body again. His hairy chest, with a matching beard. He was so big... his thighs, his posture so masculine. The way he looked so intimidating, but was the softest when it came to you... he was perfect.

Soon enough you were standing between his legs. He kept eye contact with you as he got rid of your bikini top, directing his mouth to your tits as he grabbed your ass with both hands, hard enough to leave a mark.

"You're so fucking gorgeous." His voice was filled with lust as he spoke. "Gonna be a good girl and sit on my cock now?"

"Yes, fucking love your cock..." you agreed, feeling dumb as you saw it throb when he pulled it out of his pants.

"You're such a dirty girl, saying things like that... I mean, I know you love my cock, but jesus..." he mocked you with a smirk, helping your straddle him.

"Don't like it when I talk dirty, daddy?" You asked innocently.

"Fucking love it, baby, can't you see my cock throbbing? Come on, angel, make daddy cum like you promised, be good to me..."

He didn't even finish his words before you managed to get it inside of you, moaning at how good he stretched you.

You started moving up and down at a nice pace, knowing both of you were just too horny for games. Knowing that you only had the illusion of being on control because you were on top... but he could make you regret the smallest teasing.

"Fuck..." he moaned both at your movements and the sight of your tits boucing.

One of his hands cupped one of your breasts as the other one went to your hip, a sign that he wanted it harder. And you gave it to him harder.

"You're so good to me, such a pretty baby... you're gonna make me cum."

"Need you to!" You already looked and sounded like a mess, boucing on his cock as fast as you could, feeling your pussy start to squeeze him. "Need to you to cum inside, daddy..."

"Of course, baby, you deserve it, yeah?" Both his hands were now on your hips, handling you like a doll. "All of daddy's cum belongs to this pretty pussy..."

You cried out as you came again. So much harder. And he just kept thrusting hard, his thighs hitting your ass made a sound so loud you could barely hear him.

And then he came too, as deep as he could. He rested on the chair, breathing heavily and you collapsed on his chest. A few minutes of the most absolutely perfect peace he felt in days filled the air, and he breathed it in.

Not even your whines and protests when he pulled out could interrupt it, he just chuckled.

"Shhh it's okay, little one." He said sweetly. "Just wanna take care of my princess."

You accepted, feeling safe as he wrapped a towel around your body and stood up with you still in his arms. He carried you bridal style to the bedroom.

"Waaait! No!" You laughed as he tried to put you down on the bed. "We're still wet!"

"That doesn't matter, we'll change the sheets afterwards, come on..." he rolled his eyes. "Just wanna look at you for a second."

"You've been looking at me a lot these days..." you mocked him. "Watching me through that glass door, I see you pretending to work..."

"It's just hard to believe you're mine." He admited, intertwining his fingers with yours. "I'm afraid you'll disappear if I look away."

"That's right, I'm yours... and I'm not going anywhere." You promised, placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you, Jake."

You had no idea how much he needed to hear that. Of course he knew it, but having moments like this, so intimate, even more than the sex they just had, gave him strength to face all the bullshit people said about you and him. Cause in the end, this is what he was coming home to. He felt safe.

"I love you so much, my princess."

#jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal x you #jake gyllenhaal x y/n #jake gyllenhaal imagine

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larluce · 3 months

Text

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 (You're here) , PART 8

A little more of past trauma

Merlin, Arthur, Lancelot (who isn't a Knight yet) and some knights camping in the woods.

Knight 1: (hesitantly) Sire...

Knight 2: (careful) We need wood... for the fire, sire.

Arthur: (a little confused by their behavior) Pick some fallen branches then.

Knight 1: Ahm... (sweats)

Lancelot: (realising why they're so scared. Sighs) There's no fallen branches, isn’t there?

Knight 2: ... No.

Merlin: (thinking and looking at Arthur carefully) Oh, no...

Arthur: (hardens his features) search harder.

Knight 1: We searched the whole perimeter three times, sire. There are no branches, no even leafs.

Knight 2: These trees are practically naked. We need... We need to cut one down.

Arthur: No.

Merlin: Arthur...

Arthur: No. We don't need fire anyway.

Lancelot: (the only brave enough to contradict him apart from Merlin) Sire, we need to cook the meat and if we don't make fire we'll freeze to death.

Arthur looks conflicted. Merlin sighs. He appreciates what his prince is doing. He went as far to almost forbid all his knights to hunt and cut any plant, especially trees, ever again and he knows Arthur would have ban any of this practices all together in the entire kingdom if he weren't still a prince. Fortunatly, he talked him out of it, so now Arthur allows hunting only when strictly necessary. Cutting trees, however, was always out of the question. They managed to avoid it... until now.

Arthur: (pointing to a knight) Hey, you. Take off your shirt. We can use that.

Knight 1: What?! Sire, but-

Arthur: (very serious) Are you questioning me?

Merlin: Arthur (holds his hand and pulls him gently til they are apart from the rest). Arthur, it's okay.

Arthur: (almost shouting, firmly) No, Merlin! Not with this. No!

Merlin: (reassuring) It just hurts badly when they do it for fun or there's no need. Now we need it. It's fine.

Arthur: (shakes his head, anguish in his eyes) I can't make them hurt you.

Merlin: They wouldn't be really hurting me. Besides, would you rather let me die of hunger and freeze to death? (Puts a hand on his face and smiles) I'll be fine, I promise.

Arthur: (sighs) alright. (Goes to his Knights)

Lancelot: (aproaches Merlin, whispering) Can't you make some branches fall?

Merlin: (shakes his head) these branches aren't thick enough for a fireplace, and I need to get use to this. Arthur too.

Lancelot: (nods in understanding) He must love you a lot.

Merlin: (nervous) Wha-?! What do you mean?

Lancelot: Don't tell me you didn't notice. He was willing let us starve and freeze so you wouldn't feel any pain just a minute ago.

Merlin: He cares for me. I'm his friend.

Lancelot: I'm his friend too and he never looked at me the way he does to you, like you are the sun. Or use any excuse to touch me, like he might die if he doesn't have you close for more than 5 minutes.(pause) And I don't believe you're not aware of this either.

Merlin: (sighs) I don't want to get my hopes up. I'm happy with how things are. I don't want to ruin things between us. (Thinking) Not again.

Lancelot: (smiles encouringly) You don't have to confess your feelings or anything. Just try to make a move to taste the waters and you can decide what to do from there.

Arthur orders his knights to cut down the farrest tree they could find. It's useless though. No matter how far, Merlin still can feel it. Merlin doesn't scream in pain this time, but he still trembles and flinches. Arthur hugs him close through all this and somehow he ends up sitting on Arthur's lap, and hiding his face in the crook of Arthur's neck. He whimpers and whimpers in pain until he falls asleep in Arthur's arms.

Lancelot: (aproaching them) You should wake him before they come back.

Arthur: (shakes his head) He needs this.

Lancelot: If they see you like this they'll think-

Arthur: (sharply) They can think what they want.

Lancelot: (smiles softly) You don't really believe this is some medical disease, do you?

Arthur: ...

Lancelot: You know about Merlin.

Arthur: (sighs) And he told you. (thinking, a mix of angry, hurt and jealous) He told you before telling me.

Lancelot: No, but I catched him. He echanted the weapon I used to kill the griffin.

Arthur: (snorts) This idiot.

Lancelot: He was careful I'm just observant. Why haven't you told him that you know?

Arthur: I want him to tell me himself.

Lancelot: Why?

Arthur: He deserves that much. And I want to prove that he can trust me.

Lancelot: I don't think it's a matter of trust. He trusts you a lot, Arthur. I know he really wants to tell you but he just doesn't know how to. I mean, can you blame him? He's been told all his life he should hide who he is. I don't think he ever willingly told anyone. (sighs) Even outside Camelot, there's hardly a place where magic users are safe.

Arthur: (with conviction) When I'm king there will be. Camelot will welcome magic again and he won't have to hide anymore. (looking at Merlin sleeping peacefully in his arms, thinking) And this time he will be able to live it and enjoy it.

Lancelot: (to himself) I knew it was a sign.

Arthur: (confused) What?

Lancelot: I never told you why I came to the citadel.

Arthur: You wanted to become a Knight. (thinking) Though you arrived earlier than I expected.

Lancelot: That too, but I also had a dream.

Arthur: A dream?

Lancelot: I saw myself in a knight armor. There was some sort of hole or crack in the air, I don't know, everything's kind of blurry. But I do remmember clearly two faces. Faces I never saw before in my life, but in my dream they were familiar. It wasn't until I came here that I recognised them. They were yours and Merlin's. You were in my dream.

Arthur: (in shock, but composes himself quickly)... I see. And you believe that's a sign. A sign of what exactly?

Lancelot: That one day you will be the king I'll serve with honor.

Arthur: Right... Did you have another memo-I mean dream about us?

Lancelot: (shakes his head) That's all. (looks at the sky) It's getting late. I'll go look for the knights, they may need help. (thinking) And you can have some time alone.

Arthur: (stops Lancelot before he leaves) Lancelot. You said me appearing in your dream mean I'll be the king you'll serve one day. What about Merlin? What does he appearing in your dream means to you?

Lancelot: I thought it was obvious.

Arthur: What?

Lancelot: Well, every king needs a queen sire. (laughs a little and leaves before Arthur can process his words)

...

Tagging @everything-is-applepie , @iwillalwaysbearealfan , @merlinsbeard2 , @procrastinating-angels , @thecornerofbelu , @an-entity-i-think , @smileytrinity , @the-night-viewer , @tansyuduri , @fuckyeahsnackables , @stalesaltinecracker , @lucifertookmyshoe , @aceauthorcatqueen and @virgil-wannabe since you all left beautiful comments in the other parts. Thank you so much! 🤧. Please if you have any idea for this AU or want to see a moment in particular between these two or other characters, just ask. I'm just writing random moments that come to my mind 😅

#merlin bbc #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merlin fanfic #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary it's a hot summer in hawkins and you're bored. plus, your best friend eddie is very distracting. it was inevitable, really, that you'd end up messing around [4.6k]

warnings smut, 18+ only please, fem!reader, p in v sex, oral both receiving, awkward giggly best friend sex <3, fluff, clueless idiots, weird stains etc, eddie being hot and soft, less awkward more giggly part 2

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The midsummer sun toasts the back of your neck as you walk through the trailer park. By the time you're knocking at Eddie's door you feel frazzled by the heat, ducking under his arm and into the shade gratefully when he swings open the door.

"Hey, babe," your best friend says, a hint of derision in his tone.

"Yeah, hi," you say.

You beeline past the couch to the fridge, kicking open the stiff freezer door for something cold to hold to your cheek. "It's, like, a thousand degrees outside," you say, garden peas soothing your sweaty forehead.

"It wasn't much better in here 'til I opened all the windows," he agrees. "If you told me you were coming I would've picked you up."

You raise your eyebrows, laughing. "Yeah, I'm never getting in that thing again."

"It wasn't that bad."

"You almost killed us-"

"I jumped a curb," he cuts you off, waving his hand at you. "You're ridiculous."

Eddie rolls his eyes at you and you roll yours harder, following him down the narrow space into his bedroom. Even the window thrown open can't hide the smell of pot and cheap beer, though you're pleased to see he's changed his sheets. You sit down carefully, worried to disturb the notebook on his bed.

"What were you upto?" you ask, lying back.

Eddie stretches. One arm behind his back and the other pushing his elbow down, a loud click echos. His shirt rides up, a snaking snail trail of dark hair exposed.

You don't shy from looking though you won't ogle him. Your best friend has always been hot in the grungey way he is, long hair and big eyes, cool clothes, tattoos and Marlboro's and everything that had ostracised him from your peers.

You'd ended up friends because you hadn't always been attractive. In fact, you'd suffered through an awkward stage for the entirety of high school, and only now two years after your graduation do you feel any type of hot or desirable. Eddie, soft-hearted, loser weirdo Eddie has never been anything but ridiculously kind to you.

You pull up your jeans where they're slipping down, tugging your shirt from your lightly perspiring chest with a dramatic huff to fan yourself.

"I was trying to make music," he says with usual bravado, throwing himself down behind the composition book. He tucks the pen between its curling pages and shoves it across the nightstand. "But it wasn't going anywhere."

"No?" you ask, moaning under your breath as you move the frozen peas to your chest.

Eddie clears his throat. "Nah. Now you're here, anyway. Like you knew I was bored to tears."

"I'm psychic," you agree.

"Major. Summer is so fucking boring," he says.

You smile at him, turning on your cheek to take in his casual attire, his grey sweatpants and his too short shirt. He's missing his rings but his chains remain, dull silver against his white skin.

"You could study," you say lightly. "You know. Actually graduate."

Eddie smiles at you sweetly. You glare at his condescension. "They're making me do the year again, therfore making me take the classes again. I don't need to study."

You want to laugh. He does need to study, he does, but you know the difficulty doesn't lie in laziness or anything, he just has a difficult time concentrating. Every year you offer to informally tutor him and every year he declines, but not this year. You're gonna get him through high school if it's the last thing you do. And it might be, with this heat.

"We are gonna study," you say sternly. "Not today, though."

"Not today," he agrees, laughing.

He crosses his arms, hands hugging his biceps as he leans towards you. You watch his actions carefully though he's not planning any mischief, only looking down at you.

"Your eyes are all smudged up," he says.

You sigh with frustration and loll your head back. "It's 'cos it's so hot. I'm gonna freshen up," you say, standing, offering him your defrosting bag of peas.

He's not looking at the peas, you realise, but your chest. You follow his gaze, watching as a cold rivulet of melted ice runs between the valley of your boobs.

You don't comment on his watching as you leave the room. You don't really care if he looks at you like that because you know he doesn't mean anything disrespectful by it, the way your eyes tend to drift to his hands, his wrists and their stark green veins. Some things are distracting.

You clean up in the bathroom, your face, your sweaty body, sniffling from the heat. You can't stay in there long.

"It's a fucking sauna in there," you say as you emerge.

Eddie has changed positions, his legs crossed with a pillow in his lap, the stereo remote in his hands. His bracelet has fallen down from his wrist, stopped at the curve of his forearm.

You look away. Distracting, you think.

He gestures at the window, wide open, curtains blowing in the breeze. "That's how hot it was when I woke up."

You settle down next to him against the wall, box springs groaning beneath you. This close you can smell his green apple shampoo.

"You're not wearing any cologne?" you ask.

He smiles smugly. "You're sniffing me."

"You smell like shampoo," you say instead of denying it.

"Showered this morning."

You gasp and cover your mouth with your hand. "No fucking way."

"Get fucked, Y/N," he says, chuckling.

Maybe it's on your mind. Maybe it's the sheer level of comfort you feel with him, you don't know, but you fall silent at his words and drop your head into his shoulder. You spend long minutes at his side, listening to his humming, wondering what you're going to do all summer. You make a questioning sound.

He pulls it out from under you and only puts it back when you don't laugh. "What?"

You look up at him and then quickly look back down.

"What does that look mean?"

You don't decide what you're going to say so much as you feel it, the words escaping you before you can think any better of it. "Do you want to have sex?"

Eddie laughs, a nervous lilt of sound that bubbles up and hurts your feelings. You pick at your nails and he leaps to ask, "What? You're serious?"

"It's fine if you don't want to."

He waits for you to say more. When you don't, he raises his eyebrows at you. "I never said that."

You decide to be cool about it, shrugging your shoulders like this is an obvious, regular suggestion. "We're both bored. I don't know. It could be fun."

"Are you sure that's something you want?"

"You're hot."

"Thank you," he says sincerely, "but what I mean is, is that something you think we can deal with? It changes our whole dynamic." His words have that similar too-casual tone, the both of you trying to be cool.

"Doesn't have to," you argue with little heat, looking up at him from his shoulder with wide eyes.

"You don't think so?" he asks. His voice is quieter now, and he's looking down at you with a heat that quickly gives you butterflies.

"No," you say under your breath. You lick your lips and say, slightly louder, "No. It can just be fun. If it sucks we'll never do it again, and you can stop wondering what my tits look like."

"I don't wonder about that," he denies quickly, guiltily, giving himself away when his eyes flick down to your chest and dart straight back up.

"So you don't want to find out?"

He bites his lip. You wait, tilting your head just slightly and giving him your best approximation of the doe eyes girls do in movies. "It's fine if you don't want to, Eddie," you say honestly.

"I do want to."

"Yeah?"

"If it's just for fun, right? What else is there to do?" He asks, shrugging his shoulders.

You grin. This is how you find yourself kneeling in the middle of his bed as Eddie pulls the curtains closed and locks his door, your eyes following the dark mess of his curls as he tucks them behind his ears, the way his arms shift as he turns the light off now the sunlight's hidden. He pauses before he turns to you, hand held to the light switch.

You start to take your shirt off. He hears the noise and spins on his heel. Warm, worn shirt in hand, you try not to show how nervous you are as your chest settles, bared in your bra alone.

Eddie blinks. You laugh nervously and he laughs back, wavering at the end of his bed.

"You're fucking pretty," he says.

"Don't lie," you say, though you know he feels like that's true, an earnestness in his voice that shoots sparks straight down to your core. You move off of your calves and squirm onto your back. "Help me take these off," you say. Before I lose my nerve.

Eddie pulls your legs towards him with surprising strength, knocking your hands away from where they're struggling with the button on your jeans. You can't help the sound you make, a hiccup of air has he undoes the button. His fingers are warm at your waist and as they drag down your hips. You arch your back so he can work them over your thighs, one socked foot pressed to his chest. You give him a smug look, as if to say, yeah, you do that.

Ever amused with you he huffs a laugh and pulls your jeans off in one big sweep, discarding them in a crumpled heap on the ground.

You're surprised at the lack of talking between you and aim to rectify it as he climbs onto the mattress and crawls up between your legs like he knows what he's doing, pulling your thighs over his.

"This is so weird," you say. "Right? This is weird."

His hands burn where they're spread over your thighs. "It's not that weird. Do you not want to anymore? We can stop."

"No, I mean. I don't know. Maybe it's 'cos you're still dressed."

"If you want me to take my clothes off, babe, you can just ask," he drawls, smirking.

You hold your breath as he pulls his shirt over his back, exposing the smooth expanse of his chest broken up by a small crop of dark hair that leads down past his naval and disappears into his sweatpants.

His chain bobs between you as he moves to hover on top of you, a great deal of space between your chests.

"Are we kissing?" he asks.

"Do you want to kiss me?" you ask him. He doesn't answer so you shake your head. "Maybe we shouldn't. It's romantic."

He laughs in a way you don't fully understand, his hands suddenly on your waist and pushing up over your ribs to the edge of your bra, a thin silken thing that contrasts your skin nicely. Your nipples are hard, peaking through the fabric. You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed as he brings his hand up.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, waiting, your body aflame in anticipation of his touch.

He brushes the pad of his thumb over your nipple and grins when you hiss in a breath, pulling back so he can see the entirety of your chest as he takes your breasts into his big palms and massages them gently.

"Pretty underwear," he says.

"Thank you," you say, feeling small under his gaze and his ministrations.

Eddie's eyes meet yours, burned honey brown. "Is the kissing rule extended to everywhere, or just lips?"

"Do what you want, Eds."

He does. He kisses the curve of your breast and you start to feel dizzy as his teeth appear, scratching over your skin lightly. He tugs the cup down and kisses a trail to your nipple, taking the bead of it into his mouth. You push the hair from his eyes and gasp at the sensation, a riveting strike of pleasure that warms you up from the inside out.

Eddie pulls away just as quickly and mouths kisses around the damp circle, plastering pecks over the small embeddings of his teeth.

His hands work under your back and fiddle with the clasp of your bra. You hold in a comment about his clumsy fingering though you giggle to yourself.

"What's funny?" he asks in a murmur, dropping your bra unceremoniously off the side of the bed.

"Nuthin'," you sing-song.

He doesn't believe you, hands pressing over the naked expanse of your chest with a firm pressure, messing with your boobs as he goes. He covers them with two hands and brings them together.

"Having fun?"

"Always with you," he says, saccharine sweet.

His teasing sarcasm is familiar and puts you at ease, wiggling down into his squishy bedsheets with a curious look on your face.

He gets bored pretty quickly, sitting up, hands fast as he slips his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and makes to pull them off. You throw your hand out and he stops.

"Maybe I can leave them on?" you ask.

He purses his lips, looking disappointed but accepting. "Sure, if you want to stop."

"No, I don't. Just. I don't know," you refuse to say you're shy about how you look. "Can't you just pull them to the side?"

"Sure. I don't care if you haven't shaved or anything, if that's what you're worried about."

More the general idea of your cunt on display. It feels nerve-racking. "Thanks."

He softens. "Baby, don't say thanks. We said for fun, right? Doesn't matter how we do it. I want you to enjoy yourself." He sees your knowing smile and amends, "I want for both of us to enjoy it. Keep the underwear. I can take mine off though, right?"

You grin at his cheeky tone. "Go for it, hotshot."

He turns the music up before he does, which is really the last straw. How loud does he think it's going to get? Your heart beats in your chest, fast as a mouse's as he pulls down his sweatpants and exposes his boxers.

You can see the shape of him already through the fabric.

He palms his cock and reaches for your chest, massaging one of your boobs as he does. You're sick of being touched without touching, struggling up into a sitting position. "Can I…?"

He nods, looking about as nervous as you'd felt when he pulled down your bra.

Your hand trembles imperceptibly as you take his cock into your hands, stroking its length through material. You're giggling as you do, the situation alien and tummy churning. He's both harder and softer than you expected, though you feel a certain rigidness begin to grow at your touch.

You shuffle backwards and bend at the waist, careful and gentle as you pull down his boxers. His cock springs free, crowned in a trim patch of dark, curled hair, going to kiss his shaft when Eddie pushes your shoulder.

"You don't have to," he says.

You frown quizzically. "I want to. This is half the fun, right?"

He looks a little dazed as you move in, his hand moving from your shoulder to your neck as you kiss the side of his length. He twitches in your hold.

You spit into your hand and it's embarrassing. You expect Eddie to laugh and he doesn't, something unreadable on his face when you look up. His lip between his teeth, his brows furrowed, he looks handsome and dark. You pump his cock, kissing at the shaft as you go, happy when his breathing hikes and his hands find your hair. Heat grows between your legs, the very beginning of wetness.

Eddie doesn't let you play for very long. "Fuck, maybe you shouldn't. Uh. I don't think I'll last," he adds.

You plant a last kiss to the side of his head and pull away. "Sorry."

"God, don't be," he says. You've never heard him like this. So rough.

"How do we do this? Do I just…?" you flop down on your back, smiling with teeth, nervous and embarrassed and excited, super excited.

"If that's how you like it."

Awkwardness disarmed by wanting, Eddie moves into the gap between your legs and spreads them, the flat of his palm against your cunt without any dithering. "Are you ready?"

"I don't know."

"Want me to play with you?" he asks.

You feel conflicted.

He holds his cock against the stretch of his midriff and shakes his head at you. "It's okay, princess."

Princess. "Maybe you can… can play with me as you go," you suggest hopefully, coquettish.

He rubs his thumb over the bump of your clit, peering down at your covered cunt almost assessingly. His thumb dips, fingers pulling cautiously at damp fabric until you're on show.

"Fuck," he says. "Fuck, can I touch you?" And he's already touching you but to be asked is nice, and when you nod he rubs the wet circle of your entrance with two fingertips, spreading that little bit of wetness around.

He begins to push in. Your eyes flick from his actions to his face, chest heaving as he mouths, "Fuck," and palms at his throbbing cock. "You're warm."

You flush from head to toe and squirm as he works you open, spreading and curling his digits inside you, working slickness out. You're tight with nerves but slowly, slowly relaxing.

"Can we fuck now?" you ask. You're rushing through the steps because you're nervous and Eddie can't seem to decide whether he should let you, conflict clear as day in the way he presses his lips together.

"I have lube," he says, too loud.

You choke on a laugh. "You do?"

"Yeah, just," he scrambles off of the bed and pulls a tube of gel from his bedside table. And of course he fucking does, Eddie's the same motherfucker who nails handcuffs to the wall. "You wanna try it?"

He's pulled out a condom at the same time.

"Yeah," you say, smiling enough to make your cheeks ache. Eddie's answering grin is brilliant.

He rips the condom open with his teeth and you watch as he rolls it on, enchanted, breathing shallow.

His hands rub at your thighs as he spreads your half-hidden cunt open.

"I'll go slow," he says.

You nod. He squeezes a very generous amount of lube over his cock and then thinks twice, spreading it with his fingers around the shaft and then over your entrance. It contracts with the cold. Eddie groans with his lips slammed shut and moves in closer, rubbing the head of his cock up your cunt. The first contact is overwhelming.

You reach for his forearm and grip hard.

"Okay?" he asks, pausing.

"It's a mess, right? Do you have a towel or something?"

He seems endeared by your worrying, grabbing your ankles in one hand and lifting your hips from the bed to shove his discarded shirt under your weeping slit. You feel your vision go rose coloured at his small display of strength, worse when he takes a hold of your ankles in sticky fingers and encourages them over his shoulders.

He bends over you, his chain dangling between you.

The head of his cock bumps into your entrance. He readjusts, pushing with minimal pressure. Your ass pressed to his hot thighs, your ankles to his hard shoulders, your hands searching for something to hold. Eddie twines your fingers and holds your joined hands to your hip.

"You're so fucking hot," he says, grinning saliciously. "I'm gonna fill you up, okay? Ready?"

His enthusiasm is catching, a grin turning up the corners of your lips as he presses in. He stretches you out slowly, fingers flexing around your hand and the other holding you in place as he takes shallow, quick thrusts.

Lube in play, your nerves are hardly a problem and soon the only feelings are pleasure, the dizzying, goosebump-prompting feeling of being split open around him and the warmth of being this close to him clouding you up. You're surprised at how much you want to make sounds, your fast inhales slowly turning to mewling moans. Eddie makes less noise but his enjoyment is obvious, an amorous screwing to his brows and lips.

"Fuck," he groans, the word dragging with his cock, head probing emphatically at your walls.

You gasp as he bottoms out, his pelvis flush with your cunt. "Fuck," he says again. "Baby, your pussy's s'fucking tight. How's that feel? Feel good?" Then, at your shy smile, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, Eds."

Your thighs burn as he pushes in. Attentive at your clit, Eddie works you into a steady tizzy, thrusting slow and deep and moulding, looking prettier than he has any right to look as he pushes tight circles into your swollen clit.

You can't help flashing between two minds. Oh my god, I'm fucking Eddie. And oh my god, I'm fucking Eddie. Lovely, handsome, ridiculous Eddie, best friend since middle school and fellow long-term loser, nicest boy you've ever met, and why do his eyes look so big? He's so close the tops of your thighs are brushing your abdomen. You can smell that green apple tang under sex, his skin. His chain tickles you as he closes in and you think he's going to kiss you, really truly kiss you, but his face ducks down, his nose and lips on your neck.

Anywhere but the lips, you'd agreed, and now he's kissing your neck. Scraping bites and loving, sloven mouthing. A spread of damp half moons over the column of your throat, working his way up to the sweet spot below your ear.

His hips snap into yours harder than they had been and you whimper.

"Again," you demand, arms wrapped around the cape of his back, his shoulder blades moving under your hands.

"Whatever you want, princess," he promises, the pet name bathed in ire.

Snapping again, hips rolling, pleasure made all the worse by his panting into your skin and his kisses, though they grow sparse as time stretches. You feel his hips begin to flag, his fucking sloppy. The circles on your clit become loose.

"Eddie," you whisper. His pelvis is grinding hard into yours, an aching painful pleasure as he works empathically into your spongey walls.

"How's that feel? Fucking full of me, aren't you?" he asks.

"Feels good, it-" you gasp as he pulls out and strikes in, the head of his cock going deep. You feel a rush of heat behind your eyes almost close to tears as he finds somewhere you didn't know he could find.

"What was that?" he asks, laughing, teasing. "Did you hear that sound you just made?"

One of your hands falls down his back, pulling, hoping to spur him into a crueler rhythm. "Eddie, it's so deep."

Something about your wet eyes, your pleading tone really gets him. A wave of shuddering moves over his skin and he pulls you by the shoulders into his chest, mouth at your neck muttering curses. You cry out as he hits your sweet spot again, merciless, hardly recovered from one thrust when you're suffering another. You're a wet mess of whimpering, his name and nothing else on your lips.

"I'm…" He takes a deep breath, sounding apologetic. "I'm close, babe, I'm," he cuts himself, slowing his movements.

"It's okay, it's okay." You want to say something sexy like a bombshell would but all you can do is squeeze your walls around his cock and pull his hair from his neck and whisper, "You can cum. Please."

"Shit," he moans, hands tight on your hips, rocking you against his rutting cock until he's cumming. You'd pay more than you should for the sound on tape.

His grip on your hips is bruising as he sits up. "Fuck," he says, voice coloured with good humour. You laugh at his laughing, the two of you giggling and breathing hard. He lets go of your hips, stroking his hand against the markings left behind.

"Babe, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" he asks, eyes shooting upto yours.

You're failing to hide an amorous smile, breathing hard. "No, you didn't hurt me," you say fondly.

"Shit."

He pulls your legs off of his shoulders and they ache as he folds them up, resting his chin on your knees and pulling the dampened hair away from his sweaty forehead.

"You have the mouth of a sailor, Eddie."

He rubs his cheek against your kneecap. "Can you blame me? Sweetest pussy I've ever fucking seen-"

"You've barely seen it!"

"Fucked, then," he amends.

His hands are like silk as he follows down your thighs and spreads them open. You cover the flesh of your tummy with your hands as he pulls out and tugs the condom off of his softening dick. He ties it off, aiming for the trash can in the corner and missing.

You cringe. "Eds."

"I'll get it later," he says distractedly, staring down at the wet mess of your panties. "Babe, you've seen the jewels. Can we please have these off and I'll take care of you?"

Your legs close as you slide your knee against your thigh coyly. "Care sounds like I'm sick."

"You are sick. Sick body, sick smile, sick little sounds," he teases. "Sick cunt."

You wrinkle your nose and glare at him, giggling as he pulls your legs back open and his fingers dig under your waistband again.

"Don't fucking swear," you scold.

"Please?" he asks, ignoring your admonishment.

His hands are paused and patient. Your chest rises as you inhale, falls as you let it out slowly.

"Okay. Yeah. It's only fair."

Your bravado pleases him endlessly. "Attagirl," he says, pulling your panties down until they hang off of one ankle. You wiggle your foot to make them slide past your sock, Eddie too distracted by your bare centre.

"You're a total jerk for hiding this from me," he says, the flat of his palm smoothing down the edge of your cunt, his thumb pulling your entrance open just slightly. "You think I wonder about your boobs? I fucking did, but your pussy?"

You flush white hot at his words. "Does it… meet your expectations?"

He bursts into boyish laughter between your legs until you're giggling too, the giggles quickly tapering into breathlessness as his lips touch your skin. Close-lipped kisses up the inside of your thigh until he's loving on your cunt. He rubs at your entrance before easing you open, middle and ring finger pushing in with his wrist turned up as he suckles your clit. You reach for his hair, scratching his scalp gently as you scrape messy curls from his face.

He makes up for any inaccuracy with ardency. You twitch beneath him, hips rolling in an attempt to draw him impossibly closer.

"I got you," he murmurs into your sticky skin. He nibbles lightly at your clit, pulls until it slips from between his lips. "Wanna feel you cum around my fingers."

You seize up, thighs tightening. "Eds-"

He shushes you, three quick sh sh sh's that make you wanna pinch him. His pinky and index finger slide against the wet skin between your cunt and thighs as he finger fucks you, curving into your sweet spot as his mouth works you over. You're pent up from the fuck and he knows what he's doing, and you can't help pulling his hair as you cum around his fingers, clamping down hard.

He plays a little longer but eases up when you cry out, the bottom of his face shining with dampness as he pulls away.

He wipes the mess away with the back of his hand. "You taste sweet. But that might've been the lube."

You splutter around a breathless laugh and tug him on top of you, bodies pressed together and sweaty. His weight is nice.

"That was fun, right?" he asks, hands at your neck, elbows digging into your naked chest as his face hovers above yours. If you didn't know him as well as you did you'd miss the tiny silver of worry.

"So fun. I have amazing ideas," you agree, panting.

"Amazing."

There's a gap of silence where you catch your breath and Eddie watches.

"How's the dynamic? Changed?" he asks lightly, fingers tapping over your collar like he's playing a song.

"Irrevocably."

You wrap one of his curls around your finger and indulge yourself, eye to eye, lips an inch apart.

"Do you wanna do it again?" he asks.

You pretend to think about it. "Yeah."

He gives you that perfect puppy dog smile and kisses your cheek, a wet, smacking thing as he climbs off of you and pulls you into his lap. You haven't quite decided, but you think you might let him kiss you on the mouth if he wanted to.

they get better at fucking I swear

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