#not scarring for once of course 🥰 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yearning-for-autumn · 4 months

Note

So, here is my humble request 👀:

Reader is afab Illyrian, got her wings clipped (because we hate this tradition that’s why and because I am too much into enemies to lovers) and the Bat Boys consider her something close to a little sister.

When Eris was making a deal with the NC to get their help to kill Beron and that shit, his bond snapped with reader.

Obviously problematic for him because he has been insulting Illyrians since his mom popped him out about 500+ years ago.

So…bonus points for: smut obvs.- go as filthy as you like, Lucien absolutely mocking Eris for FUMBLING desperately to get his charm going, reader being oblivious.

I hope this sparks some ideas and creativity 🥰🤞🏻

Would That I -- Part 1

A/n: This was too good not to make into a multi-part fic, so expect more soon. Smut will be coming!

Pairing: Eris X Illyrian!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to smut, pining, mentions of mental health

Word Count: 3,638

Summary: You hate him. You hate the very thought of him. And yet he's your mate. The Mother has a cruel sense of humour.

Part 2 Part 3

Fury rippled through your body like a forest fire. You were livid. And Cassian had the nerve to laugh at you. Well, stifle a laugh. Rhysand was watching him with a worried look as he tried to give him a silent warning to stop. This progressed to warning him mind to mind when you got up from the sofa, flinging a pillow so far it almost landed into the fireplace. Azriel flinched.

“Him!?” You seethed, finally breaking the silence you had kept since your return from that damned High Lord meeting. Cassian snorted softly and you rounded on him with a deathly calm. Rhys made a small noise in the back of his throat.

“Is this funny to you, brother? I’m shackled to that evil, pompous, ginger-haired freak and you’re laughing?” His smile had dropped and a look of fear was quickly overcoming his rugged features. You stepped closer to him, your finger in his face. “Don’t sleep too deeply tonight.”

Rhysand cleared his throat.

“Look, this doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to accept the bond. We can make sure you never see him again.” The bond snarled through you at that and you growled.

“Sure Rhys, because you were so calm when you found out Feyre was your mate.”

His brow furrowed.

“So you want to be with Eris?” The name seemed to physically disgust him. Azriel scoffed, abruptly rising from the sofa and marching out of the room. Cassian eyed the doorway in his wake. You turned to Rhys.

“No!” You groaned in frustration, pacing up and down on the carpet like a caged animal. Cassian’s eyes darted between Rhys and you. Finally deciding to break things up he manhandled you into a hug. You fought it for a few moments, before giving up and collapsing into your brothers embrace, hot angry sobs wrenching through you. Rhys took this as his cue to leave, and winnowed—probably to his office—out of the room. Cassian rubbed soothing circles on your back, careful to avoid your wings that were ever more sensitive after the clipping.

You were clipped at thirteen, which is how you had come to live with the three brothers. In Windhaven, they clipped your wings the day you started your cycle. Once grounded there was no escaping your duties, nor any chance to leave the camp. Unless, of course, you had grown close with the High Lord’s son, who had a mother with a habit of collecting strays.

You were there through all of it, the highs, the lows, and Morrigan’s tumultuous relationship with one Eris Vanserra. The male you were now mated to.

---

In the Forest House, Eris was pacing. His throat was still sore from the memory of Azriel’s scarred hand, and his cheek burned from the slap that had earned him from his father. But all of that had been overshadowed. He knew as soon as he saw you. His heart had lurched in his chest so hard he had thought he might throw up. You were the most beautiful female he had ever laid his eyes on. And of course, you were from the Night Court. The Mother truly did have a cruel sense of humour.

You had walked in, looking as arrogant as the rest of them, sharing a secret smile with the shadowsinger before sitting down next to the High Lord. Eris, next to his mother, couldn’t rip his eyes from you. Your doe eyes, sharp and intelligent captured his attention first. He wanted nothing more than to get lost in them, to find out everything about you: What you liked to read, your favourite food, how best to pleasure you and have you screaming his name. He was pulled from his fantasies by your wings. Cauldron, your magnificent wings. Their beauty stole breath from his lungs as they unfurled, getting comfortable on the chair. You had smiled at Feyre, warm and supportive, and Eris knew he was utterly lost.

He finally stopped his pacing, locked inside his room, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He sat there, holding his head in his hands until he heard the scratch of claws at the door. Getting up with a weary sigh, he opened it only to be knocked to the ground by his oldest and most loyal smokehound.

“Cheddar.” He chided as she licked his face excitedly. “Cheddar Biscuit.” He said, sternly, and she leapt off of him, waiting by the door expectantly.

“Yes alright, I suppose it’s time for a walk.” Cheddars tail thumped faster against the door frame and Eris couldn’t help the smile that grew. “Go and fetch your brothers and sisters then.” He said, grabbing the leashes off the wall. A walk was one way to clear his mind.

---

As you had predicted, Rhys was holed up in his office when you went looking for him. He barely looked up at you as you entered.

Rhysand’s office was always meticulously organised, but as you came up behind his chair you noticed how messy his desk had become. Letters and notes were piled on every inch of space, his childhood stuffed bat sitting atop one pile as a makeshift paperweight.

He loosed a breath.

“We are going to war, Y/n.” He said quietly, and any thoughts of Eris Vanserra eddied from your mind. Rhys looked up at you with bloodshot eyes. Guilt coursed through you for ever caring about something as trivial as a mating bond when you and your brothers were set for battle. You had only just got Rhys back from under the mountain, only to potentially lose him again.

“Is it certain?” You asked, leaning down to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Is Cass--?”

“Leaving for Windhaven by first light.” He answered.

“Ok.”

Rhys turned, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He knew what you were thinking, though you wished you weren’t.

“Eris is an awful male, Y/n. You know I could never support the bond between you. Azriel is...well, I’m sure you already know.”

You did. The moment he had stormed out of the room you had known this was the beginning of a negative spiral for Az. Not to mention the upcoming war. You stood up straight.

“That being said.” Rhys continued. “Eris is ensuring Autumn allies with us against Hybern. There is a certain political advantage to the match.”

You scoff.

“Like there was with Mor?” Rhys turned green. “What did Eris bargain for in return for Autumn’s support? What did you trade away, Rhys?”

Rhysand looked every bit five centuries old when he turned to you.

“Our support in his bid for the throne. Whenever that may be.”

Hatred for the male burst anew in your gut, fiercer still now that you were mated to him.

“That power hungry bastard.” You spat.

Rhysand sighed.

“He could never deserve you, starlight. I will make sure that he never sees you again. I will not lose another sister.”

---

It wasn’t until midnight that you saw Azriel. The last of your brothers to approach you. He let himself into your room, waking you, tattered blanket draped around his shoulders. Rhys’ mother had sewn it for him years ago, before you had come to live with them. It had helped him through many hard nights. So much so that it was threadbare and faded. Rhys had enchanted it not to break further as a solstice gift one year.

You sat up worried.

“Az? Are you ok? You didn’t—”

“No,” He assured, and you relaxed against the pillows, “I’m ok.”

You shuffled over in your bed to make space for him, and he laid next to you, blanket over the both of you.

“I hate him.” He said into the darkness. “I hate what he did to Mor. I hate everything he stands for. I will not let him have you.” He declared.

You snuggled up to your eldest brother.

“I don’t know why you all seem convinced I’m going to somehow fall for this prick.” You said, and he snorted. “I hate him as much as you do.”

Azriel tucked you under his arm.

“I know.” You smiled tiredly, somehow understanding the words Azriel left unsaid. The words Rhys had been able to express. Azriel’s shadows settled over your heart, confirming, and the two of you fell asleep.

---

Months later, Eris sat in a tent, head between his legs to stop from throwing up. Thousands were dead. Thousands more were surely destined to die. Two of his brothers, and his mate, fought on the battlefield.

He only had a moments warning before he was violently sick into a bucket.

Asher, his youngest brother before Lucien, chose this moment to enter his tent unannounced, scowling at the sight of Eris hunched over and retching.

“Can’t handle the bloodshed, brother?” He teased, though he sat next to Eris and put a warm hand on his shoulder. The gaping wound on his neck was healing quickly, as it should with the High Lords power coursing through his veins, but the sight of it set Eris off again. He heaved into the bucket, choosing to ignore the gagging sound Asher made.

“Eris you need to pull yourself together. Father is only a tent over.”

Eris rolled his eyes.

“Just show me your plans, Ash.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m better off keeping them to myself, seeing as you’re battlesick.” Asher grimaced when Eris finally sat up and pushed the bucket away from him.

“Asher.” Eris’ voice held all the command of General, and eldest brother. Asher groaned petulantly as he handed over the plans.

In Eris’ opinion, not that Beron took any heed, Asher should never have taken on as much responsibility in this war. After Ceres had died, Ash had taken over as Eris’ right hand. Ceres had been more naturally suited to the role, Beron’s bloodlust had run as deep as his bones, and he had a sharp mind for strategy. Eris still mourned the boy he had raised—a quick witted, chess loving, boisterous child—but he had to accept, he had lost Ceres long before he had died. And Eris wasn’t keen on losing anyone else. Asher wasn’t comfortable with a sword, the gash in his neck clear evidence, and he had a wife and child that weakened his resolve. This is what Eris had to work with. And he had a job to do.

He let Asher discuss his plans, though he was unable to rip his mind from providing a hundred different ways that he could die, that Ash or Lucien could die, that you could die.

It took every ounce of training ingrained in him not to falter in his attack the moment he had caught sight of you, fighting your way through the onslaught, Mor by your side. Cauldron, you were ethereal. Your silken wings were spread as if they could carry you into the air, though he had long since guessed that they could not. You cut through your enemies with a frightening ease. Catching his eye, you hesitated just a second, then your face had turned to rage and the next Hybern soldier to cross your path had been beheaded so brutally that even he had to avert his gaze.

When he had looked back up, you were gone, lost in the chaos.

Asher sighed,

“You’re not listening.” He said, and Eris had the decency to feel bad. He looked at Ash wearily.

“Come back in the morning. I’ll be more attentive.” Ash just peered at him over his notes.

“It’s her isn’t it. It’s Y/n.”

“Yes.” Eris said, lacking the energy to lie.

“She’s Night Court. She’s not one of us. One day you’ll find a nice Autumn girl to marry and when you’re High Lord she can pop out a few Autumn court babies.”

“She is my mate.” Eris growled.

“Mate’s aren’t always meant to be Eris. It’s only a biological match, not a political one. When you find an Autumn Court lady you’ll wonder why you ever spent time worrying over some Night Court harlot.” Eris snarled, despite himself. His brothers words were wrenched straight from Beron’s throat and he wouldn’t stand for it. Not from Asher. Not from his kind, loving Ash.

“Get out.” He said. Asher looked surprised, and—Eris was pleased to see—ashamed. He made no moves to leave, so Eris repeated himself, sharper this time.

“Get out.” He snapped, “Come back in the morning with more sense.”

Asher, chastised, fled from the tent, and Eris buried his head in his hands. What use was there protecting you from his brothers when it was certain your own said the same about him. There was no denying the cruel twist of fate the Mother had pulled on the both of you, destined to crash and burn. He imagined you in your own tent, laughing at the thought of him speared on another males sword. Mor sat next to you whispering all the terrible things he had done that day, terrible things to twist your mind and poison the very notion of him. He was too late, he was nothing but soot in the deep pit of your heart, choking the both of you.

He felt blindly for the bond, and found it, rotten.

---

The war was over, but the scars it had left were red raw and bleeding. Rhys had died. Your brother. The one who had sheltered you, loved you, given you a home and a family for a few agonising minutes had been gone. Gone. And yet that Cauldron damned bond had been chafing in the back of your mind. You sat in your bedroom riddled with guilt as it plagued your mind. Eris. Eris. Eris. He infested your mind, your senses, you were consumed by the very thought of him.

Walking through the streets of Velaris had started to feel claustrophobic, being around anyone beginning to suffocate you. You felt safer on your own. Recently you had taken to sheltering in your room, only emerging to eat. Your brothers eyed you with poorly concealed worry every time you walked, ghostlike, through the house, shuffling to the kitchen to fix a plate of leftovers then retreat hastily to your safe space.

Nesta was struggling too, after the war. It had left its scars in all of you. You could feel Cassian’s heart breaking the day Rhys sent her away with him, but all you could think about was whether your brother would do that to you. You thought you knew the looks he gave you.

Disgust.

What use was a flightless Illyrian female, who couldn’t train, couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. He was dead. Rhys was dead. And then he wasn’t. Why were Seren and your mother not afforded the same luxury. You grieved, and cried, and screamed. It truly was a sick thing, to use to the miracle of Rhys’ living to guilt yourself into believing there was hope for them. But then, everything in your mind had twisted of late.

Nesta began training. Nesta began healing. And you were stuck in your room.

Every morning without fail, Azriel came to check on you. He stroked your hair until you woke up, then retreated when you once again rejected his invitations to join them. The Valkyries, they were calling themselves. You would have been proud of Nesta if you could feel anything anymore.

Occasionally, you could feel a light tug on the bond, on the shackles that kept you bound to Eris. The first few times you had thrown up. Now it was little more than an annoyance. You were his dog, disobediently pulling your leash as you fell further and further into nothingness. His face in your mind was as cold as it had been on the battlefield as he yanked you back, choking you. You spluttered. Standing weakly, you made your way down to the kitchen, setting water on the stove to boil.

“Sister.” Cassian’s voice rang out behind you and you flinched, dropping your teaspoon. He bent to pick it up and set it down on the counter. “Azriel says you’ve been ignoring him. You’ve been ignoring all of us.”

You shrugged, the familiar pang of guilt squeezing your chest, making it difficult to breath. You braced both hands on the counter top, taking a ragged breath. Cassian was beside you in a heartbeat, holding you in his arms.

“Y/n, I’m worried about you. We all are.” He squeezed you closer to him, closer than you had allowed anyone in months. “Come and stay with Nes and I. Az is a terrible chaperone, and I need to see you. You could be wasting away down here and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

You shook your head, though you no longer knew why you resisted him. Your body melted against him, muscle memory taking over as he enveloped you in his wings. You swore you heard him sniffling as you hugged him back.

“Please, y/n.” He said, voice shaking. It didn’t take much more convincing.

A few days later, Rhys was helping you unpack your bags in your new room in the House of Wind. You took the room next to Azriel, who—Cassian had explained—was falling into bad habits again: Not eating, not sleeping, waking up in a cold sweat when he did finally drop off. Cassian wasn’t doing as well as he wanted you to believe, either. Twice in the following week you woke up to find him taking things from your room. And once, when you had floated downstairs in a miserable haze, you found him throwing up in the kitchen sink, an empty plate that had once held a batch of Elain’s cookies sitting on the table.

Nesta had dragged you to Valkyrie training a few times, and whilst you were beyond their current skill level, it had taken your mind off of things. Cassian’s eyes gleamed with pride everytime Nesta mastered an attack or a block. He touched her affectionately, he teased her, he lingered as she passed to breath in her scent. Watching them together was as painful as it was sweet. How simple love could be.

Would that you could be half as lucky.

Slowly you were emerging from your shell. You could smile again. Nesta invited you to read with her and the Valkyries, and in the silence you found firm friendship. Emerie was a gift from the Mother herself. You bonded instantly, both of you clipped, grounded, but neither broken. Many late nights were spent talking, about books, your brothers, or about Eris. Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn knew little of the Autumn prince, but you appreciated their outside perspective on the bond. It was still a bitter taste in your mouth, but it was becoming more bearable with each passing week.

---

There was a ball approaching in the Hewn City and Rhys had asked Nesta to attend. Not long after, she asked you to join her.

“I can’t do this alone, Y/n, please.” She said one night, sitting at the end of your bed. You bit your lip, unsure.

“Eris will be there.” You said.

“I’ll be the one dancing with him. Rhys wants him falling madly in love with me. He won’t look your way, I promise.” Nesta said. You knew she meant well by that. You had never wanted him anywhere near you before. But something about her oath left a sting. You frowned, which she took to mean you were still unconvinced.

“Please, Y/n. My sisters will be there, Rhys will be there. I’m not ready to face them all on my own, not yet.”

And so you found yourself stood atop the stairs the following week, draped in a black dress with a slit so high up one side your whole leg was practically exposed. The back scooped so low the dimples at the bottom of your spine peeked over top. You were devastating. Death in midnight silk. Rhys’ smile was that of pure brotherly pride as you walked down the steps, your hair pinned in braids and curls.

Nesta stole your breath away as she appeared in the hallway, but it wasn’t your gaze she sought out. You looked towards Cassian and could have sworn he was drooling. Eris would be blind-sided by her, of that you had no doubt.

In the Hewn City, they danced like lovers. Nesta as dangerous in the ballroom as she had become on the training grounds. Every move was calculated, every parting of her lips a dance of the mind, designed to ensnare Eris in her dastardly web. Eris was caught. And you burned.

Standing next to Azriel, heat rolled off you in waves. He took a step towards you, perhaps to offer you a drink, but found something in your eyes to make him change his mind. You hadn’t taken your eyes off of Eris all night. He was sinful. A courtier and a Prince. His hair pooled over his shoulders, one strand to the front neatly braided. You reminded yourself that this was the male that left your cousin for dead at his Court border. Biting your lip, your mind wandered to see yourself lying prone beneath him as he stood, smile widening, cock hardening in his—

“Get me a drink.” You ordered Az. He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s the magic word.”

“Azriel.” You growled, and he turned on his heel. Your eyes stayed pinned on Eris as he led Nesta across the dancefloor in a tantalizing waltz. His gaze finally met yours, and you saw a fraction of surprise before his emerald eyes darkened. He licked his lips, eyes locked with yours as he leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Nesta’s neck.

A/N: I have to thank @fandomsmultiverse for talking to me and giving me about 100 ideas to flesh this story out, I really hope you like it! There will be a part 2 coming soon! I wouldn't just leave you on a cliffhanger like that. We will see more of Eris and Reader interacting, and maybe.....some smut...

2K notes · View notes

sagesolsticewrites · 3 months

Text

Welcome Home

Rosie finally returns home after his second tour, and you take the opportunity to show him exactly how much you missed him

Special thanks to my bestie @winniemaywebber for making a whole playlist for this fic??? What??? What in the world did I do to deserve such wonderful friends 😭

Warnings: mature content (oral (f receiving), PinV penetration), some dom/sub dynamics if you squint (Rosie’s switchyyyy in this 🥰), swearing, mentions of scars/wounds, historical inaccuracies (18+! minors begone!)

Word count: 1.8k!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Masterlist

You wait anxiously on the train platform, amongst a hundred other wives and mothers and friends waiting for their loved ones’ safe return.

When Rosie had told you that he was re-enlisting after his first tour… a thousand emotions had run through you at once. Terror. Disbelief. Pride. Of course your Robert wouldn’t be satisfied until the job was finished.

And now it was. Germany had surrendered, and Rosie was finally coming home to you.

There was a hiss and a squeal as the long-awaited train pulled to a stop, and then a cacophony of shouting and joyous cheers as loved ones called to each other.

You scan the sea of joyful reunions, searching for a familiar head of curls.

A shout of your name makes you turn your head, and there he is.

Eyes sparkling, mustache neatly groomed, looking as handsome as ever in his dress uniform, stood Rosie.

Your feet carry you to him as if they have a mind of their own, and Rosie fights through the crowd to meet you halfway, catching you as you launch yourself into his arms.

You laugh in disbelief— he’s here, holding you, he’s real— as you urgently press your lips to his, the tears you’ve been trying to hold back spilling over your cheeks.

You pull away just enough to catch your breath, noses pressed together, lips brushing as you murmur soft, hurried greetings of “welcome home, baby,” “missed you so much,” “so, so proud of you.”

After what feels like an eternity of being back in his arms, lips locked in a passionate kiss, Rosie pulls away just slightly.

“Take me home, honey pie,” he murmurs, and you nod eagerly.

You let out a yelp of surprise as, rather than setting you down to lead you out to the car, Rosie simply turns and carries you out to the lot with you securely in his arms.

He pulls you in for yet another urgent kiss when he sets you down as you arrive at the car, and the promise of more sparking in his eyes has you speeding to your Brooklyn apartment.

It’s difficult to unlock the door with his lips attacking your neck, never mind his wandering hands, but you manage it, and close it quickly behind you as Rosie wastes no time in leading you to your bedroom.

“I missed you,” he murmurs between kisses, pulling you flush against him, his hands resting low on your waist, “so much, honey.”

“Missed you,” you whimper, fumbling with the buttons as you make quick work of tossing his jacket off to some corner of your room as he does the same to your dress.

He catches on quickly, yanking off his tie and drab olive shirt, leaving him just in his slacks as he walks you backwards, leaving a trail of hot kisses all down your neck.

“Been dreaming about this for so long,” he mumbles against your skin, “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna do to you when I got home.”

You shiver as he lays you down gently on the bed, his fingertips tracing the satin edges of your brassiere.

“Want me to show you?”

His voice is hoarse and raspy against your ear, making goosebumps appear all over you.

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands wandering over his exposed skin for the first time in far too long, “Please.”

You feel him grin against your skin as his mouth attacks your neck, making your back arch off the bed.

Once your neck has been thoroughly kissed, sucked, and nipped into submission, he steps back to admire his handiwork.

You let his gaze linger on you until you can’t stand it and lift one leg to nudge him into doing something, your breath hitching when he grabs your ankle, his eyes darkening.

A glint in his eye, he bends down to brush a kiss to your ankle, your calf, your knee… he kisses his way up your leg, making you whine when he avoids your increasingly damp core in favor of continuing his path up to your hipbone. He stops to scatter kisses all along your stomach before mouthing at the valley between your breasts as he makes quick work of your brassiere.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” he says, one hand coming up to cup your breast reverently, “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, trailing his lips to wrap around your nipple and suck.

His name leaves your mouth in a cry as he swirls his tongue around your peaked bud, pulling away with a pop to turn his attention to your other breast.

Your hand buries itself in his curls as he pulls away once more, tugging him up for a kiss. His tongue meets yours as you moan into his mouth, grinding up into him with a whine in an attempt to ease the pressure in your core.

“I gotcha, honey, I gotcha,” he breathes against your lips, his searing blue gaze locking on yours as his mouth follows a trail down, down, down to the waistband of your panties.

“Robbie,” you whine, the old nickname tumbling from your lips as he digs his teeth softly into the flesh above your waistband, gently easing your underwear off.

“Oh, honey,” he gasps, taking in your damp core, “When I tell you I’ve been dreaming about this for so long…”

Before you can grind out an impatient stop talking, his mouth is on you.

You moan, long and loud, as he licks deep through your folds, his nose at the perfect angle to add just the right amount of pressure to your clit.

“Shit, darling,” he groans as he licks and sucks at your core, the vibrations making your toes curl, “Taste even better than I remembered, fuck—”

Unable to keep eye contact, your head falls back against the bed with a choked whine, your hands finding their way down to grip at Robert’s curls.

Each talented movement of his tongue brings you closer to release, that string of tension in your belly growing tighter and tighter.

Robert’s tongue brushes a very particular spot inside you that has you gasping for air, giving his curls a particularly aggressive yank, which in turn causes him to growl against you— and that’s the moment that the string snaps and sends you over the edge.

You feel Robert’s mouth move frantically against you as you ride out your orgasm, his mouth and mustache damp with your release as he pulls away, brushing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about doing that, honey,” he says, kissing his way back up to your mouth, “But none of them came close to the real thing.”

You smile into the kiss before he pulls away, hovering over you.

You take the chance to scan over Rosie’s body, tracing the lines and curves of him with your fingertips, taking in the scars and scrapes and bruises.

He freezes above you, avoiding your eyes as you try to meet his gaze, concerned.

Eventually, you realize what he’s having difficulty with.

“Robbie,” you say softly, cupping his cheek so his eyes meet yours once more, “You’re beautiful. These scars don’t change that. And I know you may not believe me right now—” you begin to brush featherlight kisses to the scrapes and bruises decorating his face and neck, “— but I’ll keep reminding you every day until you do.”

At his unconvinced nod, you take a chance. You leverage your weight and flip so that you’re now the one hovering over him.

“These scars—” you say between gentle kisses to each and every mark decorating his skin, “are a reminder to you and everyone who knows you that you’re a fighter. You— you stayed, honey, you did what you knew was right and saw it through to the end and even though I was absolutely terrified of losing you—” you inhale shakily as some of the fear you’d felt over the past few months seeps into your voice before you collect yourself, “I couldn’t be prouder. My brave, brave boy.”

You capture his lips in a tender yet heated kiss, and he melts against you, one hand moving up to fist into your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer.

You slowly begin to grind against him, your bare skin gliding deliciously against the fabric of his slacks covering the bulge at the apex of his thighs.

“Sweetheart, I—” he gasps desperately into your mouth, “shit, I need to be inside you. Lemme show my girl how much I missed her, please—”

You moan, the sound swallowed by his mouth as you fumble with his belt, Rosie wriggling out of his slacks and boxers impatiently.

You can’t resist grinding against him a few times, his breath catching at the feeling of your damp folds gliding against his bare cock.

“Honey,” he whines, burying his face in your neck, “Quit teasing, please, waited so long for this, lemme fuck you, please—”

You relent, nearly as unable to stand your own teasing as he is. Your breaths mingle as he positions himself at your entrance and you slowly, slowly, sink down onto him, biting back a stuttering moan as you stretch around him.

“Oh sweetheart,” Rosie groans, pretty blue eyes fluttering shut, “Fuck— you feel so good, honey, so tight—”

You whine at the praise, slowly rocking in his lap as you adjust to his size, gradually moving up and down his length at a toe-curlingly slow pace.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he gasps into your mouth, gripping at your hips in a futile attempt to speed you up, “Shit, you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

An entirely too innocent giggle escapes you as you continue to ride him agonizingly slowly, teasing yourself as much as him.

After several minutes of teasing, Robert’s soft pleading only adding to the growing tension in your core — “waited so long for this, honey, please, please don’t make me wait any longer,”— your breathing becomes heavy. Robert’s hands wander over every inch of you, leaving trails of fire as you finally, finally, speed up in earnest.

“Robbie,” you gasp, “Missed this so much, baby, missed you—”

“Missed you more, sweet girl,” he breathes, burying his face in your neck to muffle the stuttering moan that escapes him, “F-fuck, ‘m gonna—”

“C’mon, baby, please,” you breathe into his ear, fisting his curls as you feel your orgasm building, “‘M right there, please, Robbie…”

His fingers dig into your skin, groaning your name, hips stuttering as he spills into you, your release following almost immediately after.

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, Robert letting out a soft whine as you carefully lift yourself off of him.

“I’m so, so happy you’re home, honey,” you whisper breathlessly as you curl up next to him on the bed, fingertips tracing his jaw, pulling him close so your noses brush, “I love you.”

“I love you more, honey pie,” comes Rosie’s soft reply, grinning against your lips as he pulls you in for a long, sweet kiss.

#rosie rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #mota #masters of the air #rosie rosenthal x reader #robert rosenthal x reader #masters of the air x reader #rosie rosenthal smut #masters of the air smut #my writing

179 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 8: I Just Need A Stronger Dose]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), angsttttttttttt!

Both the series and chapter titles are lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.9k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

“What’s it about?” Aegon purrs in your ear, his ivory-and-red scarred arms circling around your waist, his fingers lacing over the lowest part of your belly, kindling heat and hunger that he draws out of your bones like water from a well, his ring of gold wings and jade eyes glinting in the sunlight that pours in through the library windows.

Smiling, you turn a page in the archaic, dusty book that’s cradled in your arms. It’s not on a subject you’ve ever seen before; of course it would only be here, where the Targaryens once worshiped their own gods and practiced rituals of fire and blood, that the occult would not be torn up and discarded like weeds. “Witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?!” Aegon feigns being scandalized as he kisses your neck, soft lips and seeking hands. He’s been out in the courtyard sparring with a guard; he smells like salt and wine and rose oil and the ocean. “I do hope you don’t turn out to be an unrepentant sinner. I’d hate to have to burn you.”

“We’d match then.” You turn another page, sketches of different types of sage, dark forbidden recipes that promise to hurt or heal or protect. “I can’t say I am persuaded by the more mystical elements. But there are some interesting insights into herbology, I think.”

“You don’t believe in magic?” Aegon muses, pulling up the skirts of your pale, ashy blue gown, his palms on your bare thighs. His lips curl mischieviously against your throat. “You reside on an island of dragons, in an oppressively gloomy castle built by spellcasters, and you don’t believe in magic?”

“You have it, perhaps,” you say. “Your family. Your house. I don’t believe in it as something that is real to the rest of us.”

“Don’t the Celtigars claim to possess a trumpet that summons a sea monster or something?”

“A horn,” you say, amused. “To wake krakens. And yet as much as my father enjoys boasting about it, he’s in no hurry to prove its efficacy, is he?”

Aegon turns your face to his and kisses you with a fierce, greedy hunger. “You’re magic,” he says as his hands move to loosen the laces of your gown. “You heal people. You bring them back from the dead.”

You’ve forgotten the book entirely. It tumbles out of your grasp. As Aegon tugs off your gown and it falls with a rustle to the stone floor, you reach back to touch him: white-blond hair, scarred cheek, his voice and his heat and his flesh that you need more of. Sunlight and late-summer air, a weakening red-tinged gold, hit your bare skin. Aegon is undressing himself too, and now his shirt and trousers are gone, and now he is leaving euphoric indigo shadows on your neck and shoulders, ghosts of pleasure that will haunt you long after this moment has passed, and now as he stands behind you his fingers find the warm, yearning wetness between your legs and stroke you there, parting folds, plunging between them, retreating just as you feel yourself climbing towards a peak, beginning the divine cycle over again.

“Yes,” you beg, hushed and hidden between the shelves of this ancient library, taboo texts and stories no one else remembers. You push your hips back against Aegon and he inhales sharply, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the bookshelf as the other teases you, readies you, drives you mad with red ravenous lust. You can feel that he is hard. You can feel your fingers buried in his hair, the rough scar tissue of his chest against your spine, your bodies moving with an easy, harmless rhythm. “Please, Aegon, please, I need you…”

“Do you believe in magic now, wife?” he murmurs, a grin in his voice; and the shock of it drags you into a climax, a whirlpool, a storm, a fever that singes and scalds. He has never called you this before. His wife, his queen.

You cry out as the pleasure pulses through you, as your muscles unravel and your skull is cleared of the knowledge of all the ways in which the world is so irretrievably wrong, as you drink up every drop of Aegon with your eyes, lungs, spiraled fingerprints, the pores of your skin.

“Well, do you?” he asks again. He kisses you forcefully, possessively, biting at your lower lip. “Have I convinced you? Do you believe in magic now?”

And you smile dazedly as you answer: “I believe in you.”

“That will suffice, I suppose.”

He follows you down to the floor. You roll onto your back, pull him between your open thighs, cradle his face with your hands and kiss him deeply as he enters you, fills you, moves blissfully inside you. Long-dormant dust swirls into the air; specks of it float in aisles of sunlight like ships bobbing in the open ocean. The stone floor is cold and unforgiving, Aegon warm and kind. You arch into him, your hips rolling in time with his, your tongue tasting wine on his lips and salt on his flushed cheeks.

“You feel fucking incredible,” Aegon gasps. His braid is tucked behind his ear; you moved it there, or he did, it doesn’t matter, it belongs to both of you. Each time he thrusts, there is an indistinct sort of pleasure—low, muted somehow, like rocks covered by the sea at high tide—that builds, yes, but agonizingly slowly. You know he wants to make you come again. He’s trying to last, he’s battling against himself; but his face is already blood-red and his hands are trembling. He never discusses the pain with you, but it’s still there. He goes to the maesters when he has sunburn to be soothed or wounds to be cleaned and bandaged, he goes to Lord Larys Strong with his fears. He does not want you to think he is weak. He does not want to disappoint you.

You whisper through his mess of silver hair: “It’s alright, Aegon.”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, tiny oceans erased. “No, no, oh fuck, I’m so sorry—”

“I want it,” you insist. Your hips rock more quickly, taking the blame away from him, easing his burdens. “I want you to come, I want you to finish inside me, please, please, I want to feel you dripping out of me tomorrow, I want to remember this, I want you, I want you, I want you—”

Aegon moans, shudders, pours himself into you, a rush of energy and heat, a closeness you never believed was possible for two people to share. His unsteady hands constrict into fists against the stone floor. His teeth close around your collarbone, more violet blooms like the colors of a garden, more tokens of him that you carry around like gemstones. The waves wash over him, and then they recede; the tension evaporates from every scrap of him and Aegon collapses onto the floor beside you.

Skating his thumb along the line of your jaw, marveling at you in the dreamlike haze of the afterglow, he says softly: “We have to talk, Angel.”

Fear settles in the cage of your ribs, a cold heavy thing like the iron dragons that preside over the dark corridors of the castle, ominous leers and bared fangs. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what to do with you.” His words are serene, his murky-blue eyes drowsy; his scarred chest rises and falls with slowing breaths. “When I leave to rejoin the war effort, I don’t know where you should go. I don’t know if you should stay here. I don’t know if I should have Larys try to take you to Storm’s End, or maybe Tarth or Estermont. I don’t know if you should return Claw Isle and wait out the bloodshed with your mother and sisters. I don’t know anything. And I can’t choose wrong. I can’t lose you. I can’t be responsible for your ruin.”

“I think I should stay on Dragonstone,” you say. “As long as you and Aemond are in the Riverlands, you would be able to fly back to see me.” And I might be able to help if Aegon is injured again.

He smirks, sadly, regretfully. “That would be my preference as well. But I fear it’s unwise. What if Daemon or Rhaenyra decide to come back to the island? They’re both far too preoccupied at the moment—Daemon fucking Nettles at Harrenhal, Rhaenyra stomping out rebellions in King’s Landing—but circumstances could change. Even if the Blacks believe you to be my unwilling captive, I don’t trust Daemon to treat you with decency. I don’t trust Rhaenyra’s paranoia to spare you.”

“I want to stay here. It’s our home now. It’s where I belong.” And you nestle into him, tangle up in him, will him to help win the war and then return to you.

Aegon chuckles, kissing your forehead. “Can you believe I was worried about whether this would work?” This: love as something physical, not just words or allegiances, not just something that changes how you see the world like peering through mist or smoke. “You had such a fear of it. Such adamant dread.”

“I feel safe with you.”

“Because I am a sad, weak, floppy little man?”

“No,” you say, smiling. “Because you’re a good man. Even if no one else has ever seen it. I see it all. I see you.”

There is the echoing noise of a door opening, then slow, laborious footsteps. “Your Grace?” Larys says reticently from the other side of the bookshelf.

“Stop,” Aegon orders. “Wait.” He grabs your gown off the floor and helps you into it, then yanks on his own shirt and trousers. “Approach,” he tells his Master of Whisperers.

Larys appears, resting his interwoven hands on the handle of his cane. He bows, tactfully averting his gaze from your wrinkled dress, untidy hair, glistening sheen of shared sweat.

Aegon says: “Your timing is impeccable as always, Lord Larys.”

“My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. You have a guest and I did not want him to…catch you unawares.”

“Ah. And of course I have no idea who that could be.”

The library door opens again; you hear its archaic iron hinges creak. Swift light footsteps cross the room. Aemond breezes into the aisle between bookshelves and stands there, tall and willowy and watchful and with his long hair plaited into a thick silver braid. His clear blue eye shifts between Aegon and you, stoic, betraying nothing. Of course Aegon does not know about Aemond’s proposition. You would never tell him as long as the war wages on. It would be a distraction, a danger, an unnecessary wedge to drive between two people who desperately need each other.

“Back already?” Aegon says. “I’m sure the people of the Riverlands miss you dearly. They’re probably waiting outside with their livestock all in a row just waiting for you to soar by and cook their supper for them.”

Aemond ignores this. He stares at you, then looks back to his brother. “I’m starving from the journey.”

“How fortuitous, we’re famished as well.”

Larys notes helpfully: “The cooks have prepared soft-shelled crabs, seasoned, battered, and fried in oil. They’re ready now.”

“They’ve prepared what?” Aemond asks, nauseated.

“You’ll like the crabs,” Aegon says, and as he walks past Aemond he thumps him roughly on the shoulder. “You’ll see how much I enjoy them and you’ll suddenly want every last one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the courtyard, under the next day’s late-afternoon sun, Aegon is sparring with a strapping knight supplied by House Chyttering, one of the noble families you inspired Larys to bring surreptitiously into the Greens’ service. When the king practices like this, his opponents go easy on him. They assail him with halfhearted swings of their blades and feeble shield arms. The goal is not to turn Aegon into a robust warrior; he would need years for that, and he will not go into battle on his feet anyway. He just needs to be strong enough to ride a dragon.

Near where you stand, Lord Larys and Aemond are deep in conversation. Aemond is saying: “It is my understanding that she and Daemon are operating almost entirely independently at this point. Is that consistent with what you’ve heard?”

Larys nods. “When Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White betrayed her side, Rhaenyra lost faith in all the Dragonseeds. She ordered the arrest of Addam Velaryon, but Corlys warned the boy before he could be imprisoned and he escaped on Seasmoke. For protecting his bastard son’s life, Rhaenyra had Corlys thrown in the dungeons. A curious lack of empathy from someone who has so recently lost three sons of her own. The Velaryon fleet has abandoned her. Rhaenyra has offered a substantial reward to anyone who brings Nettles to her, dead or alive, as the girl has been sentenced to death for treason.”

“Treason?” Aemond echoes doubtfully.

“Seducing the so-called queen’s husband.”

“Right,” Aemond says, thoughtful. In the center of the courtyard, Aegon is beating back the Chyttering lad with clumsy (yet determined) strikes of his sword. “What will Daemon do now, I wonder. Has he tired of the girl yet? She is a nobody, unlearned and of ignoble birth. Surely she cannot hold his interest for long, even if she is a dragonrider.”

“Time will reveal all, my prince,” Larys replies. “Perhaps Daemon will abandon Nettles. Perhaps he will defend her against Rhaenyra’s wrath. Perhaps he will send her away to safety.”

This heartens Aemond; it brightens his face like cool ethereal moonlight. “If she leaves, Sheepstealer will no longer be a threat to us. I can meet Daemon in battle. And in a fair fight, Vhagar will annihilate Caraxes.”

“I urge you to proceed cautiously,” Larys says. “You are the Greens’ greatest military asset, you are the prince regent, we need your leadership. If anything was to happen to you…” The Master of Whisperers trails off.

Aemond acts as if he hasn’t heard him. Instead, he unsheathes his sword and announces: “I think my brother needs more of a challenge. Allow me to assess the status of his recovery.” Then he takes a step towards the king.

Your hand juts out and closes around Aemond’s wrist. He blinks down at it, stunned that you have voluntarily touched him, perhaps. It is not an affectionate gesture, but it is a familiar one. You command Aemond, your voice low: “Don’t hurt him.”

“I never do,” Aemond replies, bewildered. Then he goes to meet Aegon in the center of the courtyard. The Chyttering knight retreats as Aemond approaches, twirling his sword effortlessly.

Aegon takes a defensive stance, both hands clutching the hilt of his own weapon. He’s grinning, but you don’t think he’s taking this seriously. He already knows he’s lost. “No great contest. I just have to aim for your left side.”

“Good thing I’ve never trained with my maiming in mind.” Aemond lunges and you yelp, started and fearful; he moves staggeringly quickly, his blade cutting through the air to clang against Aegon’s once, twice, and then the king is knocked to the ground with the point of Aemond’s sword at his throat.

“I yield,” Aegon says from where he’s sprawled on the gravel. “You win. You are superior. You could still easily murder me if you chose to.”

“As long as you are aware of it.” Then Aemond takes his brother’s hand and pulls him to his feet, helping to brush pebbles from Aegon’s light armor.

“I should order you executed,” Aegon jests. “You’ve humiliated me in front of my wife.”

“I’m sure she was already well acquainted with your myriad of failings.”

“They are rather evident,” Aegon admits.

“Hm,” Aemond says to himself. Then he stalks back inside the castle with his silver hair flowing out behind him: to consult books, to plan battles, to console himself with wine, to put on Aegon’s crown and admire himself in a mirror, to brood as he glares at the walls, you aren’t sure.

Aegon slides his sword back into its scabbard and joins you by Lord Larys. When he speaks, his words are smug and anxious and eager and heartbroken. “I think I’m ready to go, Angel.”

“Tomorrow? When Aemond leaves?”

“Tomorrow,” Aegon agrees. He smiles, off-balanced and sad-eyed, as he takes your hands in his. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, but as always, he is still wearing his tiny braid; right now it is stained with dark gravel dust like soot, like ash. You can feel the chill of his gold dragon ring under your fingertips. “I have to help them win this war, Aemond, Criston, Daeron, Mother. I have to try to stop the end of the world.”

You mean to say something—I understand, I’m proud of you, I love you now and I’ll love you forever—but your voice breaks and you have nothing to offer him.

“I know,” Aegon says gently, cleaning a tear from your cheek with his thumbprint. “Come and walk with me. There’s one last thing I have to make sure I can do.”

On the long stone staircase that leads from the main castle entrance down to the beach, Sunfyre the Golden is waiting for his rider. He makes those alien sounds that unnerve you—clicks, growls, squeals, whistles—but Aegon seems to comprehend them. He rests a palm on his dragon’s gleaming face, just between his reptilian, liquid-metal eyes. Rain is rolling in off the ocean; the sky is thick with dark, low clouds. Cold wind claws at your hair and unfurls in your lungs, proof of the rapidly approaching end of summer. Winter Is Coming, you think, words that you have grown to hate.

“Would you like to go too?” Aegon asks as he prepares to climb up into the dragon’s saddle; and to your surprise, he is only half-joking. “I know Sunfyre won’t hurt you now. He understands what you mean to me.”

“I personally abhor dragons.” And all the destruction that only they can curse the earth with.

Sunfyre snorts; steam rises from his nostrils and he stretches out his wings, pale pink membranes that match your gown. Aegon laughs. “You will have to learn to appreciate them. Your house is the same as mine now. And we owe everything to these beasts.”

“Perhaps I’ll accompany you next time.” But no, you will never ride a dragon; you know that absolutely, unquestioningly.

“I’ll be back in time for supper,” Aegon says. “And then I intend to keep you awake all night with—”

He cuts off like a severed limb. There is a scream in the sky, not of a man but of a dragon: too shrill to be Vhagar, too unfamiliar to be Tessarion, tinny but fierce, hostile, growing louder. The creature zooms by with blinding speed, a blur of pale pearlescent green, the fastest dragon you’ve ever witnessed, small but lethal.

Moondancer. That has to be Baela and Moondancer.

A column of fire bursts from Moondancer’s gaping jaws as she hurtles past Sunfyre, but just a sliver of an instant too late, narrowly missing him; still, the inferno is close enough that you can feel the apocalyptic heat, can see the air wrinkle and warp like the fabric of existence wearing thin. High above the ocean—her shadow like a bruise on slate-colored waves—Moondancer banks and begins to turn back towards where you stand.

“Get inside the castle!” Aegon is roaring at you. You are too terrified to move. “Go, go!”

“Aegon, you can’t fight them alone—!”

“Go!” He gives you a hard, frantic shove. “You get inside the castle and you stay there!” Then as you sprint up the staircase towards the entranceway, he clambers into Sunfyre’s saddle and takes off into the churning, thunderous sky.

You can hear them overhead: shrieking dragons, human shouts, flames crackling and billowing, wings flapping like the sails of a ship. You stagger into Dragonstone screaming for Aemond. Larys rushes to you, the guards materialize like vultures around a corpse, but none of them can help Aegon. Only Aemond can. Only he and Vhagar.

You tear through the castle. You are banging on doors with your open palms, racing up steps, calling for Aemond until your throat is raw and you can taste the coppery sting of blood. Aemond comes running and grips your shoulders to steady you. He is panicked, he is petrified. “What, what is it—?!”

“Baela, Moondancer!”

Aemond understands immediately. He bolts for the castle entranceway, you following close behind him. He does not tell you to remain within the towering, mist-sopped walls of Dragonstone. Perhaps it does not occur to him; perhaps he knows you would not listen.

“Your Grace!” Larys is imploring you. Not my lady, not Lady Celtigar. Your Grace, because Aegon believes I am his queen. “Your Grace, please, I beg you, stay here where it is safe!”

When you and Aemond cross through the doorway and out into the windswept, iron-grey air, you look up to see it just as it happens. Sunfyre and Moondancer are gnarled together like a sailor’s knot, hissing and snapping, drawing blood from each other, clawing and clinging with suicidal rage. Now their wings are little more than shredded ribbons of thin membranous flesh. Now the dragons are plummeting towards the beach. And Aegon is falling, falling, falling from an impossible height, his hands reaching to grab for a rope that doesn’t exist, his legs kicking as if through water. He is crashing to the earth like a bird shot through with an arrow, like an angel whose wings have been sheared off, ripped out by the root, burned away.

You are shrieking his name, but you know this is useless, that you are useless, that nothing you’ve ever learned or practiced can stop this. You and Aemond are racing down to the beach, clutching each other’s arms on the staircase so neither of you trip and stumble off of it. You are dimly aware that there are guards and maesters behind you, and Lord Larys too, and that they are speaking in frenzied phrases that you cannot understand. You and Aemond are united in that. You are both beyond words.

Aegon is on the sand. He isn’t dead; he isn’t even unconscious. He is screaming like he was on the day you met him, when half his skin had been scorched by Meleys’ flames, when he was near death and you were the only reason he lived. Now he is not burned; but his legs are destroyed. They are not just broken. They are shattered, grotesque bulges everywhere, moon-white bone splitting through the skin in two places on his left leg and three on his right. His trousers hang in bloody tatters. Someone is wailing, someone sounds like they have lost their mind. Someone is raking their fingernails against your face until your cheeks are bleeding. Oh, it’s you, it’s you, but you don’t feel real, and neither does this moment, and neither does the knowledge that Aegon will not leave tomorrow to help win the war, may never walk again, may not be alive by midnight. You have dragged men back from the brink of death, countless men, and you have done so with almost supernatural composure; but this is no anonymous doomed soldier. This is Aegon, and he is ruined.

Down at the other end of the beach, Sunfyre is tearing out Moondancer’s throat with his teeth, loosing a vicious subterranean snarl. From the surf, a seemingly uninjured Baela emerges, coughing seawater from her lungs and reeling on her hands and knees. Larys is instructing someone to take her to the castle dungeons. The maesters and guards are swarming around their fallen king and trying to decide how to move him without damaging his legs further. Aegon, meanwhile, is reaching for his brother.

“Aemond—”

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Aemond drops to his knees and tenderly sweeps Aegon’s shaggy silver hair out of his eyes. “We’re going to get you inside and the maesters will set your legs. You’re going to be alright. We’re going to help you.”

Aegon howls, tears flooding down his face. He snaps at Aemond as he grabs his hand and squeezes it: “When the fuck is it going to be your turn to get hurt?!”

“It will happen eventually, I’m sure,” Aemond replies grimly. Then he glances up at you. You have to free yourself from this shock, this horror. You have to help Aegon.

You kneel down in wet, bloodied sand and begin to examine him. In a trembling voice, you tell Larys and the maesters and the guards how he must be carried—feet-first when going up the staircase, lessening the strain of gravity on his legs—and that the wounds must be painstakingly cleaned before the fractures are set to prevent infection. You try to say more, but you can’t. Your gaze lands on Aegon’s agonized face and is trapped there, a mutual recognition of the death of one future and the bleak, torturous nightfall of another.

Why couldn’t I stop this? I love him, I love him, why can’t I stop him from suffering?

Aegon looks to Aemond and says something in High Valyrian, something halting and with immense effort. Whatever Aegon asks for, Aemond is momentarily taken aback by it. Then he nods, understanding. And when the guards lift Aegon—Larys and the maesters supervising, the king shrieking until the pain knocks him unconscious—Aemond links his arms around you and stops you from following them up the jagged stone staircase.

“No! Let me go, let me go!” You fight him, and you don’t just fight, you screech and claw and strike at him, you scratch at his face until you rip his eyepatch away and Aemond’s glittering sapphire shines in the fading light. Raindrops are beginning to fall. You’re crying; tears fill your eyes until your sight is hopelessly obscured, until the world is nothing but a grey like smoke, ashes, storms.

Aemond is murmuring to you patiently: “Shh. Stop, stop. Please don’t fight me. He doesn’t want you to see him like this.”

“Aemond, let me go!”

“He doesn’t want you to think of him as someone helpless, someone weak—”

“You did this!” you scream into Aemond as he entombs you in his arms, unbreakable like steel. Your fists drum futilely against his chest. “You started this war, you murdered Luke, you started it and it’s going to kill Aegon, you did this, you did this, it’s going to kill him and it’s all your fucking fault!”

“I know,” Aemond whispers, lips to your ear, his heartbeat thudding against yours. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to kill him,” you moan, sobs ripping through you; and at some point you stop fighting Aemond and begin holding onto him, not because what you’ve said isn’t true but because he understands, and because he’s the only person you have left who can.

I want Autumn, you think powerlessly, miserably. And I want her child to have another chance at life. I want Everett. I want Alicent and Jaehaera. I want Helaena and Maelor and Jaehaerys and Otto. I want wisdom, guidance, innocence, hope. I want the future and I want the past.

“I can end this war,” Aemond swears to you as the full moon rises and the waves crash against the shore. “I can make things right again. I can end it. I can win.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It is hours later when Aemond allows you into the room, illuminated by flickering candles and ghostly moonlight. Aegon lies unconscious in the same bed where he made love to you for the first time, where he might never again, where he showed you that there is something besides fear and pain and surrender to be found in marriage.

His legs have been set as well as they can be, bandaged, elevated. You would have done nothing differently if it had been you to tend him in place of the maesters: Jasper from House Hardy, Lothair of House Stokeworth, men you have taught everything you know to just as they shared their expertise with you. Aegon has been given as much milk of the poppy as his body can endure without his heartbeat slowing until it stops. You sit on the edge of the bed and untie his braid, weave a new one, undo it again, knit and unknit glistening silver strands like the strings of a spider’s web. You can’t imagine what will happen next. You don’t want to.

When Aegon stirs, you clasp his hand, letting him know that you’re here. His dragon ring is missing, you notice; no gold wings, no jade eyes. It must have slipped off when he tumbled from the sky. And you remember what Aegon told you about his dreams of Helaena, about the warning she imparted to him, her ghost or her memory or something else wearing her face: Don’t fall, don’t fall.

“I’m sorry, Angel.” His voice is hoarse and whisper-thin. He’s trying to smile but can’t quite manage it. “I wanted to be strong enough. I wanted to start over with you.”

Start over how, Aegon? In peacetime? As a dynasty? With retribution or forgiveness? With children? “You will. You still can.”

“I knew I’d disappoint you.”

“Aegon, I’m not disappointed,” you say, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I just want to help you. I want to take care of you. I love you.”

But he blacks out again before he can give you his familiar refrain, something in High Valyrian that he doesn’t know Aemond has provided you with the translation of. To your misfortune. And is Aegon wrong when he says this? Is he really?

You drift into a fitful sleep beside Aegon, wake up only a few hours later with sore, damp eyes, make sure he’s still breathing. It’s raining heavily now; sheets of it patter against the windows and thunder quakes the castle. You rise from the bed and walk without knowing where you’re going. When you find yourself sitting on a stone bench in the gardens, drenched with rain and freckled with fiery torchlight from the mouth of an iron dragon, you don’t remember how you got there. You are cold and shivering; you are so profoundly, numbly despondent that you cannot move, cannot think, can only sit with your arms curled around your bent knees and your eyes vacant.

By the time Aemond finds you, your dusky pink gown—stained with splotches of Aegon’s blood—is soaked through. Aemond lurks just inside the doorway of the castle that opens into the gardens, sheltered from the storm. “Why are you sitting in the rain?”

You do not answer. You cannot answer. You stare blankly out into the night as droplets pelt you, stinging your skin like needles.

“You should come inside,” Aemond tells you. “You’ll get pneumonia.”

Nothing he says matters. Will going inside cure Aegon? Will catching pneumonia rob you of any life worth living?

Aemond sighs and strides out into the rain to meet you. “I have to go back to the Riverlands now. Will you be alright here?”

Your words are a question, but your tone isn’t. You speak bitterly and without looking at him. “Why would you care.”

“I care intensely,” Aemond says, kindly now. “If you don’t know why, you haven’t been listening.”

“You don’t want me. You just want to feel like you’re better than him. That you’re worthy of being chosen, worthy of fathering the heir.”

He shrugs. “Nothing in life is without ambition. Love is never entirely selfless.”

“Mine is.”

“No,” Aemond says severely. “No, you want things for yourself. You want a choice in who you marry. You want to escape the burden of bedding someone dull or repugnant or cruel. What makes you think you’re so high above the fate that the rest of us have suffered? Do you have any idea how desperately few people get to marry for love? But you can’t endure that resignation. You have to covet something more. Even if it gets you killed.”

Have suffered, Aemond said. Not will suffer. Have suffered. At last, you turn to him. “You’ve never had a wife. When were you ever forced to lie with someone?”

He stares at you and does not answer, cold rain dripping from his face, a vulnerable childlike apprehension in his lone blue eye.

Then you remember: the madam at the brothel, Aemond’s aversion to her unmistakable familiarity. What had he said when he apologized for leaving you there? It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. “At the brothel,” you realize. “The Pink Pearl.”

“Yes,” Aemond says, very quietly.

“How old were you?”

“Barely thirteen.”

He was a boy, you think, horrified. Not a man. Just a boy. “Who took you there?”

“Who do you think?”

There is only one true possibility. Aegon, just a few years older and already corrupted in every sense of the word, drunk and miserable and lustful and lost.

“He thought he was doing me a kindness,” Aemond says. “He didn’t intend for there to be any harm, I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t mean no harm occurred.”

“That should never have happened to you. I’m sorry.”

“A lot of things should never have happened.” Aemond’s hair hangs in long, disheveled waves. Now his clothes are sodden with rain too, not a pale pink like exposed organs or half-healed burns but a verdant, jealous green. “I can’t leave until you come inside out of the rain.”

It doesn’t matter where I am. I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop the world from crashing down. “If he’s dead I want to be too.”

“He’s not dying,” Aemond insists. “He won’t be able to fight, but he will live.”

He won’t, you think, lifeless words that are cold and grey like tombstones. The suffering is too great. The trauma is too dire. It stacks up like blood-red coins in his liver, his heart, his lungs, his kidneys. And eventually the scales will tip, and it will kill him, and I’ll have to watch it happen.

Aemond offers you his hand. “Let me walk you back inside.”

“Please leave me.”

“I can’t,” Aemond replies, distressed.

You are weeping now; your own words choke you. “I want to stay here.”

“No you don’t. The pain just feels so heavy you can’t find your way out from under it.”

He is still holding out a hand to you. At last, you take it. And you make a confession, dark, venomous, unfamiliar like the voice of a stranger. “I used to believe war was hell for everyone. I used to want the suffering to end. But I don’t think I do anymore. I think I want the Blacks to suffer greatly. I want them to suffer more than they ever knew was possible.”

And in the maelstrom of the driving rain, Aemond grins until his teeth look like fangs in the shifting, rageful, rust-and-blood glow of the firelight.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

299 notes · View notes

loveyouanyway · 26 days

Text

i'll kiss your scars

buck x eddie | 900 words | teen rating

prompt: trans buck for @steadfastsaturnsrings 🥰 💖

“But y-you like men.” “Yes I do. Particularly the amazing and gorgeous man in front of me.” Buck stumbles across his words, all flustered. “But Eddie, I’m not— like I don’t have a you know.” He glances down there. “That doesn’t make you any less of a man, Buck." or Buck tells Eddie that he's trans and hopes things don’t change between them, but they do—in a good way.

read on ao3 or below :)

Buck, Eddie and Christopher are enjoying their dinner together in comfortable silence.

Christopher finishes his plate of spaghetti and meatballs first and now that he’s not eating, the silence feels weird so he speaks up.

“I’m not the only Christopher in my class anymore.”

Eddie hums. “Oh new student?”

“Nope. His name used to be Chloe but now it’s Christopher.”

Eddie and Buck look to each other in understanding.

“So he’s…”

“Trans. Yeah, it’s not a big deal, Dad. Now people just call me Chris and him Christopher.”

“How did people react?” Buck asks curiously.

“Everyone was cool about it. Some people had questions though so Christopher answered them. Then Mr. Nolan told everyone that he will not tolerate any transphobia or homophobia but he’s happy to tell us more about it. And if we ever have to talk to him about it, we can.”

Buck blinks back tears thinking how happy he is that in school, kids can come out and people will be supportive or at least respectful enough that they won’t say anything negative. He thinks about how bad it would be if he came out in middle school. He’s so glad Christopher has a teacher like Mr. Nolan.

He should probably tell Eddie that he’s trans. It’s been over a year since they’ve been friends. He knows Eddie will be accepting and everything but it’s still difficult. He doesn’t want anything to change between them.

“Buck?” Eddie and nudges his foot with his own under the table.

“You okay?” he asks.

Buck quickly nods. “Yeah no I’m good.”

Eddie thankfully doesn’t push and instead asks what movie they should watch tonight.

—

They watch Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse and Buck suggests they watch the second one next movie night which Christopher enthusiastically agrees to.

Christopher gets ready for bed reluctantly and Buck reads him a chapter of Percy Jackson. Eddie watches them with a sickening fond smile.

Once the chapter’s done, he and Eddie both hug Christopher and tell him “good night” and Buck yearns for him to have this every night.

They walk into the living room and Buck plops onto the couch with a sigh.

Eddie sits down next to Buck and faces him.

“Hey, you know that you can tell me anything, right?” he says earnestly with his stupidly pretty eyes looking him in the eye.

Buck breaks eye contact and nods. “Yeah of course, uh thanks.”

Eddie doesn’t reply as if he’s hoping Buck will say more.

“Just give me a moment.” he adds and to that Eddie hums and rests his hand on Buck’s thigh. Oh god. This isn’t helping his nerves.

Buck takes a deep breath. “I’m trans.”

A second passes.

“Thanks for telling me.” Eddie smiles, trying to act like he didn’t know this but Buck sees past it.

“You already knew. How?”

“I saw your testosterone gel thing in the bathroom once. I guess you forgot to put it away like you usually do,” Eddie answers softly.

“You’re not mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Of course not, Buck. You don’t owe me anything regarding that.”

“We’ve been best friends for months.”

“Yeah well did I come out to you as cis? No. Besides gender is fucking stupid. Am I even a man?”

Buck sighs. He supposes Eddie has a valid point.

“Uh, while we’re talking about more serious topics, I have something to tell you,” Eddie admits.

Buck doesn’t have enough time to panic before Eddie calmly says “I’m in love with you.”

Is this a fucking dream? Buck doesn’t know what to say. “I- What do you mean?”

Eddie continues, “Yeah that was one of the factors in the whole me discovering my sexuality process. Hen called me out so many times about my gay panic for you.”

“But y-you like men.”

“Yes I do. Particularly the amazing and gorgeous man in front of me.”

Buck stumbles across his words, all flustered. “But Eddie, I’m not— like I don’t have a you know.” He glances down there.

“That doesn’t make you any less of a man, Buck. I know how I feel about you. I love you beyond your body but I mean, I really love your body and I hope I can make you feel safe and comfortable with it.”

Yeah this is a fucking dream come true.

Eddie lifts up the bottom of his shirt. “Can I…”

Buck has no idea what he’s about to do but he’ll let Eddie do anything to him. That probably should be concerning but he doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” he says with a shaky breath.

Eddie gently takes Buck’s shirt (which actually belonged to Eddie originally) and looks at him with such adoration, it makes Buck want to cry.

He lowers his head and brings his lips to Buck’s top surgery scars. He softly kisses along the two lines, whispering “I love you” after each kiss.

Now Buck is crying. He is just so overwhelmed with love—both his love for Eddie and feeling so loved by Eddie. He manages to say, “I love you” back before the tears make unable to speak coherently

Of course Eddie understands and doesn’t tell him “No it’s okay don’t cry,” instead he embraces him into a hug that makes Buck feel all warm and fuzzy — like all hugs from Eddie do.

They stay there, holding each other and Buck realizes things have changed between them but in the best way possible.

#also yeah at first i just put mr nolan and then i was gonna change it but i couldn't come up with anything so i am christopher's teacher 😌#nolan writes #my fics #buddie fic #911 fic #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #trans buck #buck and eddie #buck x eddie

91 notes · View notes

sidekick-hero · 9 months

Text

Will you cleanse me with pleasure?

(steddie | 8.4k | explicit| AO3)

A little something for @steves-strapcollection birthday 💜

Gerry, I already told you how much I appreciate you in our DMs so let me just wish you the happiest birthday here. Please never change because true passion and authenticity are so hard to find and knowing you is a pleasure I wouldn't want to miss.

Summary:

People are always saying that the only way you really get to know your partner is when you move in together.

Steve has always dismissed those people. He already knows Eddie inside and out. He knows Eddie's favorite mug (the Garfield one his Uncle Wayne gave him), what food he eats when he's sad (Mac'n'Cheese because that's been his comfort food since he was a kid), where that little scar on his forehead came from (he fell out of a tree trying to rescue a lost kitten which Steve brings up every chance he gets).

Steve thinks it’s safe to say that he knows everything important about Eddie when they finally decide to move in together.

Everything, it turns out, except that Eddie sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night at least once a week.

CW: Tentacle Sex, Monsterfucking, Tentacle Monster Eddie, despite these tags this is one of the softest things I've written. It's a love story 🥰

Special thanks to @yournowheregirl for feeding me ideas and cheering me on like the amazing friend she is, @scarcrossdlvrs for being so sweet and encouraging me and beta-ing this baby as well as @stobinesque for finding mistakes like Sherlock Holmes

People are always saying that the only way you really get to know your partner is when you move in together.

Steve thinks it’s safe to say that he knows everything important about Eddie when they finally decide to move in together.

Everything, it turns out, except that Eddie sneaks out of the house in the middle of the night at least once a week.

Maybe he doesn’t know Eddie that well after all.

To be fair, he hasn't known Eddie that long either. Even for Steve, the way they fell in love with each other so quickly came as a bit of a surprise.

Part of the surprise is that he fell so hard, so fast, for another man because Steve had never dated one before. Sure, he had definitely thought about it. A lot. He definitely suspected that he wasn't exactly straight, thinking back to all the hand jobs he'd traded with fellow jocks and friends after basketball practice or behind the bleachers. But for most of his adult life he had been in a very committed and, at least in his mind, very loving relationship with a woman.

Until said woman broke his heart.

The breakup had been painful and Steve had just needed to get away from it all. So, in a spur of the moment decision, he packed his shit and moved halfway across the country from Hawkins, Indiana to Derry, Maine. Here he rented a quaint little house on the outskirts of town near the local lake, where he also used the basement for his physical therapy practice.

He was definitely not looking for another relationship at this point.

Of course, within the first month in Derry, Steve met Eddie, who turned Steve's already upside down life around a few times for good measure.

Steve's Beemer was already old when he drove it several hundred miles for the move. But here, with roads that can hardly be called that, it had started to give him real trouble. So he took it to Munson and Son Auto Repair in town.

The shop itself did not look like much, with the paint already peeling in places. The door to the office was locked, but he could hear noises coming from the garage section of the shop, so that was where he went. He expected to be greeted by another one of the gruff, flannel-wearing older men he had come to associate with many of the businesses here in town.

So he wasn't at all prepared for the mouth-watering sight of a man lifting wheels onto a metal track in nothing but work pants and an old, faded gray t-shirt.

The guy was about Steve's height, with shoulder-length curly black hair, broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, and a muscular back that moved under his gray t-shirt as he lifted wheel after wheel. His arms were covered in tattoos, more black than skin, moving over lithe muscles. His legs were long, not exactly thick, but the way they bent and stretched easily with the added weight told Steve they were strong, too. Steve couldn't help but imagine them wrapped around his waist or his head.

Clearing his suddenly very dry throat, Steve got the man's attention, and when he turned around, Steve knew he was screwed.

His face was beautiful. It was long, with high cheekbones, a wide and full mouth, and the prettiest brown doe eyes Steve had ever seen. They'd looked even bigger with how wide they'd gotten as they fell on Steve, clearly surprised by his presence. Steve didn't miss the way they had roamed over his body appraisingly. Nor did he miss the way Eddie had flirted with him outrageously, with no respect for personal space, once he had gotten over his initial surprise.

Twenty minutes later, Steve walked out with an appointment for the next day and Eddie's number.

And even though the appointment was rather depressing, with Eddie telling him that it would be best for Steve to say goodbye to his Beemer because it was only going to get worse, it was still one of the best things that had ever happened to him. Because that very same day, Steve went out on his first date with Eddie to go shopping for a new car. It was the most fun he had in a long time.

The day ended with Steve buying a new Jeep and fucking Eddie in the back seat on the shore of Devilfish Lake. What better way to christen the car, Steve had thought as Eddie rode him to oblivion before there were no more thoughts, just breathless whimpers and moans of their names.

Steve is pretty sure that he was already half in love with Eddie at this point.

The thing is: Steve has never been one to take things slow. It's not in his nature. He's a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy. A trigger-happy heart beats in his chest, and when he falls, he falls hard.

That's why, after barely a year of dating, he asks Eddie to move in with him.

Not that he hadn't wanted to ask earlier. No, Steve had thought about moving in with Eddie the first morning they woke up together. The morning light had streamed in and danced across Eddie's features as he slept peacefully in Steve's bed, his dark hair a wild mess and his cheeks flushed with sleep. Steve knew he wanted to wake up like that every morning.

He’s really proud of himself that he still managed to wait almost 11 months before he couldn't stop himself any longer. By this time they were sleeping at each other's houses all the time. Most nights were spent at Steve's because while Steve was living on his own, Eddie was still living with his Uncle Wayne.

Eddie had told Steve about growing up with his uncle because his parents had died when he was very young. He said he didn't remember them and that Wayne had always been like a father to him. It's a sentiment the old man seems to share, as he once told Steve about naming the shop and that Munson and Nephew never quite sounded right. Wayne decided to call it Munson and Son instead, explaining that as far as he was concerned, Eddie was his son. Eddie tried to hide it, but Steve had seen his eyes shine with emotion when he heard Wayne say those words so casually.

Steve really liked Wayne, and they hit it off after an initial wariness that Steve couldn't quite explain. Eddie told him that his uncle was just very protective of Eddie, who was not exactly popular around town, and that it always took him some time to trust strangers.

Wayne had watched Steve like a hawk for months. That's why Steve had decided to talk to him first about moving in with Eddie.

He had been nervous as he went up to Wayne and told him that he was going to ask Eddie to move in with him. Steve wasn't asking for permission, but he knew how much Wayne cared about Eddie, so Steve assured him that he would do everything in his power to make Eddie happy.

Wayne had put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and told him that he knew Steve cared about his nephew and that Eddie deserved someone who would do that without question. And then Wayne said the same thing Steve had heard too many times already: that the only way to really get to know your partner is to move in together, and that Wayne hoped Steve was ready for that.

When Steve asked Eddie to move in with him a week later, he thought he was ready. Hell, he thought there was nothing he could learn about Eddie that would really surprise him.

As it turned out, he was wrong.

Eddie had been hesitant when Steve asked him to move in. They were lying in bed, both naked, their skin still glistening with drying sweat. Their legs were intertwined and Eddie's head was resting on Steve's chest, his fingers dancing lazily over Steve's skin. There was cum cooling on Steve’s belly and he knew it would start to flake soon, but he was also basking in the afterglow of another mind-blowing orgasm and too content and satiated to move.

So when Eddie sighed wistfully and told Steve they had to clean up because he had to go, his work clothes were at home, and his alarm would go off in 5 hours, Steve didn't even think.

"Move in with me." Steve said, not even a real question. He felt Eddie tense in his arms for a moment before his fingers continued their dance over Steve's ribs and sides.

Marking the passage of time by the frantic beating of his heart and the racing thoughts in his mind, Steve figured it was at least half an eternity before Eddie asked, "Are you serious?”

Steve had tightened his grip on Eddie, his hand reaching for Eddie's and intertwining their fingers. "I've never been more serious. I want you to have your things here so you don't have to leave. I want to wake up next to you every morning and go to sleep with you in my arms every night. Move in with me. Please."

As he heard Eddie's sharp intake of breath at his words, Steve realized that a simple "yes" would have been enough. He didn't regret saying what he did, though.

Just as he was about to ask Eddie if everything was all right, if Steve had gone too far, if it was too much, Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve's chest, right over his trembling heart.

"Do you have any plans this weekend? I think I might need some help moving."

The move was a quick one, with Steve's jeep and Eddie's van and Wayne's help, it only took two trips to get Eddie settled into Steve's house. The rest of the day was spent barbecuing with Wayne in Steve's backyard, drinking beer and just talking. And when they said goodbye to Wayne, Eddie had taken his hand and led Steve up to their bedroom and laid Steve out on their sheets and made love to him, even though they hadn't said the words yet.

Steve had never been happier.

That had been two months ago, and for most of that time things had been perfect.

He knows that Eddie had been a little nervous at first that their different temperaments or rhythms would clash, with Eddie being a hyper ball of energy, sometimes unfocused and prone to insomnia and late nights, while Steve enjoyed his quiet times and early morning runs. But they work well together, mindful of each other's habits, needs, and boundaries, and willing to talk things out.

So why would Eddie not talk to him about the fact that once a week he would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night and come back at the crack of dawn smelling like lake water?

Steve waited for Eddie to come to him, vowing to be patient and give Eddie his space. He knows that this is Eddie's first serious relationship and that Eddie is used to doing his own thing without asking permission or telling anyone what he's up to.

But it's been weeks, and while Steve doesn't really think Eddie would cheat on him, he's still worried. It's not normal to leave your house, your bed, your boyfriend in the middle of the night, only to come back hours later without saying a word, is it? It confuses him and leaves him feeling off kilter, because why wouldn't Eddie just talk to him? He even brings it up once, says something off handed about Eddie's insomnia and if he ever goes for a walk or something when he can't sleep.

Eddie said no, lying to Steve’s face.

So when Steve feels Eddie leaving his arms and their bed again one night, he decides to follow him.

Eddie moves so cautiously, careful not to wake Steve. It is a shame for him that Steve has always been such a light sleeper. With his eyes closed and his breathing deliberately even, Steve listens as Eddie gets dressed and gently closes their bedroom door behind him. He smiles to himself as he hears the telltale creak of the loose stair that Eddie never manages to avoid, and the smile grows even fonder as he hears Eddie cursing softly to himself.

Steve follows him as soon as the front door closes, only slipping into his favorite pair of gray sweats and a hoodie he steals from Eddie before dashing after him. On his way out of the house, he notices that Eddie has left his car keys behind.

Slipping out the front door, Steve looks around, trying to decide which way Eddie most likely went. He remembers the smell of lake water on Eddie, so his best guess is Devilfish Lake. It's a short walk from Steve's house, no more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes on foot if you knew the shortcut behind the last house on the road.

And sure enough, there on the dirt road behind Mrs. Benson's house, a few feet in front of him, he sees a dark figure that must be Eddie. His long legs take wide strides, carrying him down the road fast.

For someone who claims to hate running, or any exercise for that matter, Eddie is surprisingly fit and hard to catch.

Which is good, because Steve wants to know what Eddie’s been up to before he talks to him, so Eddie can't know he's here yet.

Steve tries so hard to stay out of Eddie's sight that it takes him a minute to realize that he has actually lost sight of him. One moment he was walking in front of Steve and the next he's gone.

Shit.

Walking faster, he thinks about just calling for Eddie, his plan be damned. It's not exactly cold, but the nights here do get chilly, and in his haste he forgot to put on his shoes before he ran after Eddie. He just wants to go home, preferably with his boyfriend, and curl up in bed. And tomorrow they have to sit down and talk, because -

Before Steve can finish his thought, he hears a loud splash coming from the lake. It sounds like something big hit the water, something like a human body.

Eddie's body.

Eddie, who told him he couldn't swim when Steve asked him to join him for his morning laps in the lake.

It's not even a conscious decision when he starts running toward the pier, his legs pumping as fast as they can.

"Eddie!" He calls, his voice frantic. "Where are you?"

The ground changes beneath his feet, the earthy soil of the path giving way to the wooden planks of the pier, and his bare feet carry him almost all the way to the edge before he stops. His eyes search the lake for any sign of Eddie, but the water is still beneath him. Small waves lick at the wood of the pier, but the surface is flat and unbroken, with no trace of him.

"Eddie!" He shouts again, cupping both hands over his mouth to carry his voice over the lake. Fuckfuckfuck. Every minute he wastes calling for him, Eddie could be sinking deeper and deeper to the bottom, slowly drowning...

His hoodie hits the ground next to him and his sweatpants follow. Steve’s going to go in and the only thing they're going to do is pull him down as they get soaked with water.

He steps closer to the edge of the pier, arms raised above his head, ready to jump in when Eddie's voice stops him.

"No!" Eddie yells. "Steve, stop!"

Startled, Steve does.

Instead of jumping in, he scans the lake with his eyes until he sees Eddie's head above the surface, floating in place, the water around him barely rippling. He must be at least 700 feet away.

"Eddie? What are you doing? Are you hurt?" He asks, his voice lower than before, his tone confused. Eddie doesn't seem hurt, but why would he be in the water if he can't even swim?

Although, with the way he's still floating in place, it looks like he's doing just fine in the water. But why would Eddie lie to him about not being able to swim?

Steve wraps his arms around himself, a shiver running through his body. The air is cold as it whispers across his bare skin.

"I don't know what's going on." He hates how small his voice sounds.

Eddie makes a sound of distress and before Steve can blink, he's so much closer, just a few feet away. Steve didn't even see him move. Above them, the moon is full and bright in the night sky, its light illuminating Eddie's beautiful face. It looks pale in the cold light, his eyes huge and sparkling, somehow seeming even bigger than they usually are.

"Steve." He breathes out, a look of pure heartbreak on his face, and Steve has no idea what it all means, but it scares him. Eddie should never look like this, nervous, almost afraid. But most of all sad. "Please, Stevie, go home. You're shaking."

Steve takes a step toward him, but Eddie puts more distance between them immediately. Again, he moves too fast for Steve's brain to register. He’s now right on the edge, his weight balanced precariously on his heels, and Eddie is looking at him from way too far away for Steve's comfort.

"Not without you." When Eddie doesn't move, Steve adds, "Please. Just...come home with me? We don't even have to talk right now. I just... want to go home with you."

Another shiver runs through his body and he sits down on the edge of the pier, his knees tucked into his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He won't leave without Eddie. Steve doesn't even know why this is so important, but something in him feels that he has to stay, has to go with Eddie, otherwise he will lose him.

This time, as Eddie swims toward him, he's slower than before, almost hesitant, ready to bolt at Steve's first move. It still looks faster, more fluid, than anyone else he's ever seen swim. And Steve has been captain of the swim team for years.

He waits with bated breath for Eddie to approach him, and this time Eddie comes even closer. But he still leaves enough space between them that Steve can only see his head and neck where they stick out of the water. Something tells him that if he jumped in now, Eddie would be across the lake in seconds.

Looking into Eddie’s wide eyes, Steve sees so much emotion in them that his heart aches in his chest. He's also almost certain that the wetness on Eddie's cheeks isn't just lake water.

"Eddie?" Steve tries again when it seems like all Eddie can do is look at him with his hauntingly sad eyes. Steve wants to take him in his arms, run his hand through his hair like he always does when Eddie is having a bad day, and tell him that everything will be all right. They will figure it out, whatever it is.

He wants to tell Eddie he loves him.

"I'm so sorry, Stevie. I... I can't. Please go home, I promise I'll be there soon. But I... You have to go. I can't lose you, so you have to go."

Nothing about this makes sense to Steve, but Eddie sounds like he's in pain, his voice cracking. This time Steve is sure he sees tears on his face. There's also something desperate and wild in his eyes, like he's genuinely afraid of... of Steve.

"You're scaring me, Eddie. I don't know what's going on, but I can help you. I want to help you. Please. Talk to me."

Eddie swims even closer (more like glides) and Steve slowly lowers his legs, unfolding himself until his feet rest in the water beneath him. The water is surprisingly warm, the late summer days still clinging to it.

Steve can see something dark moving in the water beneath him, but he doesn't pay much attention. It's probably a fish or an eel. As far as he knows, nothing dangerous lives in these waters.

"Stevie..." Eddie starts again, his eyes searching Steve's and there is so much naked longing on his face. "I can't. I couldn't survive if you thought I was a freak like the rest of them, that you would be disgusted with me." Eddie's eyes beg him to understand, to not make him do this, to save them both. "You'll hate me. Or worse. You'd be afraid of me.”

"I could never hate you, Eddie. Or be afraid of you. Only ever for you." He takes a deep breath, thinking about finally saying those three little words that have been on his mind for months. He never said them before because he was afraid it would be too much, too fast.

That he would scare Eddie away because he knows Eddie has some baggage, that he can get skittish and overwhelmed at times with their relationship. Steve is still surprised that Eddie agreed to move in with him, if he's being honest.

But maybe it's time to let Eddie see the depth of his devotion to him, even if he can't say it back yet.

"Eddie, I -"

Something touches his leg, stopping him in mid-sentence. Something alive. It's firm, feeling smooth and warm against his skin as it slides from his heel up his calf to his knee, a soft touch, almost like a caress.

"OhmyGod." Steve whimpers as another joins the first, gently exploring his other leg, going as far as his thigh, and he has to force himself to look down. When he does, it's just in time to see two long black vines wrapped around his legs before they disappear as suddenly as they had appeared.

"What the -"

"I'm sorry," Eddie cuts him off, sounding horrified, staring at Steve's legs with an expression somewhere between horror and...shame?

Eddie has put some distance between them again. Steve looks from Eddie's face to his own legs and back to Eddie, slowly beginning to put the pieces together. Eddie's reluctance to come closer, his fear that Steve might hate him or be afraid of him, the black vines that only appeared when Eddie came closer.

"Eddie...what's going on? Were those, those things yours?"

He wishes he could take back the word "things" as soon as he says it, because Eddie pulls back again, his face shuttering, and Steve hates himself for putting that look on Eddie's face.

"It's okay if they were, I promise. I was just... surprised, is all." Steve tries to reassure, his hand reaching out to Eddie, desperate to get him to come back, to get close again. Let Steve touch him.

What he doesn't expect is Eddie's harsh laughter at his words, bursting out of him as if he couldn't help it. It almost sounds like a sob to Steve.

"It's not okay. You don't... you have no idea." Eddie's hands are buried in his hair, his frustration in every line of his beautiful face. His hands look different, Steve notices. Darker, shimmering in the moonlight, and his fingers look longer somehow.

"Steve, I'm a monster." Eddie almost spits out the word monster as if it's something vile. The words sound painful, spilling from him like from a freshly opened festering wound.

A monster. That's just... Steve doesn't even know. Laughable. Because Eddie, his sweet, goofy boyfriend, a monster? The same guy who fell out of a tree trying to save a kitten. Who still spends every Sunday with his Uncle Wayne, even hungover and sleep-deprived the few times he and Steve have gone to the nearest town for a night out. Eddie, who reads to Steve when Steve can't sleep and plays him sappy love songs on his acoustic guitar. The man who holds his hand when they fuck and looks into his eyes with every thrust, who kisses him when he comes, every time. That same guy is supposed to be a monster?

"That's not true." Eddie snorts derisively, but Steve continues. "You're not a monster. You're just Eddie. My Eddie. You always will be." Steve sees Eddie move again, incremental movements that bring him closer to Steve. "Nothing will change who you are."

His expression carefully blank, Eddie comes even closer. But Steve knows him, knows his face and all its many expressions better than his own, and he can tell that there is hope glimmering in his eyes.

"You mean these won't change who I am?" He asks Steve, showing him exactly what touched his legs earlier. They are not vines, but tentacles. Many of them, varying in thickness and length, all black and smooth as they break the surface and hover around Eddie. Steve can't help the sound that slips from his mouth, too surprised to catch it before it falls out and reaches Eddie's waiting ears, confirming all his worst fears.

Eddie laughs again, the sound just as joyless and harsh as the first time. "I knew it. Of course, this changes everything. Who would want to be with someone, something, like me?"

Eddie is so quick to assume the worst, to believe the worst, that Steve can't keep his voice from rising in frustration.

"I do, okay? I fucking do. They just caught me off guard. You gotta let me get my head around this for a second. I wasn't expecting... any of this when I followed you here, and I should be allowed to take a second."

He looks into Eddie's eyes and realizes how much closer he is again. This close, Steve can see more changes: Eddie's canines are longer where they nervously gnaw at his lower lip, his eyes are bigger, darker, than before, and his skin is paler, almost reflecting the moonlight. There's something different about him, but at the same time, he's still Eddie.

"I want to be with you. Tentacles or not, human or not. You're still Eddie. You're still the man I love."

Eddie gasps at Steve's words, obviously not expecting to hear those words from him. Especially now.

"Stevie..." he breathes out, reverently, and once again he moves faster than Steve's eyes can follow. He stops at Steve's shins and his hands touch Steve's ankles tentatively, as if he's still not sure if he's allowed. His tentacles seem to have no such qualms as they slide up Steve's calves again, and Eddie curses as he pulls them back.

Steve somehow misses them already.

He reaches out and sighs in relief when his hand finally touches Eddie, running through his wet curls.

"I love you, Eddie. All of you. Every single appendage." Steve adds the last part with a playful grin, and it elicits a smile, however small, from Eddie.

"Are you...sure?"

Instead of answering, Steve bends down, his hands cupping Eddie's face as he pulls him into a surprisingly sweet kiss. Eddie still tastes the same, his lips soft but firm against his. Eddie's tongue teases along the seams of Steve’s lips and it's warm and wet as it slides into his mouth, exploring it with a single-minded devotion as if it's been months instead of mere hours since their last kiss.

Steve can't help but moan into it and he feels Eddie's fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs in response. More and more tentacles have begun to creep up his legs as Eddie loses himself in their kiss, and Steve feels them teasing along his bare skin. Like Eddie's tongue, they feel warm and wet as they slide along his skin, some kind of fluid on their insides making the glide easier. Still, some of them get stuck to his skin with their suckers and it feels like Eddie is giving him hickeys on his thighs. Steve wonders if they'll leave suction cup shaped bruises.

It feels strange, not like anything Steve's ever felt before, but it's not unpleasant. It's just a lot. They seem to be everywhere and every touch, every caress, every suck sends another thrill through him. Steve is used to Eddie's hands as they map and explore his body until Steve is a withering mess begging to be touched, fucked, anything. Everything.

It feels like that, but more.

One of the tentacles finds its way between his legs, teasing along his shaft where it still rests mostly soft against his thigh, and he gasps into Eddie's eager mouth. The sound makes Eddie pull back, apologies already spilling from his lips, but Steve's hand on the back of Eddie's head keeps him from pulling too far away.

Their faces are still close as Steve whispers in the sacred space between them, "I...like it. Them. They feel good."

Eddie searches his face for any trace of a lie, but he finds none, because Steve is not lying when he says he likes the way they feel on him. He wants to feel Eddie's tentacles on every inch of his body, he wants them to wrap around him and hold him tight. He wants to touch them with his hands and find out how smooth they really are.

"Can I join you in the water, Eddie? Wanna be closer."

Steve presses another kiss to Eddie's stunned lips and that's enough to spur Eddie into action. His tentacles slowly begin to wrap around Steve, surrounding him on all sides as they pull him closer to Eddie. He wraps his own legs around Eddie's hips and feels the base of the tentacles somewhere on Eddie's lower torso. His hand is still on the back of Eddie's head, the other wrapped around Eddie's shoulder.

Their mouths are only inches apart and the world has stopped on its axis, waiting for them to take the final step, to fall somewhere from which they cannot return.

"You sure you want this?" Eddie asks, giving him one last chance to back out, to change his mind.

Steve has never been more sure. "I want you."

The tentacles on his body tighten and Eddie pushes forward into Steve's arms, wrapping his own around Steve and pulling him into the lake.

The water surrounds him on all sides, warm against his cold skin, and he tightens his grip on Eddie, trusting him to bring them both back to the surface. And Eddie does, their heads breaking through the water at the same time. Steve blinks the water out of his eyes and is rewarded when Eddie's face comes back into focus. He's still looking at Steve like he's not sure if this is okay, still worried that Steve will realize at any moment that he's in the arms of a monster.

Steve cups Eddie's face in his palm, his eyes soft as he looks at his boyfriend. "I want you, Eddie. I love you."

Turning his head, Eddie presses a kiss to Steve's palm. He looks back at Steve through his lashes, and Steve can see all the love he feels reflected back at him.

"I love you too. So much, you have no idea. I was so scared of losing you. I hated keeping this from you. I'm sorry, I shoulda trusted you -" Eddie begins to babble, the palpable relief coming off him in waves turning into a nervous energy that Steve is already all too familiar with.

"Shh, it's okay. I know."

A particularly adventurous tentacle wraps around his waist and Steve can't help himself, he has to touch it. His fingers run along the smooth and surprisingly warm flesh and Eddie whimpers softly in his arms.

Oh.

Steve grins at Eddie and he knows his face looks smug as hell as his fingers continue to stroke along the flesh of Eddie's appendage.

"They're, uh... they're sensitive," Eddie stutters, his cheeks gaining some color in the still bright light of the full moon above them. His tentacles really seem to have a life of their own, for while Eddie seems embarrassed by his reaction, his tentacles demand more of Steve's attention.

Another joins the one wrapped around his waist and Steve lets go of Eddie completely, still blindly trusting him to keep them both afloat so he can use both hands to explore their texture. They seem to writhe under his attention, as does Eddie, his hands clutching Steve's back, his nails leaving welts on his skin.

"Fuck," Eddie moans as Steve's finger runs over one of the suckers attached to his stomach. "It feels like you're touching my dick, ohmygod." Steve feels Eddie's hips moving between his legs, subtle thrusts that he can't seem to help.

Steve wants to see how Eddie reacts when he takes one of his tentacles in his mouth.

"Has no one ever touched them before?" Steve can't help but ask, feeling a strange sense of possessiveness over this part of Eddie. Neither of them were virgins the first time they had sex, but this is somehow more intimate. Something that should only belong to Steve.

Eddie bites his lip, trying to hold back his needy sounds and shakes his head.

That won't do.

"I want to hear you say it, baby. Has anyone else had their hands on your tentacles before? Or am I the only one?" Eddie's still biting his lips with those fucking prolonged canines, and Steve wants them on his body, marking it, brandishing him as Eddie's. He thumbs at them, gently prying Eddie's mouth open. " C'mon, lemme hear you."

Another whimper breaks free and with it the thing Steve wanted to hear so badly. "Just you. No one else. Only you."

"Good. They're mine."

Eddie's lips are on his with a hunger he's never felt before. It's like Eddie's trying to crawl inside him, their kiss all teeth and tongue, wet and dirty and so fucking perfect that Steve thinks he could come from that alone.

"I love you so much," Eddie pants into his mouth, unable to stop kissing Steve for more than those few words. Warmth spreads through Steve's body from the way Eddie kisses him, from the sound of those words coming out of Eddie's mouth and from the way he sounds so fucking reverent when he says them.

As Eddie loses himself in their kisses, his tentacles become more and more adventurous. They're everywhere, on Steve's thighs, his waist, between his shoulder blades. One is curling across his chest right now, it's suckers on his nipples, sending electric jolts of arousal straight to his achingly hard cock. Another plays with the head of his weeping cock, spreading more of that slippery liquid on it, and it's tip teases his slit, causing Steve to whine into Eddie's open mouth.

Eddie must have noticed the same thing. "Shit, you're bleeding. I didn't mean to..."

Steve is licking over his lip to pick up the red droplets when the tentacle that is still resting around his neck moves again, it's tip prodding at his bleeding lip. The tentacle also brushes Steve's tongue and some of the clear liquid drips onto his tongue. It tastes sweet, almost like honey, and before Steve knows what he's doing, he closes his lips around Eddie's appendage and sucks it into his mouth.

The taste of it explodes over his taste buds and Steve feels his head become light again, almost as if he's floating. He doesn't even realize that he's licking and sucking on the flesh in his mouth until he feels Eddie's hands fall to his ass, grabbing it hard and grinding his thick, hard cock against it as high-pitched moans and whimpers continue to pour out of him.

There must be something in the fluid coming from Eddie's tentacles, some chemical that makes Steve feel drugged, his body lax and his mind hazy with lust.

"SteveSteveSteve," Eddie almost chants, and nothing has ever sounded sweeter to Steve's ears than his desperation. His own cock is trapped between their bodies and he hitches his hips to get some kind of friction, but it's not enough.

"Fuck me, Eddie. Fuck me with them, I need them to fill me up, please." Steve begs around the appendage in his mouth and he feels more fluid squirt out of the suckers, almost like a cock dripping pre-cum. This feels like sucking Eddie's cock, the way the flesh throbs in his mouth, warm and thick, but also different. Heady and addictive.

Steve's hands wrap around the girth, forcing it in and out of his mouth until more of the sweet liquid comes out and fills his mouth. He moans around it, wanting nothing more than to be stuffed full of Eddie's cum.

As if they can hear his thoughts, another tentacle joins the one in his mouth, making his jaw ache as they pry it open so they can both fit inside. Then a third, thinner than the other two, begins thrusting in and out between them. It goes deeper and deeper with each thrust, hitting his soft palate and teasing his throat until it opens for it.

Liquid collecting along the flesh begins to drip down his throat, relaxing his muscles further as he chokes on the thick tentacles filling his mouth. A broken moan gurgles up his throat, the vibration of it enough to reward him with more thick spurts from the tentacles in his mouth.

While his mouth is being stuffed, the rest of Eddie's appendages are not finished with him.

Eddie's hands are still gripping Steve's ass tightly, not moving so much as holding Steve in place as his tentacles continue to explore and worship his body. The one that's been teasing the head of his cock begins to slowly jerk him off, its grip just the right side of too much but the pace maddening. Steve wants to thrust into it, but more tentacles have joined those around his waist and chest, and even more have wrapped around his thighs, effectively tying him down and restricting his movement.

"Fuck, you should see yourself, so beautiful, so perfect. I can't believe we could have done this the whole time." Eddie sounds as out of it as Steve feels, his voice raspy and so low Steve can feel it reverberating through his body.

Steve realizes that the tight coil in his groin is ready to snap, his muscles trying to tense despite the relaxing effect of the tentacle's pre-cum in his system.

Just when he thinks he can't take it anymore, Steve feels another tentacle slide along the sensitive inside of his thighs. It slips between his legs, forgoing his cock to wrap around his balls, squeezing them tightly enough to stave off his impending climax.

He tries to whine around the thick flesh still fucking in and out of his throat, and comes out sounding muffled and desperate.

Eddie shushes him gently. "Shh, sweetheart, I know. I know. But I thought you wanted me to fuck you and I could tell you were already ready to make a mess between us."

Another muffled whimper.

"You still want me to fuck your needy hole, stuff it until your belly bulges with how full you are?"

The groan that fights its way past his mouthful sounds pained, the mental image almost enough to make him come anyway, no matter how much Eddie squeezes his balls.

It's Eddie's turn to look smug. "Thought so. I will be so good to you, sweetheart. You'll get what you want, I promise."

The tentacle that has been squeezing Steve's balls loosens its grip and slips behind his balls to his taint, stroking along it with just enough pressure to slowly drive him crazy. He wants it to go further, to sink into him, his hole clenching around nothing in needy desperation.

It doesn't. Instead, he feels the tip of a thinner one nudge his hole, spreading some of its liquid over it. It's the sweetest kind of torture when the tip dips inside him, stroking his opening, relaxing it and lubing it up at the same time. Preparing him to take more, so much more.

Steve feels Eddie's grip on his hips loosen and the tentacles holding him down follow his lead, allowing Steve to move again. "It's your show, sweetheart. You can play with them however you want."

The tip pushes deeper into him, the flesh inside of him hardening, ready for Steve to fuck himself on it. He pushes down and feels it sink deeper, his muscles giving way easily. He begins to undulate his hips, slowly fucking the appendage in and out of him.

It's maddening, not nearly enough, and he whines unhappily.

Eddie's hand comes up and cups his cheek, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. "Another one?"

Steve nods, his eyes pleading. He wants to tell Eddie to give him two more, he doesn't care, they've taken it slow enough. But his mouth is still full, and he loves the way the tentacles gag him, forcing him to communicate by whimpering and moaning.

Thank God Eddie doesn't need words to know what Steve needs.

He feels another tentacle pushing at his hole, its tip also slipping in with ease. But the further it sinks in, the thicker it gets, stretching him further and further around it. With the added girth it definitely rivals Eddie's thick cock, the feeling of them spearing him open just as good.

Until the tentacles start to take turns fucking him, no set rhythm or rhyme to it, keeping Steve on edge the whole time. The slick squirt from the suckers must be dripping out of him by now and he wishes they were somewhere dry so he could feel it. As it is, all he can feel is the thick flesh going into him like a knife sinking into butter, and before his next whimper has finished crawling up his throat, Eddie is sinking another thick one into him.

There is no teasing this time, just one smooth thrust that causes Steve to throw his head back in ecstasy.

"Oh my God, Steve, you're perfect, so perfect, I love you so much, the way you just take them, driving me crazy, I'm so fucking close," Eddie sounds almost delirious with lust, like Steve really is driving him crazy, making him feel so good he's about to lose it.

The thought makes him clench around the tentacles inside him, desperate to make Eddie feel even better, to make him feel as good as Steve. His tongue begins to rub along the suckers on the underside of the ones in his mouth and he can feel the spurts of pre-cum getting thicker, their taste even sweeter now. He drinks it down greedily, its effect on him not fading.

Steve's hands let go of the appendages in his mouth and instead search blindly for Eddie's hands. When he finds them, he laces their fingers together and grips Eddie's hands tightly, signaling that he's close as well. He brings their joined hands to his stomach, untangles the fingers, and presses Eddie's palms against his skin.

"Fuck, I can feel them." Eddie sounds awed, and when he looks up at Steve, there is an expression of naked hunger on his face. "Think you can take another one?"

For Eddie, Steve would take another ten.

He really wants another one too, the feeling of being stuffed to the brim is intoxicating, the constant pressure against his sweet spot and the way the sensitive nerve endings at his entrance feel overwhelmed again and again with every thrust stretching him wide. He's never been so full, never felt like this, and he already knows they need to do this again.

He nods, his fingers entwining with Eddie's once more, his palms resting on the backs of Eddie's hands. As Eddie slowly enters him with another thick limb, he chokes on the overwhelming sensation. His hole clenches almost painfully around the intrusion, the circumference almost too much, even with the relaxing effect of the tentacle's fluid, and Steve whimpers.

Before the sensation can become unpleasant, the tentacle around his cock quickened its pace, adding to the pleasure and overriding any discomfort Steve might have been feeling.

The tentacles in Steve's mouth pulse and writhe, the pre-cum squirting from them overflowing his mouth, dripping from the corners and running down his chin. He can tell that Eddie is close, too, and Steve knows he's holding back because he needs Steve to come first.

As if reading his mind, Eddie whimpers brokenly. "Steve, fuck, you feel perfect around me. God, I wish you could fuck me right now, your perfect cock inside me as I fuck you with my tentacles, my cock rubbing against your belly bulge."

It's Eddie's words, the picture he paints, that pushes Steve over the edge and he comes in thick spurts between them. His inner muscles clench rhythmically around Eddie, his girth almost too much to handle.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," Eddie chants, and Steve feels him coming everywhere.

Eddie's hips buck up, forcing his cock between Steve's cheeks and it jerks against him as Eddie comes in thick spurts. They quickly dissolve in the water, but he can feel their warmth.

Even more overwhelming is the feeling of his tentacles squirting thick ropes of cum into his mouth and ass. It's so much that it keeps spilling out of his holes, filling him to the brim with Eddie's release. Their hands are still joined above his stomach and Eddie stares at him in shock as Steve's belly expands even more.

"Stevie, fuck, look at you. So beautiful when you're filled with my cum, your belly feels so big," Eddie sounds like he's having a religious experience and Steve is not far behind. In his mind he can see how his hole will be gaping when Eddie pulls out and he knows he will feel the way they just fucked for hours, if not days. The thought causes another thin rope of cum to spurt from his already softening cock.

Eddie carefully pulls his appendages out of Steve's mouth and ass, mindful of the overstimulated flesh. They slide out easily with the way Steve's whole body is limp after his release.

Once they're out of his body, Steve sinks into Eddie's arms like a puppet whose strings have been cut, letting Eddie hold his weight. Eddie's hand comes up and runs through Steve's hair, his chest rumbling with the soothing sounds he makes against Steve's head.

"That was..." Steve begins, but he doesn't even know how to finish the sentence, feels like there are no words in the English language sufficient to describe how he feels.

"The best thing that ever happened to me," Eddie suggests, and Steve hums in agreement. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Steve." Eddie adds, planting a kiss on Steve's ear. "I never thought anyone could want me, love me, knowing what I am."

This causes Steve to leave his comfortable resting place against Eddie's neck and look into Eddie's eyes as he says, "I think I've been in love with you since we christened my Jeep. I wanted to tell you that first morning you made us burnt toast for breakfast. But I was so afraid to tell you because I thought it was too much. That I was too much."

There's sadness in Eddie's eyes, and Steve doesn't know if it's for Eddie or for Steve. Maybe for both of them. They've both been so afraid to show the other who they really are for so long.

Eddie's lips find his in a kiss that is almost painfully soft, just their mouths pressing their love into each other's bodies, their tongues writing their devotion on each other's souls. When Eddie pulls away, his eyes are as soft as his kiss.

"You can never be too much, Steve. The way I want you? It scares me sometimes. No matter how much you want, how much you need, how much you love? I'm meeting you every step of the way."

Tears form in his eyes at Eddie's words, and his heart beats so loudly in his chest that he's sure Eddie must hear it.

"Marry me."

Steve surprises them both with his words, judging by Eddie's eyes, which are as wide as his own must be, but he doesn't take them back. He just adds, "Not today. Or tomorrow. It doesn't even have to be this year or the next, but someday I want you to be my husband."

The way Eddie's arms tighten around him should be answer enough, but his heart still soars as Eddie presses kisses all over his face, each one accompanied by another breathless yesyesyes.

It's only when Steve starts to shiver in his arms that Eddie stops peppering every inch of skin he can reach with kisses.

"You're cold," Eddie says and Steve can't help but laugh.

"Brilliant observation, Sherlock. How come you're not?"

Eddie just shrugs, "No idea. I don't feel the cold as much when I'm like this. It would suck in the winter otherwise."

This makes Steve pause. "You come here in the winter too? But the lake freezes over."

“Don’t I know. Wayne is helping me clear some of it off further down the shore so I can get in easier. I can show you next winter. For now we should get out. "

With that, Eddie swims them closer to the pier and helps Steve up onto it, because Steve's legs still feel like jelly. As Eddie lifts himself out of the water, Steve sees his tentacles in all their glory for a moment before they retract back into Eddie's body. His hands also return to their normal color and shape, and his face loses that otherworldly look.

He's just Eddie again.

Steve can't wait for the next time they can do this. But for now, he just opens his arms and Eddie immediately steps into his warm embrace.

"Let's go home, my love."

#steddie #steddie smut #steddie fanfic #steve x eddie #stranger things fanfiction #my writing #nsft #mind the tags

174 notes · View notes

klausysworld · 9 months

Note

Hiii, love your work 🥰

I was wondering if you could write one where reader cuts himself and tries to hide it from Klaus, but after a bad night she does it again and the next day she puts on a sweatshirt to hide it, and while she's with Klaus he grabs that part of her arm and she shows pain, Klaus asks her what's wrong and she says that he grabbed her unexpectedly or grabbed her very hard but he's not convinced, the next day the same thing happens again and this time he comes back to ask what's wrong, but this time he insists that she tell him the truth, and she doesn't want to, so he lifts her sweatshirt and sees the cuts and then I leave it to your imagination.

it's okay if you don't feel comfortable writing this 💖

Trigger warning-Self Harm (please don’t read if you think it might upset you)

Don’t Suffer In Silence

Y/n had done well at keeping her marks hidden. Living in a house of Vampires and Hybrids didn’t make it easy which made her feel worse and more anxious but she still managed.

Dealing with the supernatural pressure and losing lives every other day was far too much on Y/n. She had struggled with self harm before the Mikaelsons anyway but with all the added drama she was spiralling fast.

Once again one of the vampires she had befriended became a casualty of everything going on between all the factions. Y/n had state back at the compound with Hope only to be told by a pissed off Marcel and then told to ‘get over it and stop being dramatic’.

Y/n still wasn’t used to the amount of death that surrounded her, not the way everyone else acted like it was normal.

Y/n had come to New Orleans when she received a call from her best friend Hayley. They had helped each other after Hayley got kicked out and Y/n had run away. Since then they both had each others back no matter what. Hayley had known that Y/n would hurt herself in the past but she had no idea that it was still something she went to as a source of relief. It had been years to Hayley’s knowledge so she wasn’t really paying any attention to the possibility.

But if Y/n was honest, she never really stopped in the first place. She never actually wanted to stop, she always had a little blade hidden somewhere ‘just in case’. She was always waiting for something awful to happen so she could feel like she had a valid reason to harm herself.

Y/n had thought things were taking a turn for the better when she and Klaus got closer. She still remembered the first time he kissed her, it was like a moment of peace for her heart and mind.

His touch was always so soft with her and she was grateful for that. They weren’t ‘together’ per say. They never actually confirmed their relationship, they just supported eachother when the other needed it. But Y/n didn’t think Klaus could help her with this. She assumed he would think it was pathetic or just give her that pitiful look.

Y/n always wore her long sleeved tops and if she didn’t then she’d have a jumper or jacket on, no matter what the weather. Of course all the vampires didn’t notice the heat much anyway so thankfully nobody questioned her choices. Everyone was to busy to anyway so even if they did notice, it wasn’t exactly a top priority.

Part of her was glad that she and Klaus weren’t in a confirmed relationship, it meant he didn’t get to see her scarred skin. It meant he never had the chance to touch her unless it was a brush of his hand or the occasional arm around her as a sign of protection. Every now and then he’d put his hand on hers when they sat beside eachother or something had happened that he caused and he would hold her hand gently as an apologetic gesture.

So she didn’t have much to worry about when it came to anyone finding out or caring much if they did.

It wasn’t like she didn’t get a lot of spare time. So she took advantage of her time alone, scavenged for her hidden blade and used it the only way she knew how.

Guilt flooded her after, but it was worth the few minutes of relief she felt before.

She locked herself in her room for the rest of the night, grateful that all the rooms had their own bathrooms.

She laid sprawled out in her bed in just a t-shirt, red wrists faced up as the cool air that flowed in from the window brushed over her skin. It was one of those rare times she fell asleep on her back and woke up in the same spot.

A harsh knocking at her door forced her eyes open and brain to kick start running.

“What?” She called out with a groan and Hayley’s voice rang straight back at her

“Can you stay here and look after Hope? I need to get to the bayou asap and everyone else is out at the moment.” She yelled back

“Yeah I’ll go to her room right away” she agreed while begrudgingly grabbing a cardigan.

Klaus and Elijah returned a few hours later to find Y/n facing the task of feeding a young Hope and having food flung across the floors.

Elijah let out a chuckle and went up to his reading room while Klaus approached the pair and helped settle his daughter.

Y/n assumed Klaus wouldn’t want her hovering over their heads and so went to go upstairs but his hand grabbed onto her wrist to stop her. She winced instantly and yanked her arm away from him making him frown

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he stood up from his seat and looked down at her forehead

“Nothing, you just grabbed me harder than I was ready for” she mumbled quietly before going to keep walking but he grabbed her wrist again just gentler. She bit down on her tongue and looked back at him. He looked at her for a moment before sitting down and tugging her with him

“Stay for a bit?” He started “Hopes games often require at least three people” he smiled and she mirrored his expression

“Yeah, of course” she agreed and lifted Hope onto her lap as Klaus’s arm slipped round her waist and his eyes dropped to the sleeve which threatened to show her skin but didn’t quite.

Klaus payed much closer attention to her actions and responses. She was quick to tug her sleeve down every few moments, even when they weren’t sliding up. When Hope would touch her arms or pull on her clothes then Y/n was looking more and more anxious and uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure what had happened, perhaps she had bruised herself and was embarrassed. Then he worried that one of the mikaelsons enemies had grabbed her too harshly and she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone. So he decided to let it go.

Until she continued to show signs of pain and discomfort for the several following days.

She was making pancakes for herself and Hope when he knocked her arm again, she inhaled deeply and he furrowed his brows as she moved her sleeve round a bit.

He watched as she put the first pancake on the plate and poured more of the batter onto the pan. He went to hold the base of her wrist to help her flip it better but she dropped the pan as soon as he got a grip she was pulling away and dropping the pan down with a loud clatter, he quickly turned the stove off to look at her

“Love, you need to tell me what’s going on” he murmured whilst trying to pull her hand toward him but she wouldn’t allow it

“Nothing, it’s fine” she muttered

“Well clearly something’s wrong” he mumbled, this time he pulled her arm with force making her stumble forward to him. Her eyes widened as he grabbed the end of her sleeve and went to tug it up

“Klaus stop it!” She yelled and smacked his hand with her spare one but he had already seen. His face fell slightly, confused flashing across him before his gaze softened and his eyes flicked to hers. She stared back at him horrified, her chest rose and fell rapidly and she hurriedly shoved past him.

“Y/n” he called softly as he followed her closely. She locked both her bedroom and bathroom door as she sat on the floor beside the bathtub. She breathed rapidly as she squeezed her hands together tightly and tried to think but before she had a chance to her door was swiftly broken in and Klaus was down on his knees before her. “Sweetheart” he murmured as he moved his arms under hers and lifted her as he stood once again.

She didn’t bother struggling as he brought her to his room and sat her down on his bed, his hands stroking the back of her hair. “I’m just going to get Elijah to look after Hope for a moment okay? I’ll be right back” he whispered with a kiss to her forehead

“Klaus it’s fine” she utter but he shook his head

“Just wait right here” he told her before speeding round the mansion.

She sighed heavily and ran her hands through her hair, once, twice, three times and then over and over until she was just pulling at it harshly.

Klaus quickly grabbed her hands hand rubbed the backs of them with his thumbs as he eased them away from her poor hair. Her face was bright red as she hiccuped on her cries in an attempt to silence them. He sat down on the bed and pulled her onto his lap

“It’s okay” he whispered softly “it’s okay” he repeated as he gently removed her jumper, leaving her in a t-shirt and showing him her arms. She couldn’t see his face when his eyes flicked to each and every line on her skin, some faded, some rather fresh and most in between. The pads of his fingers ever so lightly touched one or two of the raised lines, his lips pressed to the side of her head as she let out a sniff in response.

Y/n refused to look at him or herself, her face was turned to the side to stare at the art filled wall. She trailed her eyes over the different paintings while trying to ignore the feeling of his skin on hers. Her eyes shut when she felt something soft touch on of the cuts on her wrist, something warm and a tiny bit wet. The feeling came again and again, her eyes looked to find the source on the tingle against her flesh.

A tear fell down she face as she watched Klaus swap between her left and right forearms to kiss the newer marks on her skin.

He leaned back to look at her face once he was finished, seeing the shame and the guilt shine within her glossy eyes. His hand stroked the hair away from her face as his lips pressed to hers gently, he stroked the back of her neck and the top of her back as he kisses her softly. She pulled back as more tears dropped from her lashes but he wouldn’t let her turn away.

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me sweetheart?” He whispered as he brushed his warm hands over her face. “You can always come to me my love” he murmured “don’t suffer in silence”

She sniffed as she leaned forward to press her forehead against his chest making him wrap his arms around her mid section and pepper kisses to the top of her head

“You’re going to sleep in my bed tonight okay?” He whispered

“It’s the morning” she mumbled back “you have to go settle a deal with the witches and-“

“Do you want me to stay? I can stay home today and be with you and Hope” he offered but she shook her head

“I don’t want you to worry and stay here just because I’ll do some stupid” she told him and his frown deeper and he hugged her tighter

“I can’t help but worry Y/n. Not that what’s happening is stupid but because you’re hurt. I never want anyone to hurt you, not even yourself and I will worry whether you like it or not but I’d rather be able to help you so that I don’t have to and so that you don’t feel you should turn to this” he explained gently

“I can’t help it” she whispered and he nodded

“You don’t want to stop” he uttered and she nodded subtly. He rest his chin on top her head as he thought for a moment, his hands gently rubbing her back.

“I’ve tried to” she sniffed “but I just can’t”

“It’s okay” he told her. “We’ll find a way okay? For now, whenever you want or need to hurt yourself, you call me okay? I’ll find a way to help you no matter where I am, what I’m doing.” He promised and her brows pulled together

“Why would you do that?” She asked weakly and he smiled slightly, not that she could see his face.

“Because I love you and I care too much to let you live in pain” he told her softly. “One day, I’ll kiss every inch of you whether it’s scarred or not” he whispered and took a deep breath as she held onto him a little tighter.

She stayed quiet, in his arms, not sure of what to tell him. But he didn’t need to hear her say anything, he just wanted her to know he was there.

Eventually they went back downstairs, she put her jumper back on so the other didn’t see but Klaus kept her by it on him at all times, made sure she ate and then they went back up to his room so she could lay down with him spooning her to keep her warm and safe.

Y/n wasn’t sure what would happen tomorrow or the days after that but she hoped Klaus would keep to his word and be there if she should need him.

(One could hope for a reaction like this😐🫤)

392 notes · View notes

emry-stars-art · 11 months

Note

Massarati was a courting gift to andrew from abram after he realized they were courting one another

My face reading this omggggggg

(Gonna put this up top instead of at the end; find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕)

So this is the 4800 words of fluff; @jtl-fics was bouncing a LOT of ideas with me about it and everything was so sweet 😭🥰 you can read it here! :D or continue on this post for the sparknotes version from Abram's pov (minus the picnic date tho 👀), and let’s showcase my inexperience with horses ✨

THIS IS GREAT I done got myself a little by making Maserati a rescue case… like Abram’s probably right about what happened to her though I didn’t fully decide on it (I’m also making up everything about horse breeds in this universe thank youuu). He’s out one day for whatever reason and comes across this horse in no pasture that’s tall, clearly made for working, but it’s far too skinny. A little skiddish, but not enough that Abram can’t approach after a while of trying. It’s a familiar breed under the dirt and malnutrition.

He doesn’t even bother seeing where it might have come from. He fashions a makeshift lasso/bridle thing from rope and takes a few hours calming the horse enough to bring it back with him to the castle, leaving it in one of the smaller/less used stables with plenty of food and water before going to find Day or someone else that might be able to help. She doesn’t look impressive at first, obviously. But with lots of help and lots of time from Abram taken in secret to the stables, she slowly starts to get better. She gains weight, she gets readjusted to people, she lets him take care of her coat and hair.

At some point, Andrew insists once again on keeping Abram nearby when Abram is having a worse night than usual. Panicking easily, generally unwell. (Andrew is also wondering why Abram is suddenly spending so much time away, why he won’t tell Andrew where he’s been or what he’s doing. It’s completely in his right to do it, so Andrew never forces the issue, but it’s such an obvious switch from his normal behavior. Right when Andrew thought he could start leaning into the courting, it feels like Abram is pulling away and it hurts a little. He gets worried.) Abram can’t sleep, and Andrew won’t sleep until Abram does, so they lay on his bed with Andrew resting against Abram’s lap, relaxing or reading or tracing scars with his fingertips. It’s a long while before Abram asks, unprompted, “Did you ever have an ideal horse?”

Andrew gives him a look.

“I mean… a dream horse. Maybe when you were little, something you always wanted.”

Andrew makes a small noise. “I think most kids do.”

“Right. So did you?”

It takes more convincing than that, lots of Abram assuring Andrew that it’s not stupid, he’s just curious. He’ll tell Andrew his next. And finally Andrew tells Abram of when he was young, living with the Spears, and would fantasize about being anywhere else. He’d take a horse as black as night so no one would see him when he ran away, a horse that was strong and fast enough to take him wherever he wanted to go. He used to imagine it would carry two, so he could take his governess with him, but that was before she left. It was all child’s play, anyway. It didn’t matter now. (Abram’s horse wasn’t so detailed, but he said if he had to pick a coat color, he was very happy with the blue roan he was given.)

So the next time Abram goes to the stable he looks at her, sees how well she’s bulking up, sees again how much larger she is than the Friesians he’s used to from Evermore. She looks even stronger than those already capable horses. When she’s healthy she can certainly carry two riders and more besides, and her endurance is like the horse equivalent of his own. Her coat is getting shiny again, sleek like black oil.

When she’s healthy and ready, Abram trains her. He again has help, of course - there are people who’s jobs it is to take care of and train the castle’s horses and it isn’t him - but she has an undeniable soft spot for Abram. They get her used to being fully decked out in nice tack and equipment and whatever else. Abram holds her steady to get shoed. The veterinarians/au equivalent make sure she stays healthy and the stable master grows more impressed with her every day. She’s not your average horse, he tells Abram. She’s smart. There’s real intelligence in those eyes.

Abram could not be happier.

By the time the twins’ birthday comes around she is ready to go. Abram spends the morning before his work begins making sure she is as sparkling as he can get her, all ready for her favorite stable hand to take her to the main stables later while Abram attends the prince at the festivities. The stable hand is going to put her in her new tack, too, the beautiful white set Abram spent a good chunk of coin to have commissioned. The horse is perfectly well mannered around people now, though only Abram and a handful others can ride her. Abram only plans his evening because he knows she lets anyone ride alongside him - if Abram deems them worthy, the horse won’t protest. It isn’t trust he ever takes lightly. He’s pretty certain she’ll end up allowing Andrew every privilege she allows Abram. He is so excited and so, so nervous for that night. She’s as perfect as she could possibly be, but Andrew has gotten Abram so many wonderful gifts. This is the first time Abram has returned the favor with such intention. Hopefully it’s good enough. (She is.)

Oh also in case you’re wondering. Andrew only needs a new horse because his beloved GS was finally retired, GS is old and now gets to spend the rest of his days in nice pastures where Andrew feeds him lots of treats 💕 every like is one sugar cube gods bless

208 notes · View notes

stararch4ngelqueen · 7 months

Note

love love LOVE your blog!! do you have any dad! jason hcs 🤕

I have a few in mind. I’ve had an awful day so this will be short, I’ll keep these stuck on infancy hcs 🥰 now I’m gonna escape to c.ai 🏃🏽‍♀️

—

Jason loves kids. He holds this automatic tendency to treat them a whole lot better than how he was treated at such a young, vulnerable age.

Babies though? He thinks babies are ugly. Not ugly as in snot nosed little freaky crybabies (which he does think,) but he finds it funny how newborns look angry all the time. Like they’re judging the world before they can even understand it.

Telling him he’s going to be a father is a complete stun on his mind. Him? A dad? Are you serious?

It takes him a good second to register this, and a second longer to realize that you’re not joking. That their isn’t a hidden button to change the plus sign to negative.

He’s forced to acknowledge the fears he realizes he didn’t acknowledge before about being a father. He knew all of what not to do, but very little about how to do it right.

How is he going to raise a child if the way he was raised was completely different?

He will overprepare. Books, supplies, all the good stuff. A part of him believes it was gonna be a girl, somehow fooling himself into thinking that would be easier, but to his surprise, it’s a boy. The line of testosterone continues on, it seems.

Once his baby is placed into his arms, two things become incredibly clear.

His baby isn’t ugly.

His baby… is gorgeous.

His son has incredible; a six and a half pound child fitting perfectly into his own two hands. Sleek black hair wildly nestled underneath his little blue newborn cap. His pudgy cheeks flushed with color, with bright red quivering lips preparing to bellow out a series of cries.

He’s never heard a more incredible sound. How did something so innocent and blissfully unaware of this damaged, inhumane world come from someone like him? Damaged, inhumane..

His chest flutters with butterflies and bees dancing in the prison of his rib cage for days, his eyes attached to his son nearly every second of every day in that hospital room.

Whether you bottle fed or breast fed, Jason would keep nestled beside you with a tilted head and small smile, admiring how those little fingers mindlessly clenched on nothing.

“His fingers are so fat,” Jason’s smile grows with his words. He extends one of his own fingers onto his son’s tiny palm, marveling at said fat little fingers merely managing to wrap around the tip of his index.

“He’s got your nose,” you’d whisper, watching Jason’s eyes form hearts. “And your hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up with your eyes, too.”

“Yeah,” Jason whispers before proceeding to nod. “Yeah. Course he’s not ugly, takes after his dad after all.”

He wouldn’t want the others to come see you or the baby just yet, even after getting discharged from the hospital. He wants time to adjust, time to settle into this new routine, this new reality. He wants the love of his life to recover comfortably at home, merely thanking you every morning and every night for gifting him such a precious, innocent little boy.

It amazes Jason to see just how easily his son calms down in the presence of his father. You’d get jealous, as sometimes it took you a little longer to calm him down, but Jason was a master of reassurance.

“Relax, he’s always gonna be a momma’s boy. Can see it already.”

It runs in the family, but he’s not gonna say that,

You’ll never know that Jason wakes up in the middle of the night before his son’s first few cries. You’ll never hear how he trudges over towards the kitchen with his newborn in hand, lightly rocking his baby on his shoulder as a bottle warms up inside a small machine.

The opportunity will be incredibly rare for you to wake up and catch sight of Jason sitting back in his recliner, cradling his sleeping son against his chest. Such a small, tiny head resting over his heart, over the crosscut of his silvery scar.

He hums to his son, his lightly rumbling chest keeping the baby in a four hour slumber. Jason doesn’t want him to grow up, doesn’t want him to learn his first steps and learn to talk, but does wish that more than anything at the same time.

The more his son grows to learn these life skills, the more successful Jason will feel. He will reach achievements his parents never did, putting in the effort his parents failed to accomplish. You believe with each success, big or small, will help Jason believe he isn’t the monster he thinks he is.

He already knows it. His son is living proof of it, one he’ll protect with his life if he has to.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x female!reader #this was cute to write

98 notes · View notes

eoieopda · 1 year

Note

Can you please write the “Jungkook thinks you’re perfect” drabble from his perspective? 🥰

sure can, bb! anon is referring to this drabble.

You once made the mistake of asking Jungkook what he did on the days you worked and he didn’t. You cringed at his answer, but all your flustered laughing didn’t make it any less true: he waited for you to get home.

He’d putter around the apartment, prepare lunches for the pair of you to take on your next busy days, and then he’d sit on the couch. And on that couch, he’d spend whatever time he wasn’t napping, staring at the clock.

Every now and then, he’d try to fill the time with mindless TikToks or video games - they did a poor job of maintaining his interest, though. Not when you weren’t there to lean into his shoulder, ask him questions, or banter endlessly about whatever it was you were both fixated on.

You made every mundane moment interesting.

Funnier.

Better.

Maybe that’s why his first instinct upon hearing your key in the lock was to greet you at the door.

Before you could cross the threshold yourself, he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you clean off the ground. You gasped, sounding more horrified than surprised, and sputtered, “Baby, put me down!”

He did as you asked, though he didn’t know why you asked, and then he kissed your cheek in a feeble attempt to soothe the redness growing there. “You okay?” He frowned when your eyes wouldn’t lift to meet his.

You’d never had this reaction to him carrying you before. Did you get hurt at work somehow?

“Yeah, I’m fine!”

Your best approximation of a reassuring smile didn’t convince him, but he didn’t press the issue. Something was bothering you; you’d tell him if and when you wanted him to know.

Instead of doubling down on your declaration like he expected, you tried to step around him.

He slid into your path, earning furrowed brows in response. “This is a toll road, love,” he tutted before pointing to his now-puckered lips.

His chuckle vibrated through the both of you when you paid up. Reflexively, his hands cupped your face to keep you close. His whole body warmed when he felt the upward curve of your mouth, however slight. There she is, he thought.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t trap you forever on that doorstep just to kiss you dizzy. He eventually stepped out of your way and let you pass by - only to follow behind as you headed for the bedroom.

Part of him wished he wasn’t so childishly eager to see you when you’d spent a few hours apart. At times like this, he wondered whether his giddiness was off-putting. If his enthusiasm was exhausting after a long day of dealing with other people’s shit. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t hold back.

Was this how the cavemen felt the morning after the world’s first sunset? When they learned for sure that the warmth they thought they’d lost forever re-appeared like a miracle, and it would do this same thing every single day?

You looked surprised when he slipped into the bedroom at your heels. He didn’t let your expression stop him, though. He launched himself onto the bed and blinked his heart-eyes up at you.

Underneath your confusion, there was something brewing that he couldn’t put his finger on. He then watched you shrink in real-time. He hated when you did that, especially because he didn’t know why, or what he could ever say to prevent it.

To be very clear, he wasn’t ogling you. While there was, of course, always some amount of desire simmering in his chest for you, that’s not what had him hypnotized. It was adoration, more than anything else, that made it so hard for him to look away.

That, and the tiny scar on the front of your right shoulder - the one shaped like a butterfly that marked the spot of your laparoscopic surgery in high school; and the identical one mirrored on your back.

And the silkiness of your skin, and the smattering of freckles that appeared when any part of you saw the sun.

And the perfect softness of your stomach, and the curve of your waist above your full hips. Your thighs, the faint white squiggles that were barely visible there, the little dimples at the very base of your back.

He’d ask you to sit for a sketch if he thought you’d ever say yes; but he knew you wouldn’t. You were so shy about capturing your likeness in photos, whether they were hand-drawn or taken with a proper camera. He wished you weren’t. He’d wallpaper the whole damn apartment with images of you if you wouldn’t hate him for it.

You’d point out every flaw you saw that he’d never see, not even with a magnifying glass. He couldn’t find what didn’t exist to be found.

When you finished taking off your trousers and replaced them with his sweatpants, he was conflicted. He mourned the loss of one of his favorite views, but it tickled him fucking pink to see you in his clothes. You could keep those ratty things forever if he got to keep you. You could have his entire closet, really - there wasn’t a thing he owned that looked better on him than it would on you.

You had that same indecipherable look in your eyes when you finally noticed him gazing up at you. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he did what came naturally: he flopped down onto his back, stared at you upside down, and wordlessly begged you to fill the space between his open arms.

As soon as you indulged him, he sprung the trap. He pinned you down gently underneath him and fired off all the kisses he’d been stockpiling in your unfortunate absence. And there it finally was - that fucking giggle. How could he be expected to go nine entire hours without it?

When he ultimately - regrettably - had to pull away for air, there was only one thought running through his mind.

“I have a question and I need you to answer honestly, okay?” He began quietly with brows furrowed.

Your smile was whisked away and replaced with something laced with panic. That wouldn’t do. He chewed his bottom lip as he tried to find the right way to phrase it.

He was genuinely perplexed and desperate for an explanation. The best he had were five simple words.

“How are you so perfect?”

798 notes · View notes

xpao-bearx · 5 months

Text

This is dedicated to the absolutely beautiful hooman bean @basketobread 💕 They are truly one of the best people I've EVER met and has such a kind, wonderful heart!!! Furthermore, all of their artworks are literal ✨️MASTERPIECES✨️ They and their works are a constant source of joy for me and I just got inspired to write this very short, very simple fic of my BG3 Tav and their much beloved character Lunara meeting 🥰 It's not much, but I hope y'all like it and I hope even more that I did Lunara's amazing character justice! This is also my first time writing my Tav in a story format so it's great practice and an opportunity to flesh her out more before I post my fic of her and Astarion :)

More about my Tav here + this is the song she's singing in this story (and fun fact: I headcanon the singer to be my Tav's voiceclaim!) ❤️

Fic is under the cut and thanks sooo much for reading!! \(^o^)/

Darkness consumed the drow cleric's entire visage. A darkness that reminded her of her past in the Underdark; a waking nightmare she miraculously escaped, forging a path of her own, under the light and guidance of her Lady of Silver.

But this time, she feared that this smothering darkness would be...permanent. She could feel herself blinking, yet only blackest black and the stinging prick of her tears greeted her. She felt the ground beneath her and she doesn't think she broke any bones--or so she hopes--but she couldn't move. There was a looming heaviness in her chest and ice gripping at her heart.

Is she...dying? Eyes fluttering shut, she's resigned to her paralysis, but has not given up hope.

Because fuck that, she's most definitely not a quitter.

"M-My Lady of S-Silver..." She murmured, weak in physique but ever strong in her faith. "P-Please watch o-over me, h-help me overcome..."

She hasn't the faintest clue how long she stayed like that, strengthening herself in prayer, though eventually her ears perked up at the sound of...footsteps?

Something--or, rather, someone--sat next to her. She heard some shuffling then the soft strum of a lyre being played and a beautiful, soothing voice reverberating in her head.

"Flower, gleam and glow

Let your power shine

Make the clock reverse

Bring back what once was mine"

As the mystery songstress continued, she could feel power coursing through her veins, slowly but surely. She blinked once more and faint spots of light danced amidst the shadows.

"Heal what has been hurt

Change the Fates' design

Save what has been lost

Bring back what once was mine

What once was mine"

She felt her fingers twitching, toes wiggling; and, like a flower blossoming, she rose. She let out a sharp gasp as she sat up, chest still heavy but not as excruciating as it was before.

She's alive.

She blinked rapidly, perfect vision returning. She had hardly a moment to gather her bearings when someone's voice rang excitedly.

"Holy hells! I'm so glad you weren't, like, completely dead! Good thing I saw you just in time!"

Her gaze landed on the young woman before her. A half-drow with a smile as bright as the sun and mismatched eyes (one, she noticed, being a rather unusual blood red with a prominent scar across it). She was pretty--ahem, very pretty, might she add--but looked worse for wear. Something she was sure she looked, too.

Before either of them could say anything else, a migraine hit them both like a spiked club. They both cradled their heads in their hands, fragments of a hellish nautiloid swirling in their minds, waiting for the pain to pass and their eyes meeting in recognition.

When it finally did, the stranger piped up once more.

"Oh, wow, we're parasite pals!"

Despite the situation of it all, she laughed. A welcoming warmth radiated from the strange stranger, enveloping her and easing the tension of all of today's utter bullshit. From being kidnapped by godsdamned Mind Flayers to being infected by a disgusting parasite, she laughed and felt comforted that, at the very least, she was not alone.

"Indeed we are!" She grinned before holding her hand out. "Thank you so, so much for saving me! My name is Lunara and you are..?"

The stranger beamed, shaking Lunara's hand and her other hand making a theatrical waving gesture. "Mon'sun, at your service, fair maiden! Perhaps you've heard of me, perhaps not. The tale of my titillating life is still being written, you see~"

'Ehe. TIT-illating.' Lunara thought to herself, letting out a small chuckle before clearing her throat. She was a toootally mature adult, after all.

"Well, Mon'sun, Selûne's blessings upon you!" Lunara did a half bow, mimicking Mon'sun's theatrics which Mon'sun definitely approved of. "Besides your incredibly kind and gracious act of saving me, I'm positive my Lady of Silver led you here for a reason. What say you we band together and find a cure for this parasite?"

"Oho, asking to team up so fast? I would say take me out to dinner first, but I'm pretty easy sooo..." She joked, making a show of thinking before gasping dramatically, pretending to cry tears of joy. "Yes! A thousand times yes!"

Lunara just as dramatically placed a hand over her heart, sniffling. "Thank you! I promise to make you a happy woman!"

As they both stood up chattering and laughing away, preparing for the thrill of adventure ahead, Lunara noticed she was missing her coin pouch.

"Have you seen my coin pouch? I could've sworn I had it tied tightly around my waist, so there's no way it could've fallen off after the nautiloid crash." Lunara questioned as her purple eyes darted around their surroundings, ash and smoke rising from all the debris.

"Perhaps it burned away from the flames of the crash." Mon'sun replied smoothly, helping Lunara seek for her humble riches.

(Pssst, Mon'sun is lying and has Lunara's pouch in her pack, but she rolled a Nat 20 on ✨️deception✨️ sooo...)

"Well, nevermind then!" Lunara shrugged, smiling. "I'm sure our Lady of Silver will grant us great blessings for our journey. In fact, she has already bestowed upon me a most wonderful blessing in the form of a kind, trustworthy new friend!"

Narrator: *As the two drow kin embark on their perilous quest to free themselves of their parasites, a haunting voice echoes deep within the recesses of Mon'sun's mind; her own parasite. One of a different, godly breed taunting her--tormenting her.*

"Do you wish to find comfort in the presence of another inferior god, spiderling?" Lolth cackled, cruel music flooding Mon'sun's ears, vicious mockery only she can hear. "Such foolishness will only bring about disappointment...much like your new companion. But I am here, spiderling. Always watching. It is only a matter of TIME for you to bathe in her blood."

Mon'sun abruptly stopped in her tracks, shutting her eyes tight, nails digging into the palms of her hands that nearly drew blood as she willed the spider goddess to not so kindly fuck off. She was used to this by now, the lure of Lolth's appalling temptations always merciless, sickening, and...gratifying.

But no. She will never ever give in. Absolutely fucking NOT!

"Are you alright, Mon'sun?"

Mon'sun's eyes snapped open, sweat beading down her temple and wide, frantic eyes landing on Lunara, a few feet in front of her staring at her in concern.

"...I forgot!" A beat too late, a beat too nervous. But thankfully, Lunara didn't seem to notice it, only watching in curiousity as Mon'sun rummaged through her pack that was literally ripping off the seams.

Mon'sun then procured a small purple pouch, smiling sheepishly as she handed it to Lunara.

"Apologies, friend. I stole picked this up earlier and just remembered it now. This must be yours, yes?"

Lunara caught Mon'sun completely off guard when she launched herself at the other girl, wrapping her arms around Mon'sun.

"Oh, our Lady of Silver truly blesses me! Thank you, friend, your kindness knows no bounds!" Lunara giggled.

Mon'sun was still for a few moments before returning the embrace, laying her head against Lunara's chest. Her bardic ear listened close, the faint thrum of Lunara's heartbeat--as lovely as its owner--lulling her to a wonderful sense of security.

No matter how temporary.

#Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 #Gifts for Bob #Lunara Posting #Mon'sun

60 notes · View notes

vagabond-umlaut · 7 months

Text

pumpkin spiced metal

You like your men like you like your coffee. Dark. Robust. Steamy. Not the best for your health. The very worst for your heart, for sure.

▸ wrestler!Toji x baker!Reader; Historical AU; Pre-Relationship; Tons of Fluff; Teasing Banter; It's Toji so obviously there'll be mentions of attacks, fights, injuries [Reader is 100% unharmed, dw!! :))]; Reader's fearless nature is something I can do anything to have; Toji & Reader Are Into Each Other And Both of Them Low-Key Know This [they are not idiots but smart, for once, your honor]; Reader Has She/Her Pronouns; There is one tiny [or four tiny] mention(s) of Gojo here HEHE

▸ This belongs to the same Historical JJK AU as the knight Nanami x lady-in-waiting Reader fic parterre but you don't need to read that to read this!! This is a stand-alone!! 😊😊

▸ based on the ask sent by @ancient-vivarium for my milestone event. TYYY SMMM FRELLIE!! 🥰🥰🤗😘 i don't own the characters, image or divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"Coffee wakes one up better than fights, y'know?"

A dagger grazing the shell of your ear before flying into the wall is the very last thing you could have expected your off-handed comment to ever receive; yet, now, on seeing the receiver of your query, you deem you're lucky enough your beloved ear wasn't cut off your beloved face by that wretched dagger.

Fingers gripping your mug more firmly, you heave a heavy sigh— only to click your tongue in the very next instant. Flipping the sign on your bakery's door back to 'closed', you sit down on the steps and make an awkward gesture for this sudden visitor to take the seat beside yours.

A moment passes. And just when you think this person will simply be standing with half of his hulky persona in light and the remaining in a darkness, he shuffles forwards to plop down onto the seat proffered.

You shove the glee curving your lips behind the ceramic of your mug.

Toji throws you a horribly incensed glare from where he's slouched on the stair. "Ya find this shit funny, eh? I can still kill ya if I wanna. These injuries don't mean anything— 'm tellin' ya."

"Mmhm," you nod your agreement quickly, biting your cheek once to keep them blasted giggles within yourself. "I know you can– wrestler and rumored assassin Toji. I'm very well aware you can; but don't you think it's a bit funny— someone as strong and scary as you sharing a cup of coffee with someone akin me? If you aren't you, won't you find this slightly funny, hm? I bet you will, you know."

Your confident remark earns a furrowed glance from your companion before he sighs, dragging a palm down his so weary face then curling it into a fist to rest his cheek on. You shoot him a quizzical look— only for it to bounce right off him, as he closes his eyes, and gives another exhausted sigh.

The sight twists your heart in a way, pretty weird but not unpleasant, you decide.

A hazy yet sharp eye blinking open to watch you, Toji grumbles, "Was attacked by several men some time back on my way to the grounds... of course, I beat them up to a pulp so much, not even their family can tell them apart now; but everything happened so out of the blue—"

"You don't need to explain anything anymore. I understand where the sudden knife attack came from," you cut him off gently, keeping your cup on the ground beside and moving to rub a soothing thumb on an awfully deep scar on the underside of his palm. The muscles beneath your ministrations tense a little, before relaxing a smidgen— you hear a quiet huff of a laugh from the man next to you.

You drag your eyes away from the scars on his hands to that on his lip before lifting them to meet his deep, dark gaze. A smirking glint stays there to greet your inquiring gaze.

Toji asks, "Aren't ya scared of being alone with someone rumoured to have killed half of the Zenin clan, eh, girl? People say the man in front of you once attempted to finish off that blue-eyed brat too once... Did ya not know that?"

You do. The thing is, you do.

You do know each and every one of those rumors. Silly or not. Weird or not. Being the most popular baker in the royal kingdom has made you the unwilling listener to these rumours and so many, many more.

[Just the other day, you heard one lady screech to the other, how she spotted the princess winking— yes, winking— at Lord Gojo. The next day, you saw Her Highness in your bakery, kicking the same Lord and calling him names– no sane lady would ever dream of calling the man they fancy.]

[The princess is not very sane, you know this too. But you choose not to dwell on it too much.] [You value your neck very much, thank you!!]

You shrug after two seconds worth consideration.

"Those Zenin's deserve to be killed, if I'm being very honest here. And as for the matter pertaining to Lord Gojo..." you trail off, before giving your second shrug of the minute and resuming, "I noticed you and he conversing in the marketplace the other day, so I suppose– whatever happened, if anything at all, is all in the past. Also, it's for the best if I don't interfere in others' business, y'know? I've a not-very-tiny one of my own to manage, which is no easy feat, if I must admit— but, yeah. No matter what your reputation is, I don't really mind you here. You've the signs of being a nice company."

An oddly piercing gaze is the only respone your lengthy reply receives— or so you think before Toji cracks a barely-there smile at you, rising from his seat and extending a hand towards you.

It's not the etiquette, some part of your mind tsks. You shut it down in less than an instant. Etiquettes are shit stuff meant for those of noble blood. You and Toji aren't so— at least, not this very second in the soft light of the day, breaking through the cloak of the yesternight— those etiquettes can be easily forgotten by you two. For now.

Forever as well. Perhaps.

You too rise, placing your palm in his outstretched one. And shoot a wide smile when he squeezes your hand and queries, "Ya sure won't mind making an extra cup of coffee for every morning from now on, yeah?"

Enjoying the pitter-patter in the middle of your chest, you shake your head, chuckling. "Heavens, no. If anything, I'll be the happiest to drag another person into my coffee-worshipping cult."

Especially if that someone is as alluring as the one before you— with a crooked grin, a tad bloody and very much feral– but you decide not to mention it– choosing to keep it close to your heart till the time Toji too grows nearer to your heart.

[Which, you reckon, will happen soon, if the pinkish hue of his ears and the moisture on his palm are what you hope suppose they are.]

▸ masterlist

#toji x you #toji x reader #zenin toji x you #zenin toji x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #toji fluff #jjk fluff #kit posts 📝

105 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 2 years

Note

hi babeeee!! can you write something like eddie and reader dating for a month and reader feeling very bad about her scars she got from a car accident. they are on her tights and tummy. maybe angst and smut?? i had an accident a year ago and my boyfriend wasn't so supportive. it's okay if you don't write it. i love your writing soo much, have a nice dayyyyy🥹🥹😻😻

AN | I feel like Eddie really would be the sweetest for something like this. I hope you’re doing well bb🥺🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.2k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You could feel him watching you closely and it made your face flush with warmth. You bit the inside of your cheek in order to keep from saying anything, but naturally your boyfriend had to one up you. Eddie reached over and put a finger under your chin, gently turning your face towards. His smile was magical as always and you couldn’t help but return it.

“You’re really pretty,” he whispered, causing you to want to melt into a puddle. You wondered if he could hear how wildly your heart was beating, “really, really pretty.”

“Eddie,” you put your fingers around his wrist and gently removed his hand, playfully rolling your eyes. Your official relationship with him was still fairly new, but he made you feel loved in a way no one else had ever managed to, “you don’t have to flatter me.”

“‘m not,” he insisted softly, bringing your hand to his lips to press a feather of a kiss to your knuckles, “only stating facts.”

“Hush,” you turned back to the book in front of you, willing yourself to keep calm and collected. He always made it a point to remind you of how beautiful you were, and it always made your heart practically sing with happiness. But then that same happiness quickly turned to dread when you realized he hadn’t seen all of you. You hadn’t been naked in front of him yet.

You were afraid that when he did really see you, he wouldn’t find you beautiful anymore. Not that anything suggested he would be like that…it was just your own fears and anxiety manifesting. It had worked enough to keep you from going all the way with him. Your other worry quickly became him breaking up with you; you were positive that there was only so long before he got bored of waiting.

“Everything all right, sweetheart?” he’d noticed the zoned out look on your face. You snapped back into reality and shook your head, offering him the best smile you could. It fell short of being convincing.

“Of course,” you nodded softly, “everything’s perfect, Eds.”

“Good,” he gently nudged your leg under the table, “you still wanna come over tonight and watch some movies? We’ll have the place all to ourselves.”

Whether or not he meant for those words to hold the weight that they did, the innuendo was not lost on you. It took you a moment to recover, to reel your thoughts back in, before you looked at the boy sitting across from you, “yes, of course. I’ll be there, Eddie.”

“Yes,” he pumped his first into the year, cheering happily. The sight alone was worth everything and you relaxed slightly, deciding to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. He leaned across the table and pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I’ve gotta go and do some stuff for Hellfire, but I’ll see you tonight! I’ll pick you up at six?”

“Sounds great,” and it did. It really did. It also created a giant pit of worry in your stomach. You sighed heavily once he was gone, knowing that something was going to have to give at some point. You just weren’t sure if you were ready for it to be tonight.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d started off at the other end of the couch from Eddie, attempting in vain to focus your attention on the movie playing on the small TV screen. Once you’d grabbed some pizza and sodas and brought them into the living room, you huddled yourself into the opposite end from him. He wasn’t stupid, you were positive that he was acutely aware of what you were doing. But Eddie, the good man that he was, didn’t comment on it or make you feel awkward at all. He really was a dream; everything you could have wanted and more.

But as the evening wore and the two of you playfully bantered to each other throughout the movies you were watching, he’d slowly gotten closer and closer. You grew nervous but tried to calm yourself with the knowledge that he would never do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. But fuck, you really wanted him, wanted to kiss him and hold him and well, everything.

His arm settled around your shoulders and gently you pulled into his body. You gave in, desperately wanting to get closer. His fingers absentmindedly brushed against the skin of your arm before he played with a lock of your hair. After a little bit of tense silence, you pulled back and looked at him, finding his chocolatey eyes studying you, trying to figure out what was running through your mind.

He reached a gentle hand to your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek. You preened into his touch, always amazed by how soft his touch was, despite the rough calluses on his fingers. He leaned in, stopping with his lips almost touching yours, waiting on you to make sure it was okay.

“Please,” your simple request was answered by him pressing his lips to yours, kissing you with a reverent softness. He pulled back after a few moments, relaxing when he saw the big, saccharine smile on your face. You didn’t want to give in to your worries, didn’t want to give in to all the demons that were telling you to stop and that he would never love you after he fully saw you.

You kissed him again, putting your hands on his face as you leaned into body, deepening the kiss when he moaned into your mouth. His hands found your hips as he pulled into his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him until you were dizzy and breathless from the rush of affection. His pale face was complimented by rosy cheeks and a lovesick smile that made you relax. He ghosted his fingers along your jaw and down your neck, sending a pleasurable shiver up your spine.

“You’re so pretty,” he pecked your lips before trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, gently biting at the delicate skin to make sure he would leave behind a constellation of lovebites. You arched into his touch, unable to spot the soft whimpers and moans that spilled from your lips. They were like music to his ears and spurred him on, his hands slowly drifting under your sweater and settling on the pillowy flesh of your hips, “you’re so smart, kind, funny, everything.”

When you felt his hands traveling up, it was like a switch had flipped in your mind, Your body stiffened and you pulled back, catching him off guard. He pulled his hands away from you, holding them up to make sure you knew that he wasn’t going to try anything further. His heart broke when he saw the upset look on your face, tears threatening to spill over and run down your cheeks.

“Baby,” his voice was so soft and gentle and that was the catalyst to the tears running down your face as you couldn’t hold back your emotions any longer, “it’s okay. It’s all okay, you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” it was a choke up little sob as you shook your head, “it’s not you, it’s me. Really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he held up his hand and hesitated for a moment before wiping away your tears. He let you get out all of your tears, his hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I am always here for you.”

“You always call me beautiful,” you sniffled as he gave you a little half smile, “and I know you mean it, but I’m afraid…”

“Afraid of what, sweetheart?” He was so patient and gentle with you that it made you realize just how much you loved him. You may not have been together that long, but you did know that you loved him. The idea itself was both wonderful and terrifying, “hmm?”

“That if you see me, all of me, you won’t like me anymore,” you stared at your hands as you nervously played with them, “it’s stupid, I know but I…I don’t know.”

“First of all,” he whispered softly, reeling your attention back in, “I don’t just like you. I-I love you, you know? And secondly, there’s nothing you could do or say to change my mind.”

“Eddie,” you put your hand on his shoulder, tapping your fingers gently, “you haven’t seen me…all of my body.”

“And? That’s not going to change how I feel about you,” he insisted, tenderly turning your face up to his, “I love you for you, that includes every part of you, whether or not you like that particular part. Do you want to tell me why you think I wouldn’t find you beautiful any more?”

You allowed yourself to look into his eyes and found nothing but tender gentleness looking back at you. You nodded shyly, pausing for a moment before looking at him, “a few years ago I was in a car accident. It….well, it turned out okay, obviously, but I got pretty dinged up. And it’s left a lot of scarring, and it’s not…I mean…I’ve had time to learn to live with it all, you know. But I-I had this guy I was seeing, before you obviously, and things were fine at first. But then he…we were going to make sex for the first and time and he took off my shirt and he just stopped.”

“Stopped?” he was feeling a flurry of emotion as you just nodded, “what do you mean?”

“He just looked at me and said he wasn’t in the mood anymore and that he didn’t think that we should see each other again,” you explained, trying to control the shaking in your voice, “I knew what it was, he didn’t even have to say it. I can put the pieces together. I saw him a few days later with another girl. So…yeah.”

“Do you honestly think I would do anything like that?” he asked softly and you shook your head. No, of course you didn’t; Eddie was a good man and he’d never given you a single reason to doubt him.

“No. You’re so much better than anyone,” you admitted with a small smile, “I know you’d never be like that but sometimes…it’s just hard to let go of that.”

“I can understand that,” he whispered, leaning in to press soft kisses to your cheeks and forehead. You practically melted into his gentle touch, “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to share that with me, sweetheart. And we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, okay? Not now and not ever.”

“Eddie,” he was sure that his name never sounded as good as it did when it fell from your lips like sweet, golden honey, “I…I want everything with you. I-I trust you…and I love you.”

“Oh honey,” he closed his eyes and let out a small, wistful little sigh, “you’re so wonderful. I’m so lucky to have met you.”

“Me too,” you leaned into his chest and he wrapped his arms around you. You let him hold you for a little bit before pulling back and kissing him again. He let you take the lead, controlling the pace and making sure you were comfortable.

It slowly grew more heavy and passionate, both of you lost in the other as you as he managed to draw small whimpers and moans out of you. You rolled your hips into his, feeling that he was growing hard as he rutted his hips in yours. There was a moment of hesitation, but this time you were able to push the negative thoughts away and focus on the moment.

At some point, he’d picked you up and carried you to his bedroom, laying you gently on his bed, looking at you as though you were some kind of angel. He smiled when he saw how relaxed you looked when you caught his eye.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly as you nodded, “we can stop whenever you want, just say the word, yeah?

“Yeah,” you nodded in understanding, sitting up and looking at him. You played with the hem of your shirt, contemplating your next move for just a moment, before you pulled the shirt up and quickly tossed it to the side. You swallowed thickly and waited for him to say something. When he didn’t say anything, you grew worried, but after a moment, the biggest smile spread on his face.

“This was what you were worried about?” he came over and sat down next to you; his warmth made you relax, “baby, you are so beautiful. So, so beautiful.”

“Even with all of this?” you pointed to your abdomen where scars crisscrossed your skin. He nodded softly, leaning it to kiss you gently.

“I love everything about you,” he promised, “every little bit, even the parts you don’t like. You are so wonderful, sweetheart.”

“So are you,” you wrapped your arms around Eddie and pulled him on top of you. He leaned down and brushed his nose against yours as you shared a small giggle, “if you’re ready…I’m ready too.”

“I am,” he whispered, “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson imagine #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #st

553 notes · View notes

paddockwrites · 2 years

Text

Shadow

Pairing: Arthur Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: Arthur is trying to work out his feelings for you until he sees you talking with Charles. He distances himself from you to prevent the heartbreak because who wouldn’t choose the older Leclerc?

A/N: Thank you so much for your support on my last post 🥰 I’m already working on the Charles fic but requests are open in case you have anything in mind. Also, English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes here. Hope you enjoy it and check out my pinned post if you want to see what’s coming next 🏎✨

You had always loved motorsports. You could still remember the day that you begged your parents to let you go karting. Once you were in that little kart there was no going back, you started going to as many competitions as you could, slowly making your way up. This year you were finally able to make it into into F3, driving for Hitech and you couldn’t be happier.

Being in F3 not only meant being one step closer to your dream it also meant travelling all around the globe almost every week, leaving part of your life behind. Many people told you that you’d feel lonely but you never felt it, after all you had Arthur.

You met Arthur at the beginning of the season when you were looking for your motorhome and you immediately clicked. He saw you looking lost and helped you, talking and making you feel at ease on the way to your motorhome. From that moment on the two of you were practically attached to the hip, where one was the other always followed. To you Arthur was your home away from home.

“Good morning!” You cheered as you entered the Prema garage. Arthur told you to meet up there while they were getting ready before they had to get into their cars.

"Someone's in a good mood today." Arthur said as he approached you.

"Of course I´m in a good mood, you don't get to race in Barcelona everyday.¨ You had always loved that city, the weather was amazing, the beaches were beautiful and the people there were always really welcoming.

“Well, you'll only get to race if you don't get stuck on the gravel and make a good qualy.”He teased as he nudged you lightly.

“Hey that only happened once and it was during a practice.” You nudged him back.

"If that makes you feel better." He laughed lightly as he wrapped an arm around yur shoulder.

"I hate to break you two lovebirds apart but we have to get ready Arthur." Jack, Arthur teammate said.

You simply laughed at his teasing, used to it by now. The truth was that everyone thought that Arthur and you would eventually get together, some fans even thought that you were already a couple and your friends loved to tease you about it.

What you didn’t know was that Arthur wished that all of that was true, he had caught feelings for you. He didn’t know when he started feeling that way, maybe it was when he made you laugh so hard that he got both of you kicked out of a fancy restaurant or when you comforted him after a really bad race.

"I'll see you after qualy, good luck chérie." He said.

"Good luck, be careful out there." You hugged him, tryingto hide the blush that had creeped up to your cheeks after hearing the nickname.

Once you parted ways, you walked to your garage, ready to get into your car and start the qualy. Luckly for you, qualy went great, as you had managed to secure P2 for tomorrow's race. You got through your interviews and the team meet quicly, excited to see Arthur and celebrate it with him.

You walked to the Prema garage again, as Arthur told you that he still had to attend his team's meeting. You were waiting outside when you heard a familiar voice.

"You were amazing out there, the last lap was really impressive." You saw the older Leclerc approaching.

He was already wearing his fireproofs and his racing suit was tied around his hips. He was a lot like Arthur, they looked and sounded really similar. Maybe it was the way his eye shone whenever he talked about something that he loved or maybe it was the fact that he never failed to make you smile, but, to you, Arthur always seemed to have something different about him.

"Thanks, it felt really good although I didn't get the pole."

“If you keep driving like that you’ll get more than a pole next time.” He smiled.

“I hope so.”

You talked to Charles for a little while, exchanging stories about your races and joking around. You had met the older Leclerc a few times, but never really talked to him up until now.

��Now I see why Arthur talks so much about you.” He said.

“Does he?” Somehow the fact that Arthur talked to his brother made you feel warm inside.

“All the time, he always finds a way to bring you up. We see a flower shop? Y/N loves tulips. We see a dog on the street? Y/N has always wanted a dog. We tease him a lot for that but I’m really glad that he has you, you make him happy.” By now your face was the same colour as his racing suit. “But don’t tell him I said that, he’d kill me if I knew I told you.”

“Don’t worry, the secret is safe with me.” You said smiling at him still blushing.

“What secret?” Arthur asked.

He had been looking for you, thinking that you’d be waiting for him in his drivers room like you usually do. When he didn’t see you there he went outside and found you talking with older brother, blushing at something he said.

“Oh it’s nothing.” You responded quickly. Way too quickly to Arthur’s liking.

“I better get going. It was really nice talking to you Y/N.” Charles hugged you goodbye. “Good luck tomorrow chérie” He winked as he was leaving, making you laugh.

Arthur could feel his heart shatter when he heard the nickname. He had seen you laughing and blushing at something Charles said and he swears that his heart stopped beating.

He was used to people gravitating around his older brother and he understood it, he was handsome, nice and one of the greatest drivers at the moment. He was always really proud of Charles and admired him deeply.

When he saw your interaction with him he couldn’t help but think how stupid he had been. Of course you’d be interested in each other, it just made sense, you were perfect all around and Charles had everything he didn’t. He wanted you to be happy but the mere thought of seeing you with Charles made his heart ache. He had to distance himself from you in other to save whatever was left of his heart.

“Told you Barcelona was great P-fucking-2 Arthur!” You said beaming up at him.

“Yeah it was great.” He gave you a weak smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You asked concerned.

“I’m just really tired.” He felt the pressure in his chest as he saw the concern in your eyes

“Oh… I was going out to celebrate with some of the guys but we can go back to the hotel and watch something if you’re tired.”

“Actually I think I’m going straight to bed, but you go and have fun.” He really wanted to go and celebrate with you, he was so proud of you but he just couldn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“No it’s fine, it’s no big deal, if you’re tired you should rest for the race.” The disappointment in your voice was evident and it made him want to take everything back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” With that he turned around leaving you confused.

After that you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, the two of you always hang out together after races no matter the results. Had you done something to upset him? Did something happen to him?

The next day only made things even worse as he seemed to be actively avoiding you. You had texted him in the morning to ask him to meet once you arrived to the track but he said he couldn’t because he had to film something for his team and you hadn’t heard from him since. You tried to push Arthur to the back of you mind as you were about to get into your car, trying to focus on the race, although your mind kept going back to him.

Everything felt like a fever dream as you crossed the finish line, you had managed to hold onto you position for most of the race but when there were only a few laps remaining you closed the gap between you and the leader and overtook him on the last lap. You did it, you had won your first race.

As soon as you got out of the car you went running towards the barriers were your team was waiting for you jumping and celebrating. Everyone was hugging and congratulating you but you only wanted to celebrate with one person. Before you could go and look for him they called you telling you to get on the podium and pick up your trophy.

When you were on the podium your eyes started to scan through the crowd looking for Arthur, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. Once the celebration was over you made your way towards Arthur’s garage, maybe his team had called him for a meeting after the race?

“Jack!” You saw his teammate and called for him.

“Hey! Congratulations that was an unbelievable drive Y/N.” He smiled at you.

“Thanks, have you seen Arthur?” You asked.

“He went back to the hotel as soon as the race was over, I assumed you two would be meeting there.” You felt as if the air had been knocked off your lungs. He didn’t even stay to watch you get on the podium.0

“Oh right, I… I just forgot with the celebrations and everything my head is somewhere else.” You said goodbye to Jack.

Your body acted on its own and before you could realise it you were making you way back to the hotel. You strode through the corridors until you were in front of Arthur’s door, knocking. When the door opened you were met face to face with him.

“Y/N what are you doing here?” His voice sounded hoarse and he looked rough. His hair was a mess, strands pointing everywhere as if he had run his hands through them way too many times, and his eyes were a little red and puffed.

“What’s wrong Arthur?” You asked.

“What do you mean? Everything’s fine.” He was still standing by the door.

“Bullshit.” You said.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He was about to close the door boy you stopped him and pushed him lightly to the side to make you may into his room. “Y/N go back and celebrate, please.” He said as he followed you into the room.

“No, you weren’t there Arthur I looked for you everywhere. I got my first win and you weren’t there.” You voice came out shaky and Arthur could feel his heart break as he saw how sad you were. “Why’d you leave?”

“I was really tired like yesterday I-.”

“Don’t lie to me Leclerc.” You interrupted him. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague since yesterday, I don’t know what I’ve done but I need you to tell me.”

“You haven’t done anything.” He said.

“You’ve been avoiding me since yesterday Arthur.” He knew it was true but he couldn’t turn back now.

“I’m not avoiding you.” He sighed.

“Why are you acting like this then? Did something happen?” You came closer to him, bringing your hand up to cup his face. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere Arthur.” He opened his ayes and backed down from your reach, he looked at you as if you had slapped him.

“I can’t Y/N I just can’t.” This was it he couldn’t keep it in anymore. “I’ve been second to him my whole life. I make a mistake? Charles wouldn’t have made it. I win a race? Charles had already won 5 when he was my age. I’ve been second to him all my life and I’ve never really minded but I just can’t bear it right now, not when it comes to you.”

“What do you mean?” You voice was barely above a whisper and if the two of you hadn’t been standing so close he wouldn’t have heard it. You tried to read the expression on his face but you couldn’t figure it out.

“I saw you yesterday with Charles, when you were waiting for me.” He said, his eyes looking everywhere but you. “I saw how the two of you laughed and how you were blushing, hell he even called you chérie. I thought that if I distanced myself it would be easier, that my feelings for you would eventually fade away.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, your mind was going a thousand miles per hour trying to process what was happening while your heart was beating so fast that you were surprised that I hadn’t jumped out of your chest yet.

“You have feelings for me?”

“Of course I do, I think I fell for you the moment I met you, but who wouldn’t? You’re funny, you take care of everyone and you put your heart in everything that you do.” He said.

“Arthur…” You said softly.

“It’s ok I know you like Charles. I just need some time but I don’t want to lose you.” He said as he looked down.

You brought your hands up to cup his face once more, making him lift his head and look at you.

“You’re unbelievably stupid and stubborn sometimes you know?.” Now it was his turn to be confused. “You got it al wrong, I do like a monegasque driver and I think his last name is Leclerc, although I’m pretty sure he drives for Prema and he’s blond. Oh! And he has the best smile I’ve ever seen.”

“You what?” His brain couldn’t process what you just said. “But Charles…”

“We were talking about you, I blushed because he was going on how much you talked to him about me.”

“I-”

He wasn’t able to finish this sentence as your lips crashed into his. He didn’t move for a second, surprised by your actions, but as soon as he was able to react he started kissing you back. His arms snaked around your waist bringing you closer to him. Once you had to part for air he rested his forehead against yours.

“I really am stupid, aren’t I?” He said still a little out of breath.

“You are, but I love you anyways.” You laughed.

“Glad to hear that because I love you too.” He said before he brought you lips back together.

And it was then when Arthur felt that no matter how many times people tried to compare him to his brother or how many thought that he wasn’t good enough, everything would be fine as long as he had you by his side.

——————————————————————————

Tags: @yeolsbubbles @lovingroscoee

If you want to be tagged on my next post let me know! 🥰

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc one shot #charles lecrelc #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader

1K notes · View notes

tpwkwriter · 1 year

Note

u r my fave writter everrrr! And I wanted to recommend H helping the reader with anxiety, depression, an eating disorder and like a traumatic childhood. THANK YOUUUUU

My comfort.

First of all thank you so, so much Not only for your request but lovely words! 🥰

And wowser A traumatised y/n! 🫢but luckily H is there hey!

*Warnings* mentions of depression, anxiety, trauma,drug use!, body dysmorphia, struggles with eating and various mental health issues! My dms are open always! 🤎

Love your beautiful selfs! 🫶🏼

— — — — —

Ever since a young age y/n had been through various battles.

Her childhood was far from mundane, when she was about 9 her parents took to several different substances and would happily leave y/n and her sister alone for many hours through the day.

When the girl hit her early teens she was aware of what was going on and that realisation hit her like a ton of bricks, knowing her parents would rather be out doing his knows what, with god knows who then actually looking after her and her sister

When it was time for secondary school, y/n would still admit that this was the worst time for her. 7 hours of constant work to come home and play mother. The constant comparisons to her and her classmates drove her mad, the reminder of exams and work it was all a bit much.

When she hit 17 she went to college and took part in a weekend job to earn some money on the side. Of course her parents eyes lit up once they heard money was being made.

On y/n’s sisters 12th birthday y/n was finally able to buy her gifts and treat the young girl. However this didn’t go down with the rest of the family, y/n recalls this memory very clearly even though she’s been trying to repress it for years.

The argument they had that evening was booming, her father threw anything he could get his hands on, her mother threw every insult and shaming word there was, all of this because she wouldn’t lend them money?

The night quickly escalated when an empty vase was threw at y/n leaving a cut on her wrist that scarred and she still sees to this day.

From that night y/n picked up longer shifts, and more hours just for a bit more money and financial stability.

By her 18th birthday she could afford her first car, wasn’t anything grand but the freedom it allowed her was amazing, she finally felt proud of how she’s done this all herself, she finally felt pride in herself and not self hatred.

Fast forward to age 25 and her life was something she wasn’t expecting.

She was with one of the most recognisable faces, who was able to show her parts of the world she never thought she could, he gave her the biggest comfort and safe feeling that she ever so lacked.

Her sister was currently 21 living with her own boyfriend and was equally as happy, and both of them was as close as ever.

Y/n loved Harry with everything in her, and wanted no chance or risk that he would walk out on her. Y/n adamantly worked on her figure everyday, she started off her morning in the gym, went for a run at-least once a week, this was good n all but she slowly started slipping meals and going past them.

It was currently nearing 6pm and H had just come back from the studio and long day.

“Alright love?” He asks putting a hand on her waist and kissing her cheek as she was finalising dinner.

“Oh my god H” she giggled

“Y’made me jump! Didn’t hear y’come in” she smiled

“Was m’plan” he smirked kissing her again.

“How was y’day” he ask, reaching the top cupboard for too glasses knowing she wouldn’t be able to reach them.

“Was okay, got Tomorrow off so no excuse to get rid of me” she smiled.

“You?” She asked

“S’okay busy, happy to have our day tomorrow”

Dinner was finalised, and the both sat at the table speaking through there day to each other.

“Y’been to the gym today?” He asked

“Yeah” she answered.

“Did 2 hours in there today!!” She said proudly.

“M’proud of you darling, make sure we’re not overworking ourselves right?” He asks slipping her a look that was all too familiar.

“M’not, I just wanna stay, like this I guess?” She smiles.

“What do you mean baby? Y’gorgeous” he states.

“Have you eaten today?” He asks stopping in his tracks to watch her.

“Um” she wonders.

“I mean, m’eating right now, but I just wasn’t hungry really” she claims, taking another spoonful of her food to her mouth.

“Y/nnnnn” he playfully drags

“I promise I’ll eat more tomorrow, just, wasn’t hungry today!” She smiles.

“Y’did 2 hours in the gym and didn’t eat anything after?” He asks tone getting deeper and eyebrows raising.

“I really I didn’t mean to, I was running errands after and I forgot” she says standing up from her seat collecting the plates from them both.

H joins her in kitchen and helps her tidy up.

“Thanks H” she said.

“N’worries, thanks for dinner love” he says kissing her temple swiftly.

“Gonna get dressed, and then we can watch one of your bloody documentaries?” He smiles

“Y’know it H” she blushes.

They reluctantly parted, y/n found herself bundled up on the couch with a fluffy blanket awaiting her loves return, she found herself scrolling mindlessly on instagram.

When your current boyfriend has exes in the like of Kendall Jenner, cara delavine and Camille Rowe it’s often hard not to feel worse compared to them, curiosity took y/n over and she clicked on Camille’s instagram page, she was greeted with selfies, pictures of events she’s been too, her with her friends and various other things, her beautiful eyes, her shiny long hair, her model figure, she was straight out of a magazine.

Suddenly all of y/n’s work felt pointless, no matter what she would always be compared to these fashionable girls, that familiarity hits her once again.

She set her phone down and focused on the Tv in-Front of her and fell deeper into her fluffy blanket she was cuddling.

Without a word of exchange H joins her back on the sofa, sits next to the girl and guides her legs to his lap, allowing his fingers to gently trace over her shins and ankles.

“I love you” she says eyes remaining glued to the screen.

His movements stop and he turns his head to her.

“I love you too”

The night was slowly closing and the couple slowly started there evening routine.

Y/n was in there shared bathroom going through with her skincare before bed, a million thoughts popped up at once, she didn’t know if It was her anxiety or just her clear overthinking tendencies

Y/n glanced in the mirror, all she saw was all imperfections, she couldn’t even compare to Taylor swift or Kendall Jenner in anyway shape or form.

“Baby Y’alright?” Harry asked from the other side of the door.

She quickly tapped her phone to see the time just to realise she’s spent nearly an hour locked in the bathroom.

“Yeah baby m’now Coming out” she said shaking the train of though out of her head.

Silent tears roll down her face.

Him. He was so amazing in everything he did. His voice was safe. His words were so comforting. The thought of him not being around her terrified the shit out of her.

— — — — —

Part 2 coming soon!

Hopefully you all like this! There will be a part 2 as I don’t want this to be a really long fic, because I have many ideas what I want done with this!!! 🤎

210 notes · View notes

froggie1woggie · 9 months

Text

pt.2🥰🥰

pt.1 here

to say that meeting was awkward was an understatement. both of you stuff as you sit down, his eyes never leaving you. as if you’d disappear if he looked away. you’re cheeks red as a tomato as your comrades stared at you in confusion.

he knows he should’ve been listening more but he couldn’t help it. it’s been a decade since he last saw you and oh how much you’ve changed. you’re once sparkling eyes now dull and tired. you’re bright smile gone and replaced with a frown.

you’re beautiful hair pulled back into a tight low bun, not a stray hair in sight. you’re taller than you were 10 years ago and he can see the muscles you’ve gained through your fatigues.

——————————————————————————-

konig is full of that giddy feeling when he finds out you three are staying for a while. it’s been two days since that meeting and he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. any and every thought had to do with you!

it was bullseyes birthday today and with him being one of the higher ups, everyone wanted to through this a party. konig normally would go for a bit and then turn in, get some work in or work out. but tonight was different because you would be there. at least he hoped so.

he wanted, no needed to talk to you. he can’t wait any longer.

in his quarters he is getting ready, almost done when a knock sounds through his room. with a huff he grabs his balaclava and pulls it on, his hood too far away. grunting out when another rapid knock comes.

pulling the door open he he growls out, “what do you want?” before his eyes go wide as he stare at you. it’s you! knock on his door.

“liebling, what are you doing here?” his tone is softer now as are his eyes. looking you up and down he notices that your in sweats and a tshirt. much comfier than his khakis and compression tee.

“can i come in?” you ask, your voice small and unsure.

“of course.” konig doesn’t hesitate to open his door wide to allow you in. party complete forgotten as all his brain can think about it you being in his room.

god you’re so beautiful.

makes his knees weak.

——————————————————————————-

the way he stares at you makes you nervous. your heart beating out of your chest. he’s so tall, towering over you. your neck craning to look in his eyes.

you can tell he’s wait for you to speak. he want to know what you’re doing here and what you want. but you’re not sure you can say it. you didn’t even know where you were going until he opened the door, you legs taking you.

“can you sit?” you ask. it coming out like a whisper. afraid of how it would sound if you spoke up.

nodding his head he moves and sits on the edge of his bed. hands in his lap and he looks up at you. now even though he’s sitting down he is almost still taller than you, but not quite.

for a while you just stare at him. eyes washing over him. like your tracing his body. it gets to be too much for him, he starts to squirm. hands fidgeting together and his leg bouncing up and down.

just as he was about to speak you move close. your body standing between his spread legs. you’re so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

he’s watching you, he sees your hands twitching. like you want to do something but keep siking yourself out. finally your hands continue their path upwards to his cheeks. cupping them as your thumbs begin to rub circles. his eyes closing as you both sit/stand there in silence. it’s comforting and makes him want to fall asleep.

but his eyes shoot open as soon as your hands move down to the edge of his balaclava. fingertips grazing the bare skin of his neck underneath. his stare holding yours as you begin to drag it up and off his head.

eyes full of worry, it’s been a decade since you’ve last seen his face. and it’s changed a lot, scars littering the skin everywhere. he waits for your face to turn to disgust but it never comes. your eyes brightening and a smile lighting up you face.

“kilgore!” you sign out. like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. fingers brushing up against his skin, feeling the bumps and ridges on his face.

his voice caught in his throat so he just nods. at what, he doesn’t know. but you took that as the okay. your thumb and pointer finger gripping his chin as you angle is just right. then leaning down you finally connect your lips together. and it’s like heaven, his mouth tastes like mint and cigarettes. a weird combination sure but god was it delicious.

he was the one who took it a step further and shoved his tongue into your mouth. the feeling of it rubbing against your own and exploring was enough to make you moan.

that flipped a switch, a switch that he couldn’t turn off even if he tried.

grabbing you by your waist he stood up. breaking the kiss as he threw you on the bed. his was bigger than the one you were given. but that didn’t surprise you with how huge this man was.

letting out a giggle as you voice on the bed. watching him crawl up your body till he’s hovering over you. leaning down he starts to trail kisses up and down your neck. finding your sweet spot was easy. just had to listen to your moans and whimpers. once he found it he started nipping and sucking at the skin. leaving marks all over your neck.

“too much clothes on liebe.” he says as he paws at your shirt.

sitting up you lift your shirt over your head and throw it. next you move down to your sweats. sliding them off your legs and kicking them away. laying in front of konig in just your bra and panties was killing him. forgetting that he didn’t have any face covering until you speak, “gonna catch flies.” you snicker. his mouth having been hanging open.

“ your turn big boy.” you say as you pat his chest. watching as he gets up and starts to undress. first his shirt, revealing the broad plains of his chest. just like his face, his chest was covered is scars. most of them old and healed, some pink and some fresh.

he is gorgeous

your legs clamping shit as you stare at him.

he notice, chuckling as he moved to his pants. taking them off and discarding them on the floor, leaving his boxer.

grabbing your ankles he drags you so your back is flat on the bed. giving you a kiss as his hands start feeling up and down your sides. his hips grinding up against you, needy whines escaping your mouth into his. reaching under you he unclasps your bra. throwing it somewhere behind him.

looking down at your chest he lets out a groan. you can feel his dick twitch against you.

“liebling. you’re gonna kill me.” his voice is deeper than before. more rough and full of lust.

he doesn’t wait for you to say anything, instead he leans down taking your left nipple into his mouth. sucking, licking, and nipping at it. his hand pinching and twisting the other one. after he’s satisfied with the marks he left he switches his attention the the other one. leaving the same marks on this one.

pulling away he admires his work. and god does he almost cum in his boxers. you look so sexy like this. hair messed up, lips bruised, neck and breasts all marked up. he’s in absolute heaven!

“konig, please!” you whine. he likes hearing you say that name. the name that he’s been called for the past 10 years. but when you say it, makes it sound so good.

“gonna have you screaming my name soon liebe.” the smirk on his face is very cocky.

his fingers grab the edge of your panties. pulling them down and tossing them some place. if his mouth was open, he’d be drooling. your pretty pink pussy, all wet and weeping for attention. clit swollen and puff begging to be touched. your hole fluttering as it seeks out something to fill it.

he can’t wait. taking his boxers off, his dick hits his stomach but hangs at how heavy he is. your eyes widen slightly as you take him in. thick in girth and length was definitely above average. uncut tip but skin pulled back due to how hard he his. pre dripping down his shaft and onto his heavy balls.

“gotta stretch you out liebling.” he says, thumb lightly brushing against your clit. moving the hood as he leans down and licks a stripe between your folds. fingers spreading your lips as he begins his feast. another lick to you clit has your body jolting. taking one finger and sliding it inside you, your squeezing so tight. he knows you won’t last once he’s inside.

he starts sucking the bundle of nerves at the same time that he adds a second finger and starts moving them. curving them and speeding up as he listens to the sounds you’re making.

“so close konig. please don’t stop.” you beg as your fingers dig into his hair and pull. the moan that he lets out travels through your body and is that last final push before your orgasm crashes over you.

hips jumping and grinding against his face as he laps up at your entrance. cleaning up your juices and giving you some after orgasm shocks.

sitting up and smiling at you, you can’t help but notice how the entire bottom half of his face is covered in you.

grabbing the base of his cock he slaps it against your tender cunt. loving the wet sounds that come from it. rubbing his tip through your folds and against your entrance before he pushes in.

slowly but surely he sinks in inch by delicious inch. the stretch stung but in a good way, made your pussy flutter around him.

“baby please don’t do that. not gonna last.” he huffs out. hands gripping your hips tight enough to leave bruises tomorrow. finally bottoming out, he stay still waiting for the feeling of his orgasm to go away.

with a whine and the squirming of your hips you beg him to move, “konig, please move.” your eyes are glossy. covered in a layer of lust.

“look at you! such a slut for me, huh?” he teases. thumbs rubbing small circles against your hips. “looking all fucked out already and i haven’t even gotten to the hood part yet.” his voice is full of humor.

grinding his hips into you before pulling out and slamming back in. his cock hitting that spongy spot inside that had your eyes rolling back and seeing white spots. your hands reaching up and your nails digging into his back. his face lowering into your neck as his thrusts get faster and harder.

your cunt gripping him tight as you let moans and whimpers escape your open mouth. his mouth moving up against your ear as he whispers filthy words that have you arching your back into his chest.

you can feel the knot it your stomach tightening fast. “gonna cum kiki. keeping going please!” you whine out. the nickname from your childhood brings back good memories.

“fuck me too doll.” he reaches down and uses his thumb to draw fast and tight circles around your clit. pushing you over the edge, nails digging into his chest as you claw at it. back arching and pussy clenching as you moan and whimper out his name.

“ahh konig. i love you so much!” he was expecting that. but that’s what pushed him over the edge. one last final harsh thrust as he bottoms out inside you and cums. forehead pressed against yours as his dick pulses, filling you with his seed.

laying like that for a while before he gets up, walking into his bathroom and coming out a few minutes later. wash cloth in hand as he cleans you up. tossing it into his laundry basket, he picks you up and pulls you under the blankets with him. your his head resting on your chest as you play with his hair and his arms wrapping around your waist.

“did you mean it? what you said.” he asks. lifting his head slightly to look at you.

“mean what?” you look down meeting his gaze.

“that you love me.” his eyes move away from yours, cheeks tinted red.

“all my life i’ve loved you! and not as just friends.” you say moving his chin so he’d look you in the eyes.

“i love too more liebling.” he says as he nuzzles his face back against your breasts.

you lay there for a little while longer until you hear his lights snores. a smile on your face as you too close your eyes and welcome sleep.

finally in his arms after all these years. right where you’re supposed to be!!

#konig mw2 #konig headcanons #konig #konig modern warfare #konig x you #konig smut #konig x reader #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig imagine

78 notes · View notes