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suguruisms · 6 months

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𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘆 𝗱𝗮𝘆

pairing: bf!getou suguru x fem!reader

warnings: smut, explicit content no minors allowed. no real plot, pussy eating & sex.

a/n: this is my first piece for tumblr dot com so i hope u guys enjoy it, let me know what you think by sending an ask! i can't wait to write my other ideas for other characters!

summary: suguru loves spending his rainy days in bed with you, buried between your legs.

Suguru’s favorite thing to do on a rainy day is to lie down in bed. The stormy, gloomy sky makes the room dark and cold, the patter of the rain against the glass windows brings comfort to his mind, soothing and relaxing. He likes feeling his legs tangled in the sheets, the soft comforter drapes over his body, and his hair splayed against the bed. But his favorite thing is seeing you beside him.

He loves the way your sleep shirt rises a little high on your back and exposes your hip bone, and the fabric of your underwear rests against the curve of your ass. Your eyes, and how they gaze at him with a tired yet loving gaze that you always cast at your boyfriend. Your hair against the soft white pillowcase, the way the blankets hug your figure. He can hardly resist you as it is, but seeing you so utterly content to just be in his company? His mouth goes dry, and his brain can’t focus on a single other thought.

“Suguru,” you mumble, making him refocus, your voice soft against the sound of the storm outside.

“Yeah baby,” he says, lazily bringing a hand to your waist to pull you in close.

He hears your muffled giggles as he drags you in and his arms drape over you as he adjusts to be over top of you. His head drops to your neck, and he kisses your warm skin slowly.

“I was going to ask you if you’re alright but you answered that,” you reply with a sigh of contentment, tilting your head to let Suguru have access.

Suguru loves that you always give him access to what he wants. He always makes sure that you’re okay with what he wants to do, but he likes that you always want him. He always wants you. It works out perfectly. He hums in acknowledgment and his teeth gently nip on your skin before sucking over it, just to leave a little mark. He enjoys how you sigh, and how your fingers thread through his messy black hair. He can feel your cold fingertips delicately brush against the warm skin of his broad shoulders.

His brown eyes gaze into yours, his eyes half-lidded, and he offers a lazy smile. He leans down to kiss you. His kiss is soft, his lips are always soft. He always kisses slowly, as if trying to memorize the exact feel of your lips against his, even if you’ve both been kissing for a while. He likes the way your lips move against one another, the way your hands cup his cheeks to keep him in place there. His hand holds your jaw as his tongue swipes against your bottom lip and you part them, allowing him to have entrance into your mouth.

His tongue isn’t shy, it never is, even if his kisses are deep and slow, Suguru knows how to get to business and kiss you breathlessly. His hand moves from your jaw down towards your chest where he mumbles, “Can I?” and only when you nod does he move his hand down to squeeze your breast. He enjoys your soft whimper against his mouth as he leans in to kiss you again, with a bit more passion and force behind this one in contrast to the one before.

His thumb and index fingers are quick to find your nipple, pinching it playfully until you whimper and arch a little underneath him. Suguru smiles into the kiss, both his hands holding your breasts as he pinches and rubs your nipples over your shirt. Your whimpers muffle in his mouth, and when Suguru decides he wants to hear them, he breaks the kiss. His smile is smug as he gazes down at you, always the one to rile you up so quickly just by simple touches.

“What do you need?” he asks, his tone gruff as he looks into your eyes.

He loves seeing your lips part, cheeks flushed pink as you lie beneath him. He loves how his touch alone can work you up like this. Something as simple as playing with your nipples can do it for you.

“You, please,” you whisper to him and your hands gently tug on his hair, something that always gets him going without fail. Today is no different. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he holds back a grunt, but he keeps composure and opens his eyes.

Suguru doesn’t make you beg, he only ever makes you beg when you piss him off or if he’s taking out his bad day on you. He moves down your body and grips your thighs. His hands squeeze them gently before he slides them on top of his shoulders. He feels your feet move to hook together by the ankles, your soft thighs rest against his cheeks and he swears he’s in paradise. He can smell your scent, his nose pressed right against your clothed pussy as he drags his tongue slowly against the fabric. He hears your moan, feels your fingers in his hair, he smiles to himself.

His fingers move in between your legs and drag your panties to the side. He moans a little under his breath. It never fails to get him excited to see your wet cunt. He dips his tongue into the wetness, lapping it up on his tongue where he hears a faint whimper.

“So sweet baby,” he says in a hoarse tone. He hears your soft plea for more, and when you sound so sweet, how can he not oblige?

He doesn’t waste time sucking on your clit, his fingers swipe up through your wetness to spread your pussy so he has more room. Your moans sound so pretty above him as he takes his time, swirling his tongue in slow circles to drag it out. His tongue flicks against it a few times, dragging his teeth against it as he does. He loves the way your fingers tug on his hair as you moan and whine for him. His tongue gradually picks up in speed with his tongue as his fingers rub against your folds, teasing your entrance with his finger. His eyes stuck on your squirming body as he continued. He can feel your thighs squeeze around his head as he sucks harder on your clit, dragging out so many sweet pleas, whines, and moans.

He knows you’re close to an orgasm, he can feel it, and more than anything, he wants it all over his tongue and face. Suguru slides a finger inside your tight hole and slowly pumps it in and out. His tongue licks over your clit at a fast pace as he sucks against it as well. He pulls away for a breath, but even then he gives your clit small kisses before he dives back in. He curls and twists his finger inside you, making you cry out a moan of his name.

“Close!” you cry out in the room and Suguru hums in acknowledgment. He doesn’t let up, though. His finger moves faster inside you to match the pace of how he swirled his tongue around your throbbing, puffy clit.

“Ah! Suguru!” You cry out in a high-pitched moan and he feels your cum against his finger. He removes his finger, sucking it clean of your cream before he dives between your folds. His tongue prods your needy cunt, tasting your release as his nose nudges your clit, making you whimper in overstimulation.

Suguru leans up though, his chin wet and his lips glistening from your pussy, and he grins. “You didn’t think I was done with you, right baby?” Suguru asks and he chuckles when you shake your head in response.

Your eyes fall immediately to his cock, pressing against his boxers, begging to be freed. Your fingers make way to pull them down and watch as it springs out, and Suguru moans a little at the feeling. His cock is pretty. Long and girthy, curved in the middle and the head of it is in perfect proportion to the rest of his length. You sit up a little and your tongue licks a flat stripe against the head of his cock, cleaning the bead of pre-cum that glistens against the tip.

“Good girl,” Suguru praises, his hand moving to your hair and tugging your head back, “you can suck me off later baby, I need your pussy right now.”

You lie down and your eyes meet his, his heated gaze meets your needy one. Suguru gently guides you down to your back, but he grabs you by the ankles and pulls you with him to the edge of the bed, making you squeak in surprise.

Suguru stands now, pulling your legs to be flush against his chest as your ankles hook on his shoulders. His hands roam down your calves, down to your thighs, before settling on your mound. His thumb rubs your clit, and he watches as your body jolts with pleasure and your lips part in a moan. His lips part as well as he watches with a contented grunt emitting from him. His other hand settles against your pussy as he pushes a finger into your needy hole.

He thrusts his finger in and out quickly before pushing in his middle finger, making them bend and scissor inside your walls. He can’t look away from your squirming body as moans pour from your mouth, and pleas to feel his cock inside you emit over and over from your lips.

“Needy,” is all he says as he fucks you with his fingers diligently to prepare you for his cock. When he rubs your dripping hole with his ring finger, you whine out loudly.

“I-I can take it,” you plead, your voice needy and eager. Suguru feels a swell of pride.

“Can you baby?” He asks as his fingers fuck into your cunt faster and he watches as your legs shake, his thumb still rubbing your clit in small circles.

“Ah- y-yes,” you manage out and nod confidently. He can see the way you look at him with so much confidence. He knows you’re an expert at taking his cock. He loves watching it bury in your needy cunt as he plows into you.

Suguru takes his fingers out and moves his thumb away, letting you catch your breath as your legs tremble against his chest. He grips the base of his cock and drags the head of it against your pussy, rubbing it against your folds, letting your juices coat it as he moans softly. He teases your entrance by pushing just the tip in and moving it away, watching you whine out desperately just to feel his cock.

“Suguru!” you exclaim when he does it a third time, making him laugh beneath his breath.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says under his breath.

His hands grab your thighs and use it as leverage to slowly push into your warm pussy. The moan he emits is guttural. He loves the way your pussy sucks him in, your warm walls clench around his cock as he reaches his hilt. The way your eyes flutter, lips part as you whine out for him, how your chest arches toward him, he’s obsessed with you and how you feel around him. He’d fuck you every day if he could just to see you take his cock. His hands move to your shirt to push it up to see your breasts and hard nipples as you adjust to him.

“M-move,” you say breathily, and Suguru doesn’t need much more encouragement.

Just like he kisses, he starts slowly, letting you get used to the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you even though you both fuck regularly. He grits his teeth though as he does, fingers digging into your thigh as he drags his hips in languid thrusts.

“So fucking tight, you’re always so tight,” he grits out.

His eyes flicker from your face as your moans fall from your lips, down to your breasts that move every time his hips thrust against your ass and the back of your thighs. Every sound you make spurs him on. He can feel your fingers curl around his wrists and squeeze as you moan his name softly. He loses his patience when he sees how good you look, and his hips build to a faster pace.

Your breasts bounce in front of him as he looks down at them and his low moans are in harmony with your high-pitched ones. His balls slap against your ass with how fast and deep his thrusts are; the bed frame hits the wall with every thrust. He watches as you unfold beneath him, your legs shake as he holds your thighs tightly in place to make sure you don’t move from this position. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you babble out moans of his name and ‘please!’ over and over. He isn’t even sure what you’re begging for, but he’s more than happy to give it to you.

He grunts as he fucks your wet cunt, moving his hands to your calves to spread your legs apart as his thrusts get a little harder. Your louder moans mask his moans and quick breaths. Your back arches as he fucks you, fast, deep, and hard. It feels like you can’t breathe at how good it feels.

“Suguru,” you cry out as he continues his unrelenting pace.

“Rub your clit,” he instructs in between harsh breaths and low groans. His dick was rubbing against it with each thrust, but he knows it’s not enough. He wants to see you squirt. He needs it.

Your fingers shakily make your way to your pussy and you rub your clit quickly, it makes you whine, and if it weren’t for Suguru holding you in place so tightly you would’ve squirmed away from his cock that pounds into your cunt. Your body is hot, your pussy is gushing with each thrust Suguru gives you, and you cry out desperately as you feel a white-hot bundle of pleasure builds within you.

“S-Suguru!” You cry out loudly before you cum, you squirt against your legs and a little on Suguru’s torso.

Seeing your back arch, eyes roll in the back of your head, your legs shake, and seeing you squirt is Suguru’s undoing. He pulls out quickly and groans as he spills his cum against your stomach. The white cream settles on your skin as it comes out in ropes that spill out in jerk-like motions.

He takes a moment, rubbing your thighs soothingly as he kisses your calf. Suguru catches his breath, and it’s like the world comes back to him. The rain outside pours against the window, and the ceiling fan above you both whirs softly.

“I’ll get a damp towel and clean you off,” Suguru says hoarsely and offers you a loving smile. Before he leaves, he adjusts you to lie flat on the bed so your legs don’t dangle off the edge of it.

He’s only gone a moment before he comes back with a warm, damp hand towel and sits beside you. He wipes your stomach clean, then your legs, before his torso. He leans down to kiss your stomach, then up between the valley of your breasts before landing on your lips.

“Love you,” he whispers to you.

You smile sweetly, looking at him with tired, sweet eyes.

“Love you too,” you whisper.

He nestles back in bed beside you, holding you in his arms. Your favorite place to be curled up against your boyfriend, and you both take a nap with the rain to lull you to sleep.

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ifiguredyoudloveme · 26 days

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Night Swim (NSFW)

timothée chalamet x female!reader

summary: timothée and y/n go skinny dipping at night and things get a little...yeah.

warnings: p in v sex, semi-public sex, water sex, timmy loves boobs, creampie, accidental biting (?), mild blood.

words: 1,000

a/n: i don't really like this but oh well.

— ˗ˋ ୨♡︎୧ ˊ˗ —

I sink my bare feet into the cold water of the lake. It's freezing, and Timmy winces besides me. I look at him and flash a cheeky smile with a giggle, and his eyes widen as does his smile as he tries to stand and get away from me. He's too late, and I jump into his arms with mine wrapped around his neck and pull us both in. We release each other as we swim to the surface and I come up just after Timmy.

"Fuck you!" He laughs and splashes me, moving out of the way as I attempt to splash him back. "It's freezing!"

I laugh and wrap my arms around myself. "It was your idea, idiot."

His face contorts into an expression of fake anger, a smirk still present on the corners of his red, almost purple lips. When he dives at me and wraps his arms around me, both of us sinking into the water once more, I don't put up a fight. We emerge and he stares at my lips, pink. My legs are wrapped around his hips and in the water I'm light as ever. He gently takes a hold of my face in his hands and our smiles quickly drop into arousal.

"Kiss me," he whispers, and I do, locking our lips together, his top lip slotted between mine. We move our lips in a slow dance for a moment, no tongue, simply enjoying the feel of our cold lips warming against each other. My arms slide around his neck with ease from the slippery state of our wet bodies. He moves his hands from my face to around my waist, pulling me in close, my boobs pressing into his lower chest as he slides his tongue into my mouth. I accept it and offer my tongue in return. Our tongues dance along with out lips, faster now, verging on desperation.

His cock quickly hardens and brushes lightly against my clitoris, sending a shiver down my spine no longer from the cold but from a deep warmth in my core. Our lips disconnect and we stare into each other's eyes, lungs expanding and deflating rapidly. The eyes say everything and we both know exactly what we want at this very moment.

Licking his lips, he sinks down and connects them to my collarbone, nibbling lightly. His hands slide over my boobs and the tips of his thumbs swirl over my nipples that are erect from a mix of the cold and desire. I exhale a light moan and thread my fingers through his wet curls as he slides his lips down and wraps them around my left nipple. He sucks, still groping them, a soft groan erupting from deep in his chest.

I reach between us and find his fully erect cock to wrap my hand around. Now he lets out an open-mouthed moan of a higher pitch, his breath wafting against my sensitive nipple. He sucks and massages at a faster pace as I stroke him ever so slowly, my grip tight, his arousal clouding over his brain and taking hold.

With the water there's no need for lube, and once he emerges from my chest and wraps his arms tight around my waist, he lifts me and sinks his cock inside of me in one smooth movement. We simply stare and breath each other in, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips part as he fucks into me ever so slowly, almost painfully so.

The moonlight glistens against our wet bodies and I know, in a thought that flees as soon as his fingers gently rub over my clit, that anyone could walk past and know what we're doing. It's not rare that people swim naked in this lake at this hour; we're lucky we've got it to ourselves at least for tonight.

The speed of his cock increases, as do his fingers, fucking me in a way of pulling out slowly until the tip is barely inside before pushing back in with speed. Repeat. Our lips are barely touching and his fingernails dig into my back as mine dig into his shoulders, the light pain amplifying the intense pleasure we're giving one another. Our eyes haven't fluttered closed once, not daring to miss an expression, a twitch of the eyes, eyebrows, lips.

As I drop my head and cum with a stifled moan against his shoulder, his movements become inconsistent. He's close.

He moans and places his head against the side of my neck as his shuddered thrusts become erratic. His mouth is open against my flesh and his breath is also shuddered, a replication of the movement of his hips.

We both moan into skin as he pushes into me to the hilt and his cock begins to throb repeatedly, his cum filling my insides with a further warmth. We hold onto each other tight as if letting go may kill us. His lips and tongue lap at the sensitive flesh of my skin he'd accidentally bitten into. I didn't even notice.

We pull away after a while, groaning as his softening cock slips out of me, the cold water encasing it yet again. He looks at my neck with concern and makes a face at the teeth marks and the light amount of blood that's thinned due to the water, the colour appearing more of deep orange than a red in the moonlight. His lips are redder with my blood and I get the desire to kiss it away.

"You're bleeding," he whispers, a slight voice crack. He cups some water in his hands and splashes it against the marks. "I'm sorry."

I lean up and kiss him, my desire given into, to tell him it's okay. A slight metallic taste remains. We smile at one another for a moment before breaking down into a giggle. "Your lips are so purple!" He laughs as he takes my hand in his. "Let's get out before we freeze to death."

#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine

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soulofapatrick · 5 months

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Midnight Confessions - Liam Dunbar x Female Reader

Summary: Liam can't sleep so comes to your room and ends up admitting he has feelings for you

Words: 2.2K

Warnings: None

Y/N’s POV

I’m awoken by a soft rustling, the sound of someone fidgeting nearby and the soft click of my bedroom door. It would be barely audible to the naked ear but being a werecoyote I hear it as clear as day. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dimness of the room. In the half-light, I make out a familiar figure slipping into my room—Liam.

“Lili?” I murmur, sitting up, voice hoarse with sleep.

He turns, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, “Oh, hey,” he greets, his voice low and rough with an air of apology, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

I just shake my head, pretending a false wakefulness, though the little skip of my heart likely gives away my lie, “No, I was already awake.” I lie, offering him a comforting smile, “What’s wrong, Li?”

Liam hesitates, his usually confident demeanour replaced by an uncharacteristic vulnerability, “I… I can’t sleep.” He admits, his voice filled with frustration, “It’s like my brain won’t shut off.” As Liam edges closer, I catch the hint of embarrassment swirling in the air, the subtle shift in his scent betraying his unease. He's never been one to show vulnerability easily, and the faint aroma of it mixing with the usual notes of his scent makes his discomfort palpable.

Without a second thought I’m shuffling closer to the wall and living the duvet, patting the now free space besides me, “Come here,” I offer, used to having any of the pack in my bed at all hours of the day. Being the Pack Mum they all come to me when they can’t sleep, can’t work anything out or just need someone to be with. This is no different, so I don’t hesitate.

Liam hesitates though, he’s never been one to come to me, always being one to bottle up his emotions and have them all come out in bursts of anger. His IED. His gaze flickers between me and the bed as if fighting some inner turmoil before his shoulders slump and he’s shuffling over to the bed.

He eases onto the bed, tentative as if unsure of the unspoken rules governing such intimate moments. I give him the space to settles sensing his discomfort lingering in the air like a fragile thread. So, with a silent invitation, I was my arm around his waist, pulling him closer, offering a sense of security in the embrace. His head finds a resting place on my arm, and I gently pull him closer, molding our bodies together, his back against my chest.

The warmth of his body against mine, the rise and fall of his breaths in sync with mine—it’s a quiet intimacy, a silent understanding that transcends words. My hold on him is gentle yet firm, a reassurance that he’s not alone in this moment of vulnerability.

His muscles tense at first, the unfamiliarity of this closeness evident, but gradually, with each passing moment, he relaxes into the embrace. I feel the weight of his exhaustion, the weariness of carrying the burdensome thoughts and emotions alone. We lay there in the stillness, a fragile peace enveloping us as I wait for him to speak. My heartbeat, a steady rhythm against his back, serves as a comfort for him enough to begin speaking quietly.

Liam’s voice is a mere whisper against the quiet backdrop of the night, almost hesitant to disturb the tranquility we’ve found. “I never… I never do this,” he admits, his words soft and raw with vulnerability, “I don’t… I don’t let people in.” His confession echoes in the space between us, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. I tighten my embrace ever so slightly, a wordless encouragement for him to continue, to share the burden he’s carried in solitude for so long, “I’ve always kept everyone at arms length,” He murmurs, the words weighed down the years of self-imposed isolation, “But… there’s someone I really like.”

His confession lingers, pregnant with unspoken truths. My heart quickens, despite myself, as I’ve honestly liked Liam as long as I’ve known him after Scott turned him into a werewolf. His unwavering determination drew me in at first, he possesses an unyielding resilience, facing adversities head on, regardless of the trials fate throws his way. His willingness to confront challenges, to persevere in the face of danger, ignites an admiration with me.

There’s an inherent goodness in Liam—a genuine kindness that permeates every action and word. Despite the turmoil within him, he exudes compassion, extending a helping hand without hesitation. His caring nature extends not just to the pack, but to everyone around him. Witnessing this innate warmth and empathy, I find myself drawn to his selfless heart.

Liam shifts in my embrace, his movements gentle yet deliberate, turning to face me in the subdued light of the room. His features, usually framed by determination or a boyish enthusiasm, now carry a vulnerability that renders him achingly human.

His electric blue eyes, etched with complexities of emotion, meet mine, shimmering with a blend of uncertainty and an unspoken depth that captivates me. They hold a silent plea, a longing for understanding, yet also harbouring a hint of apprehension about the confession he’s laid bare.

The soft light casts a delicate glow upon his features, accentuating the curve of his jawline. His tousled hair, kissed by the dimness of the room, frames his face in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s a vulnerability in his gaze, the rawness in his expression that draws me in. Every line, every nuance of his face tells a story—one of resilience, of battles fought, and a heart brimming with unspoken desires. And in that moment, with him facing me, vulnerability and sincere it takes every ounce of self-restraint not to close the distance between us.

The air crackles with an unspoken tension, a palpable energy that hangs between our breaths, pregnant with the weight of unspoken confessions. His proximity feels like a magnetic pull, an irresistible force urging me closer.

His lips, parted as if ready to voice more, hover tantalising close, and my pulse quickens at the proximity. The temptation to bridge the gap between us—to taste the unspoken words on his lips—is almost overpowering. His cerulean eyes, shimmering with a tempest of emotions, flicker downwards for the briefest of moments, tracing the curve of my lips before reconnecting with mine. There’s a silent acknowledgement in that fleeting gaze that it’s me. I’m the someone he’s been thinking about and my heart quickens.

In a heartbeat, his hand moves, a tender caress tracing the contours of my cheek, the touch feather-light yet electric against my skin. His fingertips, warm and gentle, send a shiver down my spine, igniting a flutter in my chest. It’s a gesture so achingly tender, filled with an unspoken longing and a depth of emotion that words couldn’t convey. The weight of his touch, the unspoken invitation in his eyes, they weave an intricate tapestry of desire and restraint, of longing and apprehension.

For a suspended moment, we exist in this delicate dance, an unspoken understanding passing between us, as if a silent agreement binds our hearts in this tender, charged space. His thumb brushes lightly against the corner of my lips, an intimate gesture that ignites a cascade of sensations within me. I’m captured in the intensity of his gaze, drowning in the unspoken desires that shimmer beneath the surface.

The charged atmosphere crackles as Liam inches closer, our breaths mingling in a symphony of shared anticipation. Every move, every beat of our hearts, seems synchronised in this suspended moment, an unspoken agreement guiding our silent exchange.

He draws nearer, an almost imperceptible movement, until the space between us narrows to mere inches. The magnetic pull between our bodies intensifies, practically pressing chest to chest, our closeness igniting a firestorm of emotions within.

His touch is a whisper against my skin, a delicate dance that sets my sense ablaze. And in that fragile interlude, his hand guides my head, a tender urging that sends a thrill down my spine. Our gazes lock, the depth of his blue eyes holding a storm of emotions—hesitation, nervousness, and an undeniable longing.

As if testing the waters of an uncharted sea, he leans in, a hesitant yet determined motion that bridges the final gap. Our lips meet in a hesitant, nervous collision—a gentle brush that sparks a conflagration of emotions. It’s a kiss born from the depth of unspoken desires, a tentative exploration of something that has simmered beneath the surface for far too long. The touch of our lips speaks volumes, conveying a yearning and a vulnerability that transcends words.

The initial brush of our lips, tentative and uncertain, ignites a fervour that neither of us could contain. It’s as though a floodgate has been opened, releasing a torrent of pent-up emotions that surges between us. The kiss deepens, a magnetic pull drawing us into a whirlwind of passion.

Liam’s lips, once hesitant, now mold against mine with an urgency born of unspoken longing. The kiss takes on a life of its own, a heated exploration that speaks volumes of the emotions feeling this newfound intimacy.

Our bodies move in sync, a silent symphony of desires entwined. The once gentle touch turns fervent, his hands exploring every curve, every inch they can reach. It’s a dance of fervour and restraint, a silent plea for deeper connection that resonates between each breathless exchange. The world fades away as Liam rolls us over, positioning himself above me. His presence is magnetic, his gaze locking onto mine in an intensity that electrifies the air. The weight of his body against mine sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine, our closeness an inferno of unspoken desires.

My fingers tangle in his soft locks, pulling him closer, urging the closeness as his lips trail from mine to explore the sensitive skin of my neck. His touch sears through me, every caress leaving an imprint of longing etched into my skin.

In response, my hands roam, tracing the contours of his muscular chest, feeling that strength beneath the surface. The heat between us intensifies, a collision of passion and unspoken emotions that dance in the air around us.

Our bodies move in a synchronised dance, each touch, each kiss, an unspoken dialogue of unbridled passion and profound connection. The heat between us amplifies, a whirlwind of emotions and desires swirling around us, encapsulating us in a world of fervour and longing.

Liam captures my lips again in a passionate kiss that steals my breath away. His fervent embrace, the way he fits against me, feels like an intricate puzzle piece finding its perfect match. It’s a collision of sensations—a tumultuous wave of emotions crashing into each other, drawing us deeper into the abyss of our shared desires. With every stolen breath, every tender exchange, I’m consumed by the intensity of the moment, enveloped in a whirlwind of feelings that leave me craving more. There’s an urgency in the way our lips mold together, an unspoken desire to lose ourselves in this infinite moment.

As our kisses deepen, I lose myself in the rhythm of our shared passion. Every touch, every movement, resonates with an undeniable longing—an unspoken declaration that I never want this moment to end. In Liam’s embrace, I find a sanctuary where time stands still, where our connection transcends the boundaries of the physical, and whirr the fervour of our shared desire ignites an unquenchable flame within me.

Eventually, I break the kiss reluctantly, my breaths coming in ragged gasps, feeling the undeniable pull of Liam’s presence lingering between us. “Maybe we should… try and sleep.” I murmur, noticing a flicker of disappointment cross Liam’s features as doubt clouds his expression.

But before his disappointment settles in, I quickly add, “We have all the time in the world to make out, but maybe not at 3m on a school night.”

A bashful giggle escapes him, his embarrassment evident as a faint blush tinges his cheeks. He settles back next to me, nestling into the cradle of my arms with a sheepish yet affectionate smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” He concedes, his voice softened by the intimacy of the moment, “Sleep sounds good.”

The tension from our passionate exchange gradually dissipates into a quiet tranquility. Liam finds a comfortable spot, his head resting against my shoulder, a sense of contentment enveloping us in the soothing embrace of the night.

As the minutes pass, the weight of our shared emotions lingers in the air, an unspoken promise of deeper conversations yet to come. The steady rhythm of his breathing against my chest becomes a soothing melody, lulling us into a gentle slumber.

In the quiet of the night, I hold him close, cherishing the intimacy and vulnerability we shared. Our entwined bodies find solace in each other's presence, a silent understanding that this moment, fleeting yet profound, has kindled something unspoken yet unmistakably beautiful between us. I bury my face in his hair and as sleep claims us, I drift into dreams, knowing that whatever awaits in the waking hours, the warmth of Liam's embrace remains a cherished memory.

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

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mosaickiwi · 27 days

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Fall Unto Me (part three)

Part one, part two

I said I was on break but then a lot of things immediately fell out of my brain cause of stress so now I feel silly... sowweeeeee 🤡 Part four WILL be the last part I swear. If you see more Angel!Angel and Demon!Ren from me after that (and da infodump if i get to it) genuinely tell me to shut the FUCK up!!!

yes i am probably writing the NSFW version it'll be in my compendium post if it happens

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

Your resolve was getting harder to hold on to, but you kept it. This would be the last time. You couldn't part from heaven again after returning. Atonement was waiting for you, eternal devotion to your duty right after.

Another few weeks went by as you stayed with Ren a little longer, the sea of flowers outside your bedroom window changing little by little each day. So many of them were already fully blooming, most of their petals stretched open to show off a myriad of colors while others curled inwards to hide from you. Practically a taunting mockery with how they took their time. As if insulted you would dare leave once they painted the horizon with their beauty.

It made it all the more painful that you'd never see them again. Or the companion that now felt like a piece you'd been missing.

Something about that encroaching deadline had affected the devil, too. Ren was calmer in some ways. They still brought you gifts and knowledge like usual, but he seemed to be taking his time just like the flowers. Simple answers to your curiosities became thorough while he held you close and urged you to ask more questions about whichever object took interest.

He'd offered to revisit trinkets you loved as well. Until you were as familiar with using them as he was. You couldn't understand it.

Your time together was draining away by the second. Didn't they want to make exciting memories? No matter how much you enjoyed it, mastery over human instruments or crafts served no purpose. Heaven wouldn't let you bring those things home, nor could you ask a higher power to recreate them for leisure.

Maybe your love was in denial of your departure. Or maybe spending little mundane, quiet days and nights together like this was their way of coming to terms with it.

Today, you chose to fiddle with one of the oldest gifts while chatting with him. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the room in the faded, flaming gold hue you'd only now gotten used to.

“—Love?” He was calling you, the end of his tail swaying gently in front of your face to get your attention. You’d missed a few words.

“Hm?”

“You've gotten much better at this,” the pink haired devil hummed above you. His chin was resting atop your head as they cradled you in their lap on a frayed rug, his back against the bottom of the couch.

You looked over your work. The woven red string wrapped around and through your fingers took the shape of a pointed star. You knew real stars looked differently, but the human interpretation was interesting.

“Truly, it’s better than before,” you said with wholehearted agreement. The first time you'd tried—only on the third day of your visit to earth—had simply tangled the string to a knotted mess stuck upon your fingers for Ren to deal with while you apologized, embarrassed beyond belief.

The patterns they taught you were almost easy thanks to your afternoon of trying. You unwound the string and painstakingly wound it again into one that often graced your practice: an angel. He'd been particularly smug about teaching you the motions of that one.

“An impressive self portrait,” Ren joked and squeezed you tighter in their embrace. “Although it'll take more than some thread to capture your divine beauty.”

Naturally, you rolled your eyes even though the soul it was meant for couldn't see it. A mortal gesture you'd gotten the hang of quicker than anything, as he so favored innocent teasing before expressing his deepest sincerities.

You untangled the string and tossed it to the side, then turned in their lap to make a face this time for their benefit. “I’ll do a painting, then. I’ve had enough of this toy.”

He relaxed his hold long enough for you to wander across the room in search of new distractions, but innocently called after you, “We’ll have to light quite a few candles for you to see well. Unless you plan to have me mix paints for you in the dark.” A second passed before he spoke again. “It’d be a pleasant surprise, I’m sure.”

“Something else?” you replied, making a swift turn towards the bookshelves. You came back with a couple of novels and sat beside them with your treasure. “Is this really all you want to do? You’ve read every book here before.”

Even the books he’d bought with strange, flimsy paper currency for you, Ren had said so casually, were already familiar territory. Tedium hardly described how boring you thought these weeks must be for him. But he never objected to anything you chose, as long as you both stayed close to home during the day.

And you always kept your wings hidden in case a human roamed nearby. You'd never seen one come close to the cabin, or even the field of flowers, but he insisted your safety—and proximity to them—was of utmost priority. It was hard to remember the last time you let loose your wings at all after walking on the beach with him. They interrupted your thoughts once more.

“My sweet, delicate angel, I’ve had all the time in the world to do anything I want.” Their blue eyes narrowed with a smile as they spoke and you knew more teasing was coming. “We could even sit here in silence all night, if you asked me nicely.”

“How kind of you, my darling demon,” you teased them back.

Another jesting response in his gaze faded to something different as you pulled him down for a kiss, gently at first. The books you’d brought over lay forgotten, soon shoved under the couch in favor of your new activity.

Kissing the demon you called yours felt like second nature now. There was no sting that ever came, no homesick aching in your back anymore. Only the flood of tender emotions he gave you, tainted by your own guilt and fears of parting from him.

You needed more. A stronger distraction. Your hand on his shirt tightened, determined to keep him. To stay in this moment as long as possible.

Ren exhaled, a muttering of blasphemous praise you dare not repeat whispered from his lips to yours, along with one word. A word that sounded odd to your ears.

You'd heard it countless times over the months, but it didn't feel strange until after the first kiss you shared. He must have said it earlier, too, when you were occupied with that damned little red string. Demonic language was much different, it certainly wasn’t that at all. And the sounds of the word did feel similar to mortal languages, but nothing came to mind. So naturally, you could only assume it to be another of their pet names, but…

The thought fell to the side as you focused on him. He was all that needed to matter right now.

Their comforting warmth that called of your sacred home, your nails curling into the bottom of his shirt just to fall lower, an iron, almost nectar-like taste that flowered on your tongue—did you bite him this time? It felt good.

Desperately, you brushed your hand over his thigh, getting dangerously close to where you knew things risked going further. You caught yourself and froze. You wanted him, you’d known since that day in the rain. In every way a being could yearn for another’s love. And of course he felt the same. But could you really go home if it happened?

“Before I…” The words hung in the air and what remained weighed in your throat. Before I leave. Departure was looming on the horizon, sure as the sun would rise tomorrow. You dare not mention it to the one you loved again. You opened your eyes to meet theirs, cautiously as you wondered, “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” they answered, longing clear as the evening sky in his voice. “I couldn’t bear—or ever want—to deny you. Little angel, all you desire of me is yours to take.”

Without another word you did just that. You thought nothing of the faint, staggered line you felt under your fingertips that seemed to start somewhere along his shoulder blade as you lifted the shirt away and pushed him to lay on the rug. Your hands pressed their ink-stained arms flat next to the disheveled mess of pink hair and horns. Ren grinned at your audacity to pin him, but held still for your much needed exploration.

Eyes half lidded with patient lust, mouth parted to show off pointed fangs, the devil looked to be the very picture of your sinful desires.

To be one with them, even just once, was a memory worth making. No matter what punishment waited for you at heaven’s boundary. You skimmed your fingers from the base of his collarbone, down over their stomach, and began to undo the buttons that concealed what you’d been waiting for.

#14 days with you #14dwy ren #14dwy redacted #cw religious themes #momo writing #cannot gush about the story in tags bc spoilers </3 #i must contain myself #sobbing and crying #but p4 queued for next week #maybe my brain will shut up about it once everything is posted!!!#<- hopes and dreams right here #so sorry this AU is all u get out of me for a while...#I'M ON BREAK!!! I AIN'T LYING!!!

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rhettabbotts · 1 year

Note

shelbs!! happy 1.2k!! my brain is spiraling over pull from the smut action prompts list with rhett😵‍💫

i still crave it, complicated freak - rhett abbott

pairing: rhett abbott x fem!reader

summary: sometimes rhett needed to relinquish control.

warnings: 18+ only. SMUT. sub!rhett. hair pulling. using rhett to get off. begging. oral (f receiving). p in v. rough sex. riding. chest scratching. choking. edging. general filth. aftercare.

prompt: the sender pulls the receivers hair.

"Baby, please. Faster. Harder- fuck...."

Your nails dug into his flesh, nearly drawing blood. It was quick and fast, you were both chasing that high.

But you didn't listen to Rhett's pleas. No, you weren't going to allow him to get there that easily. You slowed yourself down to a leisurely pace, smiling proudly at the way Rhett keened. A high pitch noise that no one would ever expect to come out of the stoic cowboy.

It started as a game. A simple game of truth or dare but you threw a bottle of bourbon into the mix and that’s when things got interesting.

He dared you to take control of him, face flushed red - from the liquor or the challenge he had just presented to you. You took a swig from the bottle, hissing as the liquid burned on the way down and you stood from your seat beside him on the sofa. Rhett sat up as you stood before him, spine straight as an arrow - awaiting your next move.

Your knuckles brushed across his cheek, your fingers threaded through his hair. Rhett nearly purred as you allowed your nails to gently scratch his scalp. He sighed heavily, pushing against your hand like a cat. That was short-lived. Within moments you were tightening your grip on his locks and yanking hard enough to crane his neck toward the ceiling.

“Are you going to behave?” You questioned, trying to sound dominant despite your nervousness.

“Yes,” Rhett replied. You tugged on his hair once more at his response.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

“Good boy.”

And that’s how you found yourselves in the position you were in currently - with you sitting on his cock, rolling your hips torturously slow. Every little whine and huff of air Rhett let out caused you to clench around him. You enjoyed this. You enjoyed having your boyfriend at your mercy.

“Darlin’, I can’t- fuck- I can’t take it anymore,” he whimpered, big blue eyes looking up at you. “Use me. Use me to get off.”

You canted your hips a certain way and almost collapsed on his chest. His tip brushed against the fleshy spot inside of you and it made you impossibly wetter. Rhett moaned loudly as you picked up your pace, now bouncing in his lap. He surged forward to wrap his lips around one of your stiff nipples, suckling softly as you rode him hard.

Your fingers found their home in his hair as you pulled and jerked, moaning and panting from exertion. Your thighs burned and you were covered in a sheen of sweat but you couldn’t stop. Lewd sounds filled the room, a mixture of your moans and the creak of the mattress.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take what you need,” Rhett encouraged.

“I’m the one in charge here,” you said, a hint of malice in your voice. You pushed at his shoulders roughly until he was laying flat against the pillows once more, a look of slight shock spread across his face. Your hand slowly crept up his chest, resting at the base of his throat. You were giving him plenty of time to say no, to decline what you were offering. Instead, he bared his neck to you and wrapped his own hands firmly around your soft thighs.

“You look so pretty like this, Rhett. All marked up from me. You need this more than you think. Big, tough cowboy who thinks he has to be in control all the time. I’ll take care of you baby boy, I always will.” You rambled on, never slowing your pace and enjoying the way Rhett’s eyes rolled back into his skull, thrusting his hips upwards to get closer to his peak.

“Cum in me, sweet boy. Fill me up. And then, I’m gonna sit on that pretty face and you’re going to make me cum. Understand?”

“Please, please, please,” Rhett begged, the sound so beautiful to your ears.

It didn’t take long before he was coming inside you, warm release filling you full and it didn’t stop. He whimpered your name as you continued to grind against him, now leaking out of you. You stopped suddenly and pulled off, scrambling up his body to straddle his face.

He pulled you down to his mouth, tongue making immediate work on your clit. It caused you to smack your hand onto the wall and let out a scream of pure pleasure. It was filthy and hot and it had your thighs quivering in seconds. Rhett buried his face in like he was enjoying his last meal, moaning against your wet cunt enthusiastically. It took mere minutes for you to reach your climax, a sound of ecstasy escaping your throat.

You slumped forward, bracing yourself on the headboard as you moved your hips away from Rhett’s face. He had a satiated grin, mouth, and chin soaked with the mix of your releases.

“That was incredible. Really loved it when you choked me. God, that was so hot. My little dominatrix,” Rhett teased, calloused thumbs rubbing small circles across your hips.

You let out a small laugh, collapsing on the bed next to him trying to catch your breath.

“I didn’t expect to enjoy that as much as I did,” you confessed.

“Neither did I… But I had been thinking about it for a while. I knew how much you liked it when I did it to you so… I figured I’d like it too,” Rhett said a bit shyly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up… baby boy.”

A deep groan could be heard from behind you as you made your way to the bathroom. You may have just found his weakness.

#shelby’s sleepover #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction

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sexybabystevie · 1 year

Note

hurt/comfort steve thought (if you’re still accepting them!): he really hates crying in front of ppl so throughout the beginning of your relationship you try to gently remind him it’s ok if he cries in front of you, it’s not a sign of weakness etc. and when something happens that makes him break down in front of you for the first time, he’s like rly shy & embarrassed at first :(

A/n: Oh my gosh this took SO long to answer, I am SO SO sorry about that. Anyways, I enjoyed this thought so much that I decided to pair it with a running idea that I had in my brain lately, so this ended up Steve-Thought-turned-whole-fic, so I hope you enjoy it, lovely!! Once again, thank you for sending this in and partially inspiring this!

His Knight in Shining Armor

Boyfriend!Steve Harrington x Reader

Tags and Warnings: Post Volume 2 Setting, Mentions of Eddie's Death and Max's Coma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Missing Scene, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Guilt, Comfort/Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Harrington, Steve Finally Gets to Cry, Despite the Title Reader's Gender is Ambiguous, Episode: s04e09 "The Piggyback"

Word Count: 5527

Summary: Even as Steve's long-term partner, you've never once seen him cry. In the aftermath of the final battle against Vecna, and in the very hospital room where a barely-living Max Mayfield lies, that changes.

Steve Harrington Masterlist

“Steve!”

Your legs burn as you chase your boyfriend out into the hallway, black Converse tapping softly at the dingy grey tiles beneath you. Everything is a blur – white walls and white coats and white lights that are far too bright and probing at you; it’s all blending together – and the smell of chemical antiseptic gives you a nauseating headache. Still, all of your grievances are floating, fading, flying away at the sight of the man before you.

Steve Harrington is too strong for his own good. A lover, probably one of the most caring people you’ve ever known, and yet he carries so much. The guilt of being Nancy Wheeler’s bullshit for much too long, the awareness of Hawkins’ looming and inevitable doom, the instinct and need to be there to protect you and Robin, to protect the kids – all of these are things that Steve Harrington has placed upon his own back, heaving emotional weights that even a sumo wrestler would struggle to uphold, and yet you had never once seen him cry. Or, rather, he had never once let you see him cry.

You had cried in front of him several times – stress from work and just shitty days in general tearing you down – so it was difficult to imagine just how he was holding himself together. With the thinnest of threads, is what you would assume.

You had always told him that it was okay to be vulnerable, that you would be there to catch him if he ever fell, to hold him during his starless nights, but he was persistent. He shrugged off your offers, not in an unappreciative way, but in a manner that seemed to mean that he wanted you to be under the impression that he was fine. That he didn’t need you to sweep up the broken pieces of him and put them into the dustpan, because he had only ever tried being so defenseless with one other person before, and what had that gotten him? Bullshit…

You never pushed him, hoping with everything in you that he would absorb your words into his heart and come to you when the walls crumbled, but you had a feeling that the first cracks were forming in his foundation when this entire mess with Vecna started.

When you had stepped into Max’s hospital room together, hands interlocked, you almost felt his breathing catch as if you shared the same lungs. His palm stilled against your own, cold and clammy, and he was slinking away from you, back out the door you had barely stepped through to begin with. He was running down the hallway, towards the emergency fire exit at the very end, and you knew that the river was overflowing the dam.

“Steve, please–” you breathlessly call out to him, gaining a few confused glances from patients and visitors nearby, but he’s out the door before the words have fully fallen from your lips. Whether he’s ignoring you in the hopes that you turn away or he somehow just hasn’t heard you yet, you’re unsure.

Regardless, you’re still hot on his heels, your feet hitting the ground impossibly faster. The force of your speed causes them to go numb, nerves firing like you’re stepping on little knives, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on watching Steve’s hazy outline through the blurred windows to really notice. Everything in you hopes that his silhouette doesn’t get smaller – he’s not walking away into the parking lot, he’s not – and you must be really good at manifestations because your wishes somehow ring true. That, or maybe it’s the fact that you know Steve Harrington like the scenic backroads to your parents’ house.

You underestimate just how rapidly the door to the outside is approaching, too caught up in your own worry to think about your physical body. The breath is knocked out of your lungs as you collide with the exit, harsh metal bruising your hipbone as the force of your being sends the door flying open. Wincing and gasping for air, you wobble and step down onto the concrete landing below, eyes scanning for your boyfriend with the intensity of those futuristic pieces of spyware that Joyce Byers said local conspiracy theorist Murray Bauman owned. Maybe your eyes were as powerful as the spyware too, because you easily found Steve’s mop of ruffled-through hair even when it was barely visible over the stairs.

Posture slumped, a man – no, younger; he’s a helpless boy now, a boy who has bravely bitten off far more than he’s able to chew – with shaking shoulders, hollow and yet so unbearably full. His palms shield his face from the world, the only way he can go about holding himself up in this moment, and he caves in on himself, a statue who’s been pushed a little too far over the edge and who is now facing the irreparable consequences. Statues only are made for heroes, how did he end up with one anyway?

You tentatively approach him, walking a little over halfway down the staircase with each move forward feeling like a punch to the gut, and his despondence is like someone has taken your favorite sweater and tried to replace it, but the material isn’t as soft as before and the stitching on the inside isn’t in the same pattern. You stand three steps behind him – his shadow is on your shoelaces – and he says nothing. Three becomes two and two becomes one, and he says nothing. You sit down next to him, a gust of wind and your legs against the cool rock below making you shiver, and again, he says nothing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge that you’re there or that your breathing is still heavy from chasing him, and a pit begins to form in the most sensitive area of your stomach. The tides are receding and the morning skies are red – Steve Harrington is becoming a tsunami.

You, then, say nothing. You’re afraid to reach out to him, afraid he will turn away from your touch like he’s been burned, afraid that you’ll try to mend his heart and it will scurry away from you forever, and you love him. You love him so much that you can’t risk it – the prospect of loving him so much that it drives him away is your very own circle of Hell – so you sit and you say nothing.

Minutes pass, and the air feels like it’s rocky – you’re inhaling pebbles when you breathe. There seems to be a mountain between you – better yet, he’s at the top of the mountain and you’re a traveler without the proper gear to reach him – and you feel as though your hand would have to go through lightyears of space and time to brush upon his shaking arm. The silence doesn’t seem like it will let up, and you’re growing to think that maybe he won’t open up to you at all.

Steve’s position shifts – he buries himself further in his hands, somehow – and that almost gives you the impression that his body isn’t violently shaking. He talks then, moreso brokenly whispers, and if you weren’t right next to him then you might have mistaken it for the whimpering wind.

“I can’t go back in there.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to do next. Your most basic instinct in that moment is to wrap yourself around him like a warm coat, keeping him from the cold of the air and the cruel of the world, but you don’t even settle for resting a palm against his arm. Any move is a push too far when it comes to Steve Harrington and allowing himself to feel for once.

Instead, you pray that he continues on. To your luck, again, he does.

“I know they need me. The kids need me, Robin needs me…” His voice trails off, and he retreats from his hiding place between his hands. He doesn’t turn to you, but it’s a sign of acknowledgement that’s moving in the right direction, nonetheless. “She needs me. Max–” His voice cracks and he tries to cover his tracks by clearing his throat and biting his bottom lip, but you can already see the sheen of unfallen tears on his waterline.

All thoughts of moving too quickly thrown out the window, you shuffle closer and angle yourself so that your knees are inches away from one of his. The warmth from his body fades into yours, intermingles and creates a voluntary bubble of safety around the two of you, and you don’t stop your hand from reaching out and snaking its way down his forearm. A ghost against his skin, leaving goosebumps along your wake, you carefully interlock your fingers with his, and while he’s trembling and resistant at first – stoic – he seems to surrender to himself as his grip hardens against your own, leaving his knuckles white and your hand feeling a little cramped, but you know better than to say anything. Not now.

The reciprocation of his hand to yours settles his internal battle – it’s okay if he keeps going, keeps feeling – and so he finally lets out a long, quivering breath that is reminiscent of the steam above a volcano.

“I’ve already failed her once, and now I’m doing it again.”

The words are what you expected to hear from him, but that doesn’t mean that they make your airways feel any less constricted. Imagining the guilt that he must be carrying – the guilt of losing a friend, a sister, almost a daughter – somehow is more painful than when you collided with the heavy hospital door a few minutes ago.

Everything is suddenly too real. Just days ago you felt like you were on top of the world with your plans to take down Vecna, overconfidence being the sunlight that kept all of you on your toes, and now you were here. Here, with several of your friends gone and one on the verge, skirting the veil between life and death, and you hadn’t really had time to process it all until now. With Steve’s fear and guilt and grief bleeding into you via osmosis of the hand, reality is finally settling in.

It was easier to pretend that none of this was real when you were packing up all of your things to move into Steve’s – all of you had seen the empty ground where Vecna’s gunshot-riddled body should have been, so Steve wasn’t going to have you living in your place alone, even if it meant there was a minuscule chance his parents came back to awkwardly find you there – and it was easier to pretend that nothing had changed when you went to volunteer at Hawkins High, mindlessly going back over the clothes your boyfriend had folded to make sure that they were presentable. The days after the rift was created between Hawkins and its Upside Down counterpart were hazy; it was as if everything before had been some fever dream that all of you had shared, and your schedule was so busy with volunteering and moving that you didn’t have time to fret or to try and tackle what had happened and how that had made you feel.

Everyone had spent those first few nights in sleepless petrification. Joyce hadn’t surprised the group by returning and recovering Hopper yet, and Jonathan and Argyle were still making their way back to Hawkins with El, Will, and Mike. The party was broken, in more ways than one, and so everyone who remained stayed together.

None of you even bothered with packing up night bags or suitcases – truthfully, no one knew when you would all be returning home – and none of you complained when Steve led the rest of you back to his place on foot, ushering you inside the door with a pathetic attempt at a smile. Max had already been transported to the hospital then, and while Lucas had traveled with her initially, they sent him home after she went into emergency surgery. The home he went back to was Steve’s, and those who were inside – Robin, you, Steve, Erica, Dustin, and Nancy – greeted him with heavy embraces and unspoken solemnity. No one spoke at all that night; rather, everyone piled up on extra mattresses and couches in the living room and huddled together as the TV displayed movie after movie. Each time one went off, Steve got up to find another one to put in the VHS.

Once an old helicopter from Russia and a pizza van from California touched Indianian soil, the family reunion had begun. Some victories and losses were shared with one another, but certain topics remained unmentionable. Max. Eddie. Their names were like lava on your tongues, and saying them meant that it was real – Vecna was still out there and he was real, several innocent people had died and had been declared missing since the rift had opened and that was real, and just as Max was finally becoming more forgiving with herself, she was gone again, and that was real too. It was too much all at once, too much for a group of children who had somehow fought for the world and won, even on more than one occasion, and so, however wrong it may have been, you couldn’t dare utter a word.

It was still too soon when Wayne Munson touched his nephew’s missing persons poster at Hawkins High, but Dustin was more brave than anyone else and stepped forward. The rest of you watched with grief-stricken hearts as he stood up for one of his best friends and role models, and while you couldn’t say everything that Dustin did because the words wouldn’t stop getting caught in your throat, everyone else did give Eddie’s poor uncle the reassurance that his nephew was, in fact, innocent, and was, unfortunately, a hero.

It was still too soon when the hospital rang Steve Harrington’s house to let Lucas Sinclair know that Max Mayfield was now allowed to have visitors, but you all piled into Steve’s BMW anyway and rushed to the hospital. Steve broke several traffic violations and there were so many people in his car that you were genuinely shocked you could all fit, but none of that mattered. It was almost as if your chance to see her would be gone if you were even a fraction of a second too late, and none of you were willing to take that chance.

Despite how quickly you all bombarded into the hospital and into Max’s room, your feet never once hit the ground. You were walking on air, somewhere far above the earth that was dreamy and made your head spin, and all of that crashed and burned the second that Max’s mother opened the door.

The severity of your situation was so dark, so desolate that it took Steve Harrington’s hand squeezing the life out of yours and the declarations of exclamatory guilt coming from his lips to get you to finally adjust to how things would have to be from now on. The crushing weight of it all brought bile to your throat, and you subconsciously returned Steve’s death grip on your fingers.

“She relied on me.” You can hear Steve talking, you can still feel him right next to you, but you’re still floating. You’re still trapped in some kind of daze, and his words only make your chest ache with loss. “She relied on me, and I let this… I didn’t do anything to stop it. I promised her I’d make sure she’d be okay. I promised her that she would make it out of this.”

The pain and guilt of Steve’s voice goes right to your gut, making you feel more nauseous than the chemical scent of the hospital ever had, and dizziness overtakes your body despite the fact that you’ve been sitting entirely still.

Even in his current state, your boyfriend takes notice of the way your palms grow more shaky and rigid. By habit, he turns to direct his gaze towards you – always more concerned about anyone other than himself – and you have one small moment of eye-contact, a glistening of pain and anxiety and understanding between the two of you, before a single tear escapes the confines of Steve’s pretty brown eyes and he panics.

His stare widens impossibly further and he’s too quick to turn away, to shut down anything that might follow afterward. His head shoots away, focus lingering on some wilting bushes that are to his left – any scene without you is suddenly of intense interest – and gradually his body shifts away as well, his knees no longer parallel to your own. A gap is left on the concrete stairs between you, and just the sight of it makes you feel colder than you did when the unrelenting wind previously froze you to the bone. The gap doesn’t just freeze your bones, it erodes them too.

Steve takes what you can only assume to be an attempted deep breath, but he seems to be too forceful and instead lets out a strained half-gasp, half-cough. Sniffles and the sound of poorly restrained tears ring throughout you like a church bell, and you snap out of your stupor as your protective nature kicks into overdrive. You want nothing more than to whisper your mantras of love and reassurance to him, a hand snaking up to groundingly, softly, curl the delicate hairs on the back of his neck around your fingertips, but you hesitate. Again.

“You can… uh, go back inside now,” Steve says, so quiet that a ladybug landing on a four leaf clover would have been an explosion in comparison. The only reason you hear him at all is because the breeze carries his voice over to you like one of the gruesomely thoughtful dead mice a beloved pet cat would leave on your doorstep at midnight.

In another situation, you may have laughed out loud at his suggestion, but you know the significance of this moment. You know that things are delicate, as is Steve’s relationship with emotions, so you settle for subtlety, a choice that you’re hoping lets him know that you aren’t trying to be pushy, you aren’t trying to push him to the point of driving him away. Truthfully, the very last thing that you wanted to do was leave him, and you hoped with everything in your soul that he felt the same.

“I could,” you say, voice soft and matching his from before, quiet enough to be spoken between the two of you only – not even the swaying oak tree nearby can hear the words exchanged among you like a sacred secret. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

Your carefully chosen words imply more, other things you wanted to tell him on the tip of your tongue – I know you need me, I want to be here now and always, I want to be the one you go to forever, please let me. You’re all too aware that his previous offer for you to go back inside was more – that it was his way of letting you know that you can go back, back to the way things were before, when he hadn’t been vulnerable like this – and you hope that your answer speaks the same riddles he does, only in reverse.

Steve says nothing, which might be alarming any other time, but he hasn’t made any other covert suggestions about how you should be reacting to this situation, so you take that as the small victory that it is. His shoulders quivering, he still keeps his back to you, clearly not quite ready for facing you head on, and you ever-so-gently bring one of your hands to his back, hoping and praying that it isn’t too much too soon. His walls fall one at a time, castle crumbling brick by brick, and you hope that he’s let his guard down enough to finally let you comfort him. You’ll dig him out of the rubble and debris every damn time; you’ll be his knight in shining armor if he’ll let you.

The muscles in his back tense a little, making you hold your breath for what feels like ages, already expecting him to turn to you, a teary smile on his face as he tells you that he’s fine, he was just being silly, and aren’t you ready to go back inside now? like he’s said in the past. Like when you accidentally stumbled into the bathroom that first night, when he was wiping tears from his eyes in front of his aged, rusting sink. You couldn’t help thinking he was like that sink then, looking broken down and far too old for his true age, and the thought of seeing him like that again is enough to send a cold chill through your chest. Everyone knows what too much rust does to something – it corrodes and eats away at the source until nothing’s left – and it was with cruel irony that the very image of that happening to your ever-loving boyfriend made you feel like something was eating away at you.

You’re so in your head with worry that you barely notice that Steve hasn’t shrugged your hand away. You shake yourself out of your spiraling thoughts, away from the shock that fights for you to freeze up in uncertainty, and decide to test the waters. Your fingers trace small shapes into the material of his yellow sweatshirt like you’ve imagined doing thousands of times before, their movements a bit stiff and awkward but neither of you seem to care. Steve seems to relax into your touch, feeling his body loosen right under your palm in such a way that makes your heart partially melt – both at being capable of being able to do that for him and also because it was you that was calming him down, not someone else.

Even if it was only miniscule, to be the one to provide him a sense of comfort was an honor. Still, though, you don’t plan on moving away until he’s either all cried out or he asks you to back off. While you’d prefer the former, just this moment in itself is proof that you’ve made progress, and you’ll accept any kind of growth at this point, even if it means you don’t get the chance to hold him in your arms like you know he deserves. One step forward may be twenty steps away from that – your perfect fairytale ending where you can finally share the burdens that Steve has been carrying solo for far too long – but you’ll take ninety more days like this as long as Steve’s finally letting himself feel something.

A choked up sob escapes his throat, a noise that simultaneously relieves you and takes a chunk of your heart from your chest and stomps on it. If you really focus on the sound of him crying, on the way his body uneasily shakes, you begin to feel your own eyes prickle with the potential of unshed grief. Your first instinct is to shove it away, to try and be a rock for the utterly drained man next to you, and maybe it’s the exhaustion eating away at you post interdimensional battle – or maybe it’s just the heat of the moment – but, regardless, you let down the barriers and allow teardrops to cascade down your cheeks.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice you’re crying with him until he hears you loudly sniffle, and in his haste to check in on you, he forgets about his emotional hesitancy. His body shifts back towards you, a small sense of warmth crossing over your legs as his knee gently knocks into yours. His eyes scan carefully over your face, his eyelashes wet and clumped together and his eyelids slightly swollen and tinted pink.

“You’re even pretty when you cry,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips before you can even think about having said them, and it takes a second for you to truly understand that you’ve spoken out loud rather than harmlessly thinking it to yourself.

You’re not sure how you expect Steve to react, but what you don’t anticipate is the soft and intrusive blush that begins to creep onto his cheeks. Gaze diverted to the ground, he takes in a long, deep inhale of air before quietly replying with a bashful, “Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t have to explain that, you know he’s talking about his vulnerability with you, and you instantly shake your head at him, the shine of the sun showcasing the half-dried and abandoned trek his tears fell from. With the burning light directly behind him, casting his brown hair a few shades lighter and leaving behind a residual warm yellow glow, he looks like a fallen god.

“Don’t be.” Your hand slinks away from his back and down to where his hand rests upon the concrete, and when you take it into yours, you feel the indents of the rock and gravel below in his palm. “Remember what I said before?”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to scold me about it.” The sprinkle of playfulness in his tone takes you by surprise, and you’re relieved to spot the edge of his lips tilted up into the tiniest of smiles. Despite all the horrific events of the past few days, Steve Harrington can still have a smile on his face, and that makes you feel like maybe everything else is going to end up alright.

As abruptly as it was there, however, it’s gone, and your boyfriend’s voice is back to the quiet hoarseness of before.

“It’s just…” He trails off, features scrunched up as he appears to be struggling with words. Luckily for him, you know him better than the flavors of ice cream you had to painstakingly memorize when you were merely coworkers at Scoops Ahoy.

“Hard, I know,” you say, finishing his sentence for him. “But I’m happy you let me in. Even if it was only for a little while.”

Steve shifts to form eye contact with you, his own gaze softened as he drinks in your words, the gentleness of your hand, and everything about you. For the first time in his life, he finds true trust in another person. Your little smile holds a kind of affection that’s almost dizzying, the kind of dedication one only sees in those horribly cheesy romance movies he’ll never admit he likes watching with you, and he feels like being next to you, showing even the tiniest sliver of his pain to you, is like a baby being swaddled into a security blanket.

He stays silent, overwhelmed with his onslaught of adoration for you, and the two of you let the moment pass just like that. Hands entangled, gazes interlocked, and thoughts filled with nothing but one another, the comfortable silence filled with words unspoken but understood between you.

You know better than to bring up his guilty confessions from before. Your conversation has shifted and you’re afraid to backtrack, afraid that doing so might result in him hiding away from you again, so you decide to let it go. Even though the only thing you want to do is relieve his pain, reassure him by telling him that he’s taken on too much – that the best course of action anyone can take for Max is being patient, having hope, and kicking Vecna’s ass – but you let it go for now.

“Thank you.” Steve breaks though the quietude to beam at you, grin still small but never any dimmer, and practically offers his heart to you alongside it. He’s more than certain that you’ll be careful with it, especially after today. He thinks that maybe he can get used to this, to being vulnerable with you and to seeing your pretty smile afterward, and he’s almost looking forward to it. Almost, but not quite.

The way he looks at you, so full of love that it’s more obvious than the answer to some elementary math problem, is nearly enough to bring you to tears again. Never in your life had you imagined finding someone so soft, so genuine and caring for everyone around him, and your chest is beginning to ache as it longs to beat directly next to his.

Consumed by this feeling, you reach out with your free hand and grasp the sleeve of your sweater into fisted fingers before using the plush material to wipe away what’s left of his breakdown. Your motions linger as you shake your sleeve back into its proper place and scoot closer to him, index and middle fingers rising and tracing along his cheekbone. You can’t help but get lost for a moment, sidetracked and taken into another world as you closely examine the smoothness of his skin, the tiny little freckles that are sparsely scattered onto the side of his face. You already knew they were there, of course, but you never get tired of finding them. Sometimes you wish you could thank whoever it was that painted them there.

Steve’s breath is warm against your chin, causing your stare to automatically flicker to his. You’re not surprised when you find that he’s been looking at you all this time, absorbing this memory with you while he can make it, but it still makes your lips upturn nonetheless.

“You ready to head back in there yet?” he asks, voice low and a tad bit teasing as his ego undoubtedly takes a boost from how unintentionally hypnotized he’s made you. “Those shitheads are probably losing their minds right about now. Think we’ve left and they’ve lost their ride home or something.”

His joking tone is laced with worry; you both know that just talking about going in there means your minute of peace is over. You’ll be back into the throes of whatever new hell Hawkins endures next, back to living in uncertainty surrounding the safety of not only yourselves, but also your friends. It was true that people had been dying this whole time, the years being tainted with the blood of those like Barb who never really had a chance, but this was your first real taste of a different kind of loss. A kind of loss that’s more than just being sympathetic or upset for a few days; the kind of loss that’s felt in the absence of people at birthday parties, in the way that sometimes conversation seems normal until there’s a lull that should’ve been where someone else was cracking a joke. It’s the kind of loss that you can’t ignore because it’s felt everywhere, and just the minor glimpse of it that you’ve caught in the past few days has you feeling terrified.

You’d always naively thought that you and your friends were safe, untouchable, too relevant to the status of Hawkins and the world at large to be taken from this world. Eddie and Max had proven your beliefs wrong, and that meant that no one was really safe at all. Vecna could and would strike again, and it was only a matter of time before you’d be walking on eggshells and avoiding stepping on the vines of the Upside Down again.

A flash of yellow and a hand being offered out to you snaps you back into reality. You weren’t even aware Steve had gotten onto his feet and was no longer sitting next to you, no longer tracing his fingers on the delicate skin of the back of your palm, but you don’t get caught up in that.

Instead, you accept your boyfriend’s outstretched hold and let him help you to your feet. Your legs are wobbly, halfway numbed from lack of movement, but Steve’s right there by your side, iron grip on your hand like he’s seconds away from rushing forward to catch you, if necessary. You don’t need it this time – your body comes back to life quite quickly, leaving you with legs again in replacement of the jelly-like limbs you had prior – but something in the gleam of his eyes and the sureness of his hold tells you that he’ll be there to catch you next time and the time after that too.

You give his hand a small squeeze, noticeable enough to act as the okay to start heading back inside, and when he squeezes back, you know that you’ve got one another. Both physically and emotionally. The next move from Vecna is inevitable, but you feel a little more certain about things like this, fingers intertwined and with souls that you chose to be twisted together. When misfortune strikes again, Steve will be there to hold you close, and you’ll be more than willing to do the same for him. You know there’s years of trauma and pain that he hasn’t shown you, hasn’t yet informed you of, and you look forward to the days when he decides to open up. As long as he keeps letting you wipe the residue of his tears away with your sweater sleeves, of course.

#stranger things fic #stranger things #stranger things four #stranger things 4 #st #st4 #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #lovely requests #dear anons

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queers-gambit · 2 years

Text

High Noon

prompt: the tournament begins, and plans for a funeral looms

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 10k+

warnings: cursing, more non-specific smut, author projecting her loneliness, violence, more but wonky brain shut down!

previous: part one: Midnight Calls

next: part three: Darkening Hour

The morning was still, quiet, rigid with tension after the previous night's fiasco. Mary had come to your door early, finding you already sat before your vanity, pulling a hair brush through your locks. Your handmaiden kept quiet and selected a gorgeous gown from your chest, but then paused, and pulled a different one out.

The colors of the first dress was that akin to your husband's House, but the new dress was the darkest of coal in color with red threading along the bodice. Mary turned to show you the dress, cocking her head, "You've not worn this one before, Lady... Perhaps today is a good day to wear it?"

Your lips quirked in amusement, head cocking some as you focused on the mirror before you. "Those are interesting colors, Mary," you mentioned casually, "surely, that is pure coincidence?"

Mary looked to your chamber door and darted towards it, only pausing to toss the dress onto your freshly made bed, and shut the door firmly. She turned with her back to the wood, finding you twisting in your seat to face her, "Surely, you must have something to tell me of last night, my Lady?"

"What makes you think that?" You wondered.

"You met with the Prince," she rolled her eyes lightly, moving towards your body to turn you again towards the mirror. "What happened? Oh, please, Lady, you know the gossip in the castle is only half-truth, and I would never get to experience something like this."

You sighed gently, "Nothing happened, Mary, we only met and..."

"And?"

Your shoulders shrugged meekly, "And he told me of his Lady-wife's passing, I offered my condolences, and he wondered if I would support him in the tournament. I told him that it would be a great scandal in the court if I supported him, and not my husband."

Mary rolled her eyes, "Your husband's always been a pig, Lady, I am sorry." You nodded in agreement before silence befell the two of you, then, an idea came across your mind.

"Mary?" You prompted.

"Hmm?"

"In a perfect world, who would you choose?" You wondered, watching her through the mirror as she started to intricately braid your hair.

"From the courts?"

"Sure," you sighed.

"Hmm, well, Ser Harwin Strong is... Mhmmm," She hummed, nodding, making you both giggle. "And of course, there's a few others..." She went on to name a few names, before rolling her eyes, "Yes, yes... And I do suppose Prince Daemon is handsome, and brave... And strong, and handsome, and talented, and rebellious, yet so very charming, and cunning with a reputation that precedes him, and he's handsome, too..."

You laughed, "Think he's handsome, do you?"

"Perhaps a bit," she teased, winking back at you. "Though... I do know who I would marry if the Gods permitted it."

"Oh?" You perked up, grinning at her in wonder. "Are you going to tell me who it is, my friend, or let me be the only one sharing secrets?"

She sighed lightly, "His name's Edwin."

"Where did you meet?"

"He's a stablehand," she admitted, shrugging some. "Met through work, if you will. He's handsome... The third son of one of the blacksmiths, and doesn't truly keep up with his family, I suppose."

"Hmm," you considered. "And how does he feel of your family?"

She was one of ten siblings. Oh, her mother was a saint.

"Yes, well, in truth, he loves them," Mary breathed, "and my parents adore him."

"Then what's the issue?" You asked gently. "Why not court him properly?"

She shrugged, "He is... Courting another... Well - it is complicated, my Lady, and I am unsure of how it makes me feel."

"Who else is he courting?"

"The Lady Deena."

"No!" You gasped.

"I know!" She whined. "Their father's set it up, but Edwin does not wish to enter service, for he is talented as a smith, but he loves horses more and likes what he does now. He's truly a humble man - but it's put delay on their betrothal."

"And now you've fallen in love with him, oh, Mary," You sighed. "Would you point him out to me? I wish to put a face with the name."

"Of course," she nodded, already dressed for the tournament after agreeing to be your escort as your husband was competing. "And Lady Deena has been boasting about her seats for the tournament. Edwin's going to compete..."

"We need to make you a token, so you can give it to him! Oh the look on the Lady Deena's face!" you gasped lightly as you shook your head, looking around your room. "Okay, I'll make you one if you do those braids I like?"

"The thick ones?"

"Please," you nodded, your maid agreeing; and leaving you sat in the chair for another hour (or longer) with a woven favor in your lap as Mary tucked, twisted, and braided your hair.

Your make-up was perfected after, and then, you decided to wear the beautiful black dress. Just as Mary was lacing the corset, there was a knock at the door. "Enter," You called, revealing another maid. "Yes?"

"From the Prince, my Lady," she presented a sheet of suede; laying it on the table, and bowing out of the room as if in fear. Her eyes had never lifted from the floor, and you wondered what abuse the servants in the castle usually endured.

You made a mental note to ask Daemon about it later.

"What's that?" Mary wondered as your heels clicked over the floors to reach the small table holding a pitcher of wine and a few books; pulling the suede flap up to reveal the most beautiful sight.

A strand of thick rubies that were posed as a choker necklace, making it look like the jewels would drip off your neck. There was a pair of matching ruby earrings, with another matching ruby ring; complimenting your choice of dress perfectly.

"Gods," Mary swore when she saw the jewels. "Those are a pretty thing, hey?"

"Beautiful, I'd say," you complimented, petting the sparkling gems intimately. "Would it add insult to wear? I would be wearing Targaryen colors, Mary..."

"No, you look ravishing in this," she assured, gesturing to your dress, "that I do not think anyone would interpret this as betrayal. And the jewels?" She tutted lightly, "I would think the Prince be offended to find you not wearing them, Lady."

"I fear you might be right," you admitted, trying to fight your smile. "Would you put it on?"

"Of course," she agreed, taking up the necklace with gentle hands. She latched it on as you fixed the earrings into your piercings, slipping the ring on you right ring ringer; opposite the wedding band you wore for your husband. "Gods be good," Mary nodded, stepping back to admire you. "You look incredible, my Lady. Honestly - I am finding the words hard, you look... Just wow," she nodded, clasping her hands together. "How you have grown into a stunning young woman. No wonder the Prince is so smitten."

You sighed lightly, "Oh, Mary - "

"No, my Lady, you just look breathtaking," she nodded, waving her hands frantically. "Oh, enough of that from me, you don't need an old woman telling you how beautiful you are." She sighed almost sadly, nodding, "Just wish your mother could see you now."

Your smile faded slowly, "Might I be honest a moment?"

"Of course."

"Since I left home and came here, you've been more mother than I've known before," you admitted. "And your praise means everything to me, so, please, don't hold back," you both giggled lightly.

"Come," she nodded, fixing a portion of your necklace. "The joust is to start soon, and I do believe our men are competing - both of yours, I do mean."

"Hush," You nodded with a smile, and took one last look at yourself in the mirror, the jewelry making you look and feel powerful - as if cloaked in Daemon's sigil, and his protection. Mary's arm looped around yours as you departed down the halls of the Red Keep; pushing out of the doors, and joining a stream of other royals heading for the tournament grounds.

You both held your woven favors in your hands and found your seats easily; giggling lightly and pointing to different things. Ser Harwin Strong passed by and paused to bid you both a good day, kissing the back of your hand, and even taking the seat beside you to mumble to you and Mary about the happenings in the sandy arena.

In an interesting turn of events, your husband was announced against the Rogue Prince - and your heart stalled in your chest as your hand blindly slapped Mary's thigh. Concern spiked as your husband boisterously rode into the arena on a brown horse, the crowds weakly cheering for the fattening knight, but then muttering in confusion when he approached the side of the stands you were not on, and accepted the favor of another Lady.

"Oh," Mary whispered, eyes wide; glancing at you with nervousness.

Harwin cleared his throat, "A simple curtesy, I'm sure."

"Hmm," You hummed, nodded as if it did not sting to witness. The Lady across the stand was Lady Regina - who had a renowned reputation of wrecking homes. She bit her lip and stood at the railing, watching your husband like he was prey, and you understood why. The only appeal of your husband was the location of his home as it was strategic, and a great host to farmlands.

He also commanded some 3,000 soldiers that he had pledged to the crown...

Your marriage was great in the sense that he left you alone, but all of his wives had died... And for the first time, you questioned how. "Ser Strong?" You mumbled, making the knight lean in some. "Might I ask you something?"

Prince Daemon was announced, the crowds cheering harder as Harwin agreed.

"How did my husband's first three wives come to pass?"

Mary leaned in to listen as the knight cleared his throat nervously. "Naturally, my Lady," he nodded, Daemon galloping around the arena in his dragon-suited armor.

"Do not lie, Ser," you demanded. "Tell me truthfully."

"Truthfully - it was all presented as natural," he lowered his voice. "But there are those who like to whisper that your husband... Might've tampered with their fate. There was never any proof, and once he married you, he has had no reason to be rid of you..."

Your lungs shuddered, "How, my good Ser?"

Harwin nodded, Daemon's horse pulling into a high-stepping trot while the high noon's sun beamed over you all. "The first turned septic after their second daughter was born. The second was lost on a hunt to freezing temperatures..."

"And the third?" You asked, lifting your chin to feign passiveness; eyes scanning the arena.

"Birthed two sons, and then fell headfirst into the river," Harwin answered, your eyes finding his. "He found them all, and there were never any witnesses."

"My Lady," A new voice called, making all three of you look up to discover Daemon Targaryen keeping his horse in a halt at the fence, but his eyes were drinking you in with a knowing smirk on his lips.

Not waiting to be told twice, you stood dutifully, and descended the wooden steps to the fence. "My Prince," you greeted softly, eyes raking over him in his dark armor.

"Would you honor me, my Lady? As your husband foolishly hasn't?" He smirked deeper, presenting his lance forward towards you.

Your lungs exhaled as you dropped your favor through the pole, his smirk never dimming in radiance. "Good luck, my Dragon," you whispered in Valyrian, sending him a soft smile as his smirk turned into a full-on grin. "And thank you," your hand shot up to pet over the rubies decorating your neck, flashing the ruby ring you wore.

He nodded, "They look ravishing on you - better than I imagined."

Worried for his public compliments, you nodded, "It's an honor to wear such a gift. I'll pray for a swift victory, my Prince."

He nodded, "My Lady."

Daemon backed his horse up two steps before turning and spurring him forward to reach the Targaryen side of the arena. You turned for your seat and the moment your bottom landed, the flag was waving, and both men were charging at one another at full speed. Each strike of their lances made you flinch as your husband's husk made him heavier, and a lot harder to unhorse; yet Prince Daemon's blows continued to land without yield.

Understanding he would face difficulty trying to unhorse his opponent, Daemon changed tactics; and the next lance was jolted into the ground before your husband's horse, sending them both careening into the sand. You gasped, standing in alarm with Mary and Ser Harwin as Daemon whipped his horse around with a menacing glare.

"SWORD!" Your husband roared, making the crowds cheer. "SWORD, NOW!" The three of you rushed for the fence, your hands taking the posts in a bruising grip as Daemon easily swung off his horse.

Two squires rushed into the arena. One presented your husband with his family's sword, the other taking hold of Daemon's horse, and holding the scabbard of Dark Sister.

Daemon revealed the Valyrian Steel blade, and you swore you saw your husband tremble in his armor. But he could not back down now, and took the first lunge with a wild battle cry. Each clang of metal made you flinch, watching with unblinking eyes as the two knights swung fatally at one another.

Their feet danced over the sands, and you heard only a portion of their conversation. The Prince had growled with hacking swings, "You never deserved her!"

Two swords continued to swing and hack at each other, until, the Prince of the City had more than enough of the fat knight before him, and with his teeth bared in a snarl, drove his sword through a weak-spot in your husband's armor. Daemon lowered his mouth to his ear, assuring with a hiss, "When I pull this blade free, you'll die within a minute. But you'll feel every ounce of pain as I flood your lungs, and know, this is all you deserve for what you did to her." He drove the sword an inch deeper, "You'll rot for what you've done, but fear not, for she is mine again, and will never know pain again."

Daemon yanked Dark Sister free, and the man stumbled to his knees; hand desperately trying to hold the spurting wound as the Lady Regina screamed from the other stands, and rushed into the arena to hold your husband as he died. You had firm belief that this was why nobody pitied the dead knight, why nobody reprimanded Daemon. It was a tournament, after all, and men died in all of them - and when your husband's consort rushed to him in your stead, they felt no sympathy for him. You were always viewed as a prize, even after your marriage marked you as 'taken'.

Your breathing slowed as time stilled when your husband hit the ground in the arms of the woman he chose over you. Not like you cared much, but something burned in your gut and left you feeling ashamed and embarrassed. It did not last long as Daemon was nearing where you still stood, nodding in respect.

"My condolences, my Lady," he panted lightly. "I will have his funeral transport arranged."

You swallowed, and with the eyes of the city on you, forced a nod, "That would be... Most gracious, my Prince."

He nodded again and turned to stalk out of the arena, leaving you, Mary, and Ser Harwin to watch Lady Regina sob loudly over your dead husband. Her dress was weighed heavy with his blood, and two more squires rushed out to pulled the body away. Your throat cleared and you felt at a loss, looking at Mary to whisper, "What the hell just happened?"

Her tone matched yours, "Prince Daemon just killed your husband."

Your head nodded, "Hmm... Thought so, means I'm not dreaming."

"Come," she pulled you by the hand. "We should go, get you out of here."

"What of Edwin?"

"It matters not - "

"No, we will watch," you insisted; glancing around as you stoically reclaimed your seats. Two more knights were presented, and it was like everyone forgot they witnessed a man die as the excitement of the tournament trumped any discomfort over the public murder of your husband. Your hands wrung nervously and time passed, your only salvation being that you got to see Mary bestow Edwin with her favor - and not the Lady Deena, who looked far too put out for the public eye.

And Edwin won his match, unhorsing his opponent!

It was a grand affair, and as you left the stands finally, a messenger found you and presented you a scroll. It was an official death certificate signed by the King, citing the natural causality of the tournament as the nature of his death. You nodded and showed Mary, parting ways as you were required to decide what to do with his body.

An hour later, you were stood above his sheeted-body; glaring at his pale, swollen face, and cursing his name under your breath. After you were allowed 'to say goodbye', you signed off on his transport home, where he was to be laid in his family's crypt, and his eldest son would inherit the title 'Lord'.

After deciding to return with the body, still set on playing your part as dutiful widow, you were given rest for the night as you'd embark on your journey 'home' tomorrow. The festivities would continue for the week, and you would miss it, but you were unsure of your standing in court now. Sure, Daemon promised to marry you - but you did not know where you would live now. Your husband's children were not overly fond of you that you did not know how welcomed you'd be, and returning to the Red Keep after the funeral felt wrong.

Worriment weighed your heart to your feet, and for the first time, you let the tears fall. Servants bowed out of your way as your emotion was tangible, pushing into your bedchamber before slamming the door, and panting against it.

No, you were not grieving your lying, cheating husband, but the public did not need to know that you were actually relieved about it. No, you were mourning the idea of Prince Daemon because surely it would be easy for him to go back on his word now.

You were confused, and scared, and while you had dreamt of your husband's demise before, the reality of it felt crushing. Would you return to your parents? Could you stay where your husband was Lord? Did you return to the Red Keep? What were you to do?

Feeling suffocated, you swiftly tore through the room and packed anything your hands touched. You were drowning in panic and sorrow that you missed the knock at your door; Daemon entering to find you shoving dresses into a trunk - rubies still latched around your neck.

"Dove?" He asked slowly, watching you jump in shock. His hands rose in peace, "What're you doing, pretty girl?"

"What am I doing? I'm packing, Daemon, what does it look like!?" You snipped, voice rattling from tears and mucus; hands shaking.

"All right," he nodded, "but why, dove?"

"Because I am to return my husband's body to his family's crypt!"

"Mhm? And then?"

"And then - I have no idea!" You shook your head. "Where I go after, I am not sure - I do not know what I am to do right now, I have never been a widow before."

Daemon's head cocked and his brows furrowed, stepping into your room, and shutting the door for privacy, "What're you talking about? You will return here - "

"Why? So, I might bury my husband, and return to court as a sign of my single hand? So that others might try to court me? That is a desperate look, my Prince - "

"No," he stepped forward, hands still held out calmly, "you would return here as my guest."

"Oh, because that's better!"

"Sweetheart," he spoke patiently, taking the clothing from your hands to set aside, "listen to me, you are thinking too much. You cannot remain anywhere but here - "

"Why?"

"Because I can protect you here," he nodded, reaching for your cheek. "You think I would abandon you?"

"You did once before..."

"And I am not the same man," he promised, leaning in to nuzzle his nose into your cheek. "I am not leaving you in this. I... I have spoken to my brother, my dove."

"What?" You gasped, stepping closer to press into his chest and look up at him. "About what?"

"About what is to happen," he assured gently, petting over your jaw and chin. "He has agreed to invite you back under his name to avoid any gossip, and when the time is right, announce our engagement with his full support and blessing."

"Daemon - "

"You forget, my dove, he is my older brother," he smirked down at you; gently cradling you to him. "He remembers us, and who we were before. He has agreed to give his blessing when the time is right, for none will go against his word."

Your brain felt like it was short circuiting, "Y-You did that for us?"

It made him chuckle, "Yes, dove. I was serious when I said I wanted you for the rest of my life. I know you are scared, I know you are unsure about what is to pass, so, listen to me. I will give you till the end of next month to settle his affairs, and if you are not back by then, I will come retrieve you myself with Caraxes."

"Why don't you come get me at the end of this month?"

He smiled lightly, "Gods, I was hoping you'd say that."

"Yeah?"

His nose nuzzled yours, "Yes, my dove. You will return and burry your husband, settle his estate, and I will come get you. You will be a guest of my brother, King Viserys, and in six months," he teased lightly, "we will announce our engagement - and I will not waste time in marrying you."

You nodded, "I do not need a feast, my love, only you."

He chuckled, "You say that as if I would not spare an expense to celebrate you."

"I know you wouldn't," you breathed, feeling a little more at ease. "You make this sound as if it's easy."

"It will be," he assured. "And when we are saying our vows, I promise, this will be worth it."

Your hand flattened to pet over his chest, "If you are so confident, I will not doubt you, my Dragon."

"So pack, dear, sweet Lady," he mumbled, "because I will have your things moved tomorrow."

"Might I ask where?"

"Wouldn't you rather be surprised?" He teased lightly.

"Or perhaps I would like to ensure you are remaining within respectable bounds," you answered, smiling when his lips finally descended to press against yours. He hummed, hand cradling your jaw and cheek now; letting your tongue sweep across his.

"My Lady is not acting very respectable now," he smirked, pressing his lips against your lips in hurried kisses; but his grin assured you that he was only jesting.

"You do not make me act very respectable, my Prince," you breathed, licking over his lips after. "But I am set for a long day tomorrow. It would take us a week to reach - "

"Sh," Daemon's head shook, resting his forehead on yours. "Worry not, my dove. I am here only to aid you. What might you need? How could I help?"

You smiled lightly and stood still, relishing in his warmth while his hands splayed across your back, and rubbed up and down. "I suppose I could finish packing my things," you finally mumbled, cheek pressed to his breast, and your arms tight around his ribs to anchor him against you.

Daemon nodded and turned to pour you both goblets of wine when you let go (after a few more kisses), making your heart skip a beat when he domestically began to help you pack. He joked lightly and folded clothes messily, letting you show him the 'proper' way; storing your belongings for his easier transport tomorrow. By the end, the pitcher of wine was dry, and you were both left in bed with sleepy eyes and nightwear.

Your hand traced patterns over his bare chest while one of his hands held your waist, and the other held the elbow of your bent arm. "I did not congratulate you on your victory, my Prince," you mentioned quietly, the only sounds of the room being that of a crackling fire from the end of your bed. "A well-fought battle."

He hummed and his lips pressed to your forehead, "Thank you, dove. I must say, it was a sweet victory."

"Oh?" You smiled lightly, and his hand tightened on your waist.

"How could I not? Look at my prize," he praised.

"Might I make a request?" You wondered in a whisper, lifting your gaze to his; lips ghosting over his jaw for you to press a few slow, soft kisses.

"Anything," he agreed, just as soft.

"When we are married, you would still compliment me as you do now. I do not tire hearing it."

Daemon chuckled, "Oh, my sweet princess, you are going to be spoiled in my affection, do not worry over that."

"Promises, promises."

"Hmm," he nodded, "I see - you do not believe words, but action. Very well, my dove, you will see," his eyes fluttered tiredly as his lips found your forehead again. "Might grow tired of the way I worship you."

"Never," You promised, just as tired. He sighed sleepily against your forehead, and the pair of you drifted off to sleep; finally content with the person sharing your bed and body heat.

At some point in the night, you both had shifted so that you faced the open window and Daemon's chest was snug against your back with his one arm stretched out under your head, and his other, coiled tightly around your waist. His nose had burrowed into the junction of your neck and shoulder, and it's where he woke up.

Well, you both woke due to a midnight, drunken duel taking place nosily in the courtyard beneath your window; his arm subtly constricting to alert you he was awake.

"Do you want me to close the window?" You asked in a hoarse whisper, eyes still closed.

Daemon's breathing shifted some, a kiss being pressed to the skin of your neck, "'S all right, dove. Air feels nice."

You nodded and settled again, subtly smirking when his hand pulled up your stomach and palmed your bare breast under the tunic you wore - one that smelled of his sweat and blood and overall natural scent. He felt your breathing deepen, licking the shell of your ear in a slow, upward motion, and humming, "Sorry, cold hands."

"Mhm," you mumbled, reaching a hand back and up to pet over his neck and cheek; then lowering it again. But your breathing shifted again when his thumb and pointer finger gently pinched and rolled your nipple, almost forcing your back to arch lightly as you whined. "Daemon," you breathed, sleep slowly escaping your body. "'S late, my love - uh!" You moaned when he pinched sharper, mouth opening against your shoulder while pushing his hips up into yours.

"Shh, my darling girl," he spoke quietly in your ear, palming your breast again as his new focus became thrusting his hardening cock into the swell of your ass. "You are leaving me for the rest of the month," he groaned, "and I will be without you, unjustly. You can lay there if you desire, I just need to feel you, my dove."

You chuckled lowly, grinding back against him, "You have gone this long without me, my Dragon."

"Which was too long to start with, and now that I've had a taste," he groaned, "I do not wish to go without. But I promise you," he shifted so the arm under you was curled at an angel to toy with your tit, and the other dropped to your hip to help guide your motions, "this will be the only time we are apart, my love. I will never be without you again - and you will not know my absence."

Tears prickled your eyes, "Do you swear it?"

His tongue flattened against your neck, making your head jut to the side for his better access; grinding sharply into you, "I swear it, my love. Fuck," he moaned, sniffing into your neck, "my wife."

"Not yet," you teased breathlessly, the hand on your hip moving to gather the long tunic and pull up to free your bare bottom.

"Soon," he promised, snaking his hand along your hips to push between your legs. You gasp and let your leg move back to hook over his hips, his groan of approval assuring you it was the right move as his hand curled to push his fingers into you deeply.

"Daemon," you moaned as if in heat.

"I will not taste you yet," he purred, biting the tip of your ear and making you jolt. "But I will fill your cunt with my seed," his finger increased, "and leave you with my memory. I would spend tonight in you, my dove."

"Please," you whined, a hand over his to encourage the grip he had on your tit, as the other reached back to keep his face and mouth close to your flushing flesh. Your hand contracted over his, making it roughly paw at your breast; voice breathless, "My Dragon, do not tease me longer."

Daemon panted from behind you, both hands dropping to free his hips of trousers; stroking his throbbing member only a few times while lifting your leg. "Remember, dove..."

"You've got me," you finished, nodding as one hand lined himself up and the other held your leg; plunging into you at this new angle, and making you both cry out with unfiltered ecstasy. "Daemon, oh, my Gods," you praised, head tossed back to his shoulder as he grunted against your ear; settling himself in position.

One arm shot under your body to hold you in place; hand able to twist to rub at your clit, as his other hand coiled around you, laid between your breasts, to clamp around your throat in a hold.

You had heard other ladies mumbling about being 'fucked into bliss', and didn't understand until now. Daemon kept your body in position to allow his hips to piston into your own, balls slapping noisily, and teeth bared to let a few mangled grunts escape.

Your mouth felt like it was broken and could only hang open, turned slightly into the pillows beneath you both. Daemon was flooded with pleasure, muttering sweet, dirty nothings in your ear; warning you he was close, and fingering your clit. As you released around him, his praise was voiced like a sure stream - just as sure as his cum filled you to the brim, slightly leaking from around him and wetting the crack of your ass.

"Fuck," you begged with a pant, his breath fanning over the skin of your shoulders. When you shifted, he grunted lightly but seized your hips to anchor you in place.

"No, dove," he whispered, still behind you, "let me stay."

"I was not disinviting you from my bed, Daemon," you jested.

"Hmm, that is good," he smirked, landing a single kiss to your shoulder. "But I meant let my cock stay - buried in this sweet cunt. Just for the night, my dove."

His vulgar words made you shudder some, "Daemon..."

"I will leave you in the morning," he promised, "and have the tea sent. But for now," he stifled another groan, "let me stay, my pretty princess."

"How could I say no?" You smirked.

"That was the point," he grinned, chuckling lightly as you both shifted some for comfort. "Sleep, my love," he whispered, letting you twitch a little before settling. As you drifted off, your mind conjured would-be situations you might find yourself in with Daemon once you marry, pending if you could keep this affair hidden for a respectable amount of time.

Three weeks after your arrival to your husband's estate, you were finally done aiding in settling the estate and bringing his eldest son into his Lordship, and you were so fucking ready to head back to Kings Landing.

Lucky for you, as you had finished breakfast that morning, someone was shouting from the outside, "DRAGON!"

You gasped and nearly tripped over your own feet to rush for the windows, catching just a glimpse of Caraxes gliding through the air to land outside the stronghold's territory. You had dressed in black as a symbol of mourning, but something in your gut stirred with the idea of wearing the color to represent your new married name.

With as much calmness as you could muster, you met your step-son (who was only a few years younger than you) in the court room, and waited. Being as you were 'Lady' of the estate, he had trusted you to help him learn the ropes, and while he was technically on his own now, he still liked having your ear.

The doors of the court room opened, and the Prince Daemon surged through the doors with a (familiar) knowing smirk.

"Lord," your step-son greeted.

You leaned towards his ear, "That's Prince Daemon, love, he's addressed as 'Your Grace'."

"Oh," he nodded, eyes widening in embarrassment; but Daemon only smirked and clasped his hands in front of him as he came to a halt before the new Lord. "My most sincere apologies, my Prince, I uh... I have never met Royalty, I did not know."

"No apologies necessary, my Lord, you have offended no one on your quest for knowledge," Daemon smoothly assured.

"To what might we owe this unexpected pleasure?" You had taught the new Lord to be dutiful and polite, to always ask how he might offer aid before making any assumptions for anyone's arrival.

Daemon lifted his chin, "Much like she has done here, my brother requests the Lady of the House to return to King's Landing, where she might aid in tutoring the King's son."

"Oh," your step-son's eyes widened, and your hand laid over his clutching the arm rest of his seat. "Yo-You are being summoned, step-mother."

You internally cringed at the term. "Yes... So it would appear."

"We cannot reject the King, no matter how I wish for you to stay," he sighed, nodding. "Right, we will offer the dragon three sheep for his long journey," he nodded to a guard, "and tonight, we will feast. On the morrow, we will see you off," he nodded to you now.

"With respect?" Daemon took a step forward. "The King has sent me on my dragon to ensure the lady's swift and safe arrival back into the city. The sheep are appreciated, but not necessary," his hands waved your step-son's offering off.

You lifted your chin and spoke the lad's name. He turned to you, eyes almost hopeful - but you would not be offering any now. "Come to court this season, and I will sponsor you," you spoke quietly. "Only for the season, and if you do not find a wife, come for the next. The dynasty of your family now lies on your shoulders, love, and you will be expected to produce heirs."

He nodded, "Father mentioned it before..."

"He wasn't wrong," you nodded softly. "So, I will go with the Prince now and report to the King, and in three months, you will be a guest of the city and partake in the courts."

"My first time," he mumbled nervously.

"Ah," you sighed, "think not of it, for you will be with me."

"Thank you," he smiled with gratefulness. "Who would watch here?"

You smiled, "Who would you trust?"

Your step-son paused, "Maester Arwyn?"

"A good choice, love," your lips pulled with pride. "And court is only a season long, you will return soon."

"Hopefully married."

"Hopefully," you teased, standing from your seat. "With your leave, Lord?"

He nodded, "Of course, yes. Yes, you should pack - come, Prince Daemon, let me show you the grounds while the Lady makes herself ready."

"A splendid idea," you praised as Daemon smirked.

"I agree, I've never seen what your town's to offer," Daemon smirked, turning to follow your step-son; shooting you a smirk and wink over his shoulder, and leaving you alone.

The moment the doors clanged shut, you took a sobering breath, and tried to remind yourself it was real - and in five months, you'd call that man husband.

You were shameless in your rapid packing, most of your desired objects already in the Red Keep. Daemon was lead on a total tour of the stronghold, and you met the pair where Caraxes was waiting - Daemon making introductions, as your step-son nearly quivered in fear of the scaly beast.

You were quiet as you approached, not daring to interrupt the moment. Daemon beamed in mischief as he caught sight of you, backing up to wrap his arm around you, and after an assuring glance to make sure your step-son's eyes were still 100% on Caraxes, leaned in to press a searing kiss to your lips.

In his native tongue, Daemon whispered, "I've missed you, my sweet princess."

"I've missed you more," you whispered in reply, words drowned out by Caraxes' deep breathing. "Making friends?" you asked a little louder, in the common tongue, directing it at your step-son's back; pushing Daemon's hands away with a teasing smirk.

"He's incredible..."

"Isn't he?" You agreed, coming to his side; spying his hand still flat on the reddish scales. "You all right?" You whispered, spying the tears shining.

"Just... Mesmerized, I'm okay, promise," He assured you. "This is incredible."

"When you come to court, I will show you the Dragon Pit," Daemon nodded, clapping the lad on the shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Course."

"Thank you, Your Grace," the lad nodded, beaming in glee and excitement. "Oh, you are packed already," he noticed your rucksacks. "I suppose you are ready to depart, then?"

You sighed, "I will write - and you can write me."

"And I'll see you in three months..."

"You will," you sighed, pulling him in for a tight hug. Smoothing over his hair, you paused to give him an affection squeeze - press a quick kiss to his forehead - and release him. "You're gonna be fine," you whispered.

He nodded and turned to Daemon, bidding the Prince a goodbye, safe travels, and promising to take him up on his offers. Daemon smirked and watched him walk away before leading you to the other side of his dragon. "Nice lad," he complimented, pushing your rucksacks from your shoulders. "Bit young, no?"

"He'll learn," you panted, reaching up to hook your hand around his neck and yank him into you - lips colliding in a frenzied mess. "Missed you - so fucking much."

He huffed through his nose, meshing your lips together messily before pulling back, "Missed you more, my dove. More than you know."

"I think I know," you winked, kissing him again, and then straightening up off of Caraxes hide. "So? How does... This all work?" You asked, glancing to the dragon providing you with limited privacy.

"Come," he spoke steadily, grabbing your bags, hoisting them up his shoulder; then climbing into the saddle, storing the bags, and reaching for you.

In Valyrian, you asked Caraxes, "Am I allowed to mount you? Not gonna eat me, right?"

The dragon snorted and shifted his weight, turning his head forward, and seemingly giving the O-K. Daemon reached for you, guiding you up to the saddle, and let you settle behind him. "Go easy on me, yes?" You whispered in his ear, aware of the eyes still lingering from the stronghold.

"Course, dove," he smirked - and everyone heard from the ground how you screamed in fright as Caraxes took off in a (clumsy) sprint, spread his wings, and took flight.

"DAEMON!" You scolded once in the air, clinging to him as if your life depended on it.

"Get used to this, my love," he laughed.

"Oh, my Gods," you whimpered. "Listen! If the Gods wanted us to fly, they would've given us wings, Daemon, oh, my fuck! Please! Please!"

"You're safe, my love," he assured, a hand over your tense ones that held the front of his tunic in a vice grip. "I would never let anything happen to you, you know that. And Caraxes is bonded to me - he would not let anything happen to you, either."

"Okay, that's reassuring, love, but we're still hundreds of feet in the air," you worried, tightening your hold on him.

"Sweetheart," he spoke softly, caressing your arms around his middle, "just open your eyes a moment. I promise it's worth it."

With mustered bravery, you wrenched your clamped eyes open, and the breath was knocked from your lungs. You were higher than the clouds, and by the Gods, you could see all land and clouds; the sun streaming between gaps; and providing a view you could never of imagined unless on dragon-back.

"See?" he smirked. "Not too terrible, is it?"

You breathed against the back of his neck, "No - it's beautiful, even, my love, do not mistake that. Doesn't make this any more safe."

"You are with me - how much more safe can you be, my love?"

"On the ground!" You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder blades. "Being on the ground is safest."

"Debatable. On dragonback, we can make a quick getaway. Safety is paramount up here, and Caraxes is a firece companion who has saved my life more often than not."

You hummed, wondering in a quiet voice, "Would I ever have to ride without you?"

"Never, my love."

You sighed with relief, "Then I suppose I could try to get used to this. But... Not right now."

"I understand," he chuckled, patting your hands again. "But I will need you to do one thing for me, my sweet."

"Hmm?"

"Come here."

"I'm right behind you, Daemon."

"No, come to the front," he smirked, twisting in the saddle to lean to the side. "Trust me, please," he nodded, guiding you around his body to settle in front of him; facing, and koala hugging him. "See?" He mused, hands smoothing over your back and waist, "Not too terrible."

"No," you shuddered lightly. "But we are not doing that again."

"In truth, it was a test," he admitted, gently curling a strand of wild, loose hair behind your ear.

"For what?"

"To see the extent of your trust," he sighed lightly. "I know you have not spent a lot of time around dragons, but for you to then climb around me? Tells me more than you'll know."

You hummed lightly, snuggled against his pectoral, "Did I pass your test then, my Prince?"

Daemon nodded, pecking your forehead, "Yes, my dove."

The rest of the ride wasn't as exciting as the start, but you did feel safer than before; might've even stretched your hands back some to support your upper body. With your legs hooked around his hips, and his hands casually sweeping up and down your thighs, it was otherworldly to just gaze at the man you were set to marry.

"What is it?" He wondered after an hour, the dragon gliding lower as you surged towards the capital of the country.

"Nothing," you assured, biting back your smile. "You just look so handsome."

"Oh?"

"Mhm," you nodded, elaborating, "this is where you belong, my Prince. Not on an Iron Throne, but here, on your dragon's back."

Daemon's eyes slitted some, "Careful, dove. We are nearly home."

"That matters?"

"Considering if another compliment such as that one passes through your lips, I might not wait until we're back to fuck you," he purred, hands tight over your thighs and slightly prying them open more.

"I'm surprised you've waited this long, truthfully," you smirked, his bare hands then slipping under your skirts to hold your calves. "How has it been without me?"

"Miserable, my love," he groaned lightly, letting his hands slide up to grasp the backs of your knees. "You were dearly missed, I almost stopped showing up to court, but figured it'd be suspicious if I returned when you did."

"My poor Prince," You eased, letting your knees widen. "Worry not, for I am back. And this coming season won't be like the others, hmm?"

"I imagine not," he admitted, raking his eyes over you. "Black suits you, my dove."

"Not for the reasons I wear it now," you cocked your head. "But in a few months, I'll wear this color to represent my husband."

Daemon smirked, dragging you forward gently as he leaned forward until his lips hovered over your own, "How I cannot wait to hear that."

"Hmm?"

"Being called your husband," he purred, smirking lightly before letting his lips descend upon yours. His hands pushed to grip at your thighs now, pawing at the meat of your inner thighs to hoist you into his lap, and keep you spread for him.

You let out a shuddering breath when his fingers danced down either side of your crotch; Daemon smirking when you whimpered as he pet to the sides of your sopping hole. "Daemon," you whispered, stomach knotting in anticipation, "if you do not stop now, we will not anytime soon."

He sighed, letting his face fall into the crook of your neck as his fingertips danced down your glistening slit. "I know you are right, but fuck, dove, you smell divine."

"Wait until we're home," you whispered, licking the shell of his ear after to save yourself from releasing a desperate cry as he added slightly more pressure. "I don't want us seen for the rest of the night, my Prince."

"'S still early," he pointed out.

"Exactly," you panted, cunt contracting as he simply toyed with your lower lips; spreading your arousal as you resisted the urge to hump into him. "Daemon," you warned now.

"Too much, my love?" he teased.

"Do not make us land with me bouncing on your cock, hmm?" You returned, hearing him chuckle lowly. His fingers retracted and you almost whined in disappointment.

"Fine," he relented, readjusting to hold your hips over your black dress. "I will resist this sweet cunt, but when we get in, we are not leaving the bed. Hmm?"

You smirked, "I would not want to. Might we be interrupted?"

"I might have, possibly, alleged... Told Viserys not to bother us," he admitted, shrugging some as his eyes casted down. "Hmm, speaking of home," he nodded, your head twisting to gaze down at the approaching city. "C'mere, dove," he sighed again, twisting you so you were forward in the saddle; straddling the dragon with your Prince's hands tight over your hips. "You're a natural up here, you know?" He mused gently in your ear, hands moving over yours to properly position them on the pommel of the saddle.

"I have a decent teacher," you mused, now eagerly peaking over scaly shoulders.

"Is that right? He take you flying often?"

"Hmm, no," you answered. "Though I think I might be interested in trying it more. Think he'd be willing to lend some time to me?"

"Who could say no to someone like you, princess?" He teased in your ear, Caraxes soaring lower to loom over the city.

"I am not sure," you smirked over your shoulder, "but it's a damn good thing I find it hard to say no to him, too."

"That right?" his teeth scraped over your ear, making you inhale deeply and grind back against him - relishing in the feeling of his hardening cock that would soon be plunging into you. "Easy, my princess - don't need me finishing in my pants and giving us away now, do we?"

You sighed lightly, "Guess not."

He chuckled, pecking your neck before taking control of the dragon's reigns, whispering, "I cannot say no to you, either, my dove."

Your hand rose to pet over his cheek with a hum, his chin resting on your shoulder; the Dragon Pit coming into view, and after circling it, Caraxes was landing with a distinct thud and bellowing roar.

Your lungs had stuttered in nerves but one of Daemon's hands smoothed around your hips to keep you anchored against him as you rocked dangerously upon landing. When the dragon was stable, Daemon loosened his grip to peer around at you, "You all right, dove?"

"Yeah," you sniffled. "Bit rougher than I thought, but all right."

"You will get used to it, my love, promise," he promised, nudging his forehead to your temple for a brief moment. "All right, c'mere," he sobered up, grabbing your few bags, and dismounting first. When standing on the dragon's hide, he tossed your things to a guard on the ground, and reached up for you. "I've got you," he assured, easing you down from the saddle.

You grunted lightly when you landed, sighing with slight relief, and telling Caraxes in Valyrian, "Though that was incredible, it is nice to be on the ground again."

The dragon snorted a bit as if in humor, his master smirking as he shouldered your bags. "Come," he ushered, bags strategically placed in front of the tented fabric of his crotch.

Your hand wrapped around his bicep and had to hustle some to keep up with his strong stride, but then an idea came to mind. You looked around the streets you were passing through to reach the Red Keep, finding the one you were in deserted. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you quickly sidestepped into an alcove and yanked Daemon behind you.

Before he could question you, your hands pushed against his shoulders so he was against the stone wall, and only gave him a moment to breathe before your lips were sucking over his. Daemon's throat released a moan while you pushed the straps of your bags from his shoulders, then sliding up to his short hair to twist your fingers between.

Daemon, like a man starving, kissed you with overwhelming need; tongue instantly lapping with your own as his hands held you tightly by your waist, hips, up to your jaw; raking through your own hair, and doing everything they could to keep you close.

Your hips rolled forward into his, making his lungs inhale sharply, and his fingers to bruise your flesh deliciously. With a low growl, Daemon turned you both, shoving you into the brick as if his resolve was crumbling; moaning into your mouth when you tugged his locks.

"Daemon," you panted lightly, petting your fingertips down his cheek.

"Yes, my love?" He whispered, licking into your mouth again.

You hummed, hand moving to steel around his neck and jaw to force his lips off yours. "Listen to me," you grinned, clinging to him as if a young Lady - new to love. He nodded, nose nuzzling yours. "The estate is settled, and the new Lord reigns. Everything went to plan, my Dragon."

"He's buried?" Daemon checked, switching to his native tongue in case of anyone lingering. "Gone?"

"Gone from us," you promised, caressing his cheek after. "I am yours, my love..."

"Fucking finally," he groaned, surging forward again to capture your lips in a grinning-kiss. "You're all I've ever wanted, my princess. Fuck..."

"The moment it's acceptable, I will marry you," you promised, kissing him again.

"My love," he chuckled, pecking your lips happily, "if you do not control yourself, I will take you right here."

You sighed with a small whine, bottom lip pouted. "Sounds ravishing."

"My dirty girl," he seethed, kissing you once and forcing himself away. "Gods," he paused, breathing through his nose as he tried to force the blood from his engorged cock - but nearly crumpled when your hand palmed over him. "Dove - "

"I will thank your brother for welcoming me back," you promised, giving a squeeze, "and then I will fuck you all night. Three weeks was far too long."

"How we went a decade, I'll never know," he cleared his throat, losing the battle to press into your working hand. "Sweetheart..."

"Do not lose this," you purred against his mouth, "I want you to cum in my mouth first."

Daemon whimpered when you let go, biting your lip with a knowing grin. "Dangerous woman," he cursed, forehead to yours. "And now I must see my brother? Like this? Truly?"

"Or you can wait for me," you whispered in his ear, "and be naked when I return."

Daemon let his teeth gnash across your neck. "We will see the King," he decided, pulling back to inhale deeply, "and then I will show you where we are residing."

"'We'?" you questioned gently.

He smirked, nodding, "I might've bargained for a better set up for us, my dove."

"What does that mean?"

"A bigger, much more private room," he smirked. "For you and I only."

You fought the grin threatening to overtake your face, "I'd like that."

"Good," he whispered, pecking your lips gently. "You deserve it all, my sweet."

This time, you lifted your chin to let your nose brush up his, "So long as I have you, my Prince, I am overly blessed. You're all I need."

"Good," he beamed, caressing your cheek. "Come, the faster this is over, the sooner I can have you in my mouth."

You smiled and took his arm again; bags on his shoulder once more to cover his trousers, and within minutes, you were entering the Red Keep. Perhaps it was a simple stroke of good luck that Ser Strong was seen, Daemon calling his name.

"Ah, my Prince," the Hand greeted, stealing a glance at you. "And my Lady, what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Do you know where my brother is?"

"In his chambers," Strong answered. "He's not in the best of states at the moment, Your Grace."

Daemon only hummed and lead you past the Hand of the King; barely letting you sputter your thanks before you were pulled around a corner. "Where are we going?" You asked as he lead you to a part of the castle you've never been in before.

"To see the King, and give our thanks," he eased. "Do not fret, my dove, you will need to get used to visiting the King in his private residence."

"Seems out of place for me," you mentioned.

"You will be the Princess of the City, my sweet," he smirked, "and you will never be out of place. Come," he soothed, leading you up to a pair of doors.

An hour later, you and Daemon were bowing out of the room, and leaving Viserys to rest. He asked of your husband's funeral, and when you informed him of your step-son coming to court this season, he was most intrigued to meet the new Lord. He was a kindly old man, and Daemon just smirked proudly as he watched the two of you catch up and chat.

By the end, Viserys was tired, and let you and Daemon take your leave. His raging hard-on had soothed some, no longer requiring your bags to be used to strategically hide his crotch. However, when you left the King, Daemon smirked and laced your hands together before leading you towards a separate tower.

"Love?" You wondered, watching him check up and down the hallway before prying a large portrait from the wall; swinging out to reveal a lone hallway.

"Private, just for us," he muttered, leading you through the doorway, and showing the mechanism that would keep the door secure.

"Who'd you have to kill for this, my Prince?" You sighed patiently, the hallway short, and leading to another door.

"It was closed off," he admitted, "but I convinced Viserys it would be good for us until we're publicly married. It's been renovated during your leave."

"Your brother is doing us too many favors," you frowned slightly, entering the new room. "Gods," you breathed, looking all around in wonder. The room was large, circular, and already fully furnished.

"He's happy to help," Daemon answered, watching you soak in the surprise. "Well? Do you like it?"

"Love it, my Prince," you beamed, nodding in reassurance.

"Good," he nodded. "It's ours if we wish to keep it past our wedding night."

"Maybe," you admitted. "The privacy is to die for."

"Thought you might appreciate it, my dove," he whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist to peer out of the balcony doors. "It's ours, then."

"For now," you mused.

"Hey?" He let his lips press to your neck.

"Daemon," you turned in his arms, sighing lightly, "have you not given thought to what we are to do after we marry?"

"Besides have babies?" he mused lightly.

"Besides that, yes," you chuckled. "Where we might live, Daemon. You are second son, and I am but a daughter - set to marry for the second time. There are no lands in my name," you sighed, petting over his chest, "and I cannot offer you anything."

"You are enough for me, my love," he promised. "And we can live where we choose - that I promise you. Worry not," he sighed lightly, leaning in to press his lips to your forehead.

"What of the Stepstones?" You wondered, chin pressed to his sternum as he hummed.

"What of them, my sweet? To live?"

"Are you not King there?" You teased lightly. "Maybe it has the making for a new kingdom... Just needs a bit of man power to ensure it goes to plan, hmm?"

Daemon nodded, "Only problem, my love, is that the Stepstones are temperamental and unpredictable. Hardly a place to raise a family."

"Where would you raise our children?"

He paused a moment to consider your words, asking, "In truth?"

"Please."

He sighed, "Perhaps... On Dragonstone, but with family around. I grew with my brother, mother, father, cousins - aunts, uncles..."

You nodded sadly, "Perhaps we could..." Your shoulders shrugged lightly, "Stay here? Where you are with your brother?"

"No," he spoke with conviction, pulling your face to his so he could see you in full, "for this is not a city to raise a family in. Our children will be free of the burdens this capital brings."

You nodded, "So, where, my Prince?"

He chuckled, "I hear Lys is nice."

"And Pentos," you added.

"And parts of Essos."

"Maybe even Dorne."

"Maybe not," he chuckled lightly. "Wherever we want to go, my sweet, we will. For now, do not fret, we have time to plan our next move."

"Being a wedding," you smirked.

"Hmm," he paused, "no, I believe it would first be to court you - then I'll marry you."

You chuckled and rocked onto your toes, agreeing, "I cannot wait."

"At the end of this season, you will be mine," he beamed, nuzzling his nose with yours. "And I might start actually thanking the Seven."

"Oh," you laughed, watching his lips almost involuntarily spread, "it's that serious, is it? Moved to religion, are you?"

Daemon smirked and leaned in close, slowly kissing you before whispering, "I've finally got the woman of my dreams, yeah... Yeah, I'm moved to religion, my princess. I've waited too long for this."

Your throat felt thicker than before, your toes pushing you up to wrap your arms around his neck; burrowing into his warmth, and feeling his arms tighten around you. "You'll never be without me," you promised him, petting down the back of his head before threading your fingers through his short locks. "I love you, Daemon..."

He breathed a sigh of relief, lips puckering to place a kiss along your shoulder, "I love you more, my sweet dove."

part three: Darkening Hour

Midnight Calls masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon hotd #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd smut

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penny00dreadful · 1 year

Text

Return of The King - Part 3

Is it getting hot in here? 🥵

I'm sorry guys, this is a CHUNKY chapter but in other good news it's finally up on AO3! 🥳

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 AO3

“Vampire.”

Steve nodded, squeezing his hips lightly, just once. “I thought so too.”

Eddie glanced down at his fingers again as the feeling started to return to them. The darkness felt close around them, almost cocooning them, not stifling and claustrophobic but safe and comforting.

Even so, even with the safety of the darkness, the firmness of Steve's thighs under his and the laughter that had convinced him of Steve's Stevesness (not to mention the incredible chemical sexual attraction that was almost definitely mutual) he couldn't help that last lingering thread of doubt that there might be something lurking unknown in the background.

Eddie looked up, searching Steve’s eyes.

“Are you still you?”

Steve cocked his head to the side, a slight crease appearing between his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean are you still Steve? Or are you mostly Steve but with a bit of Vecna in the back of your mind ready to be activated like a sleeper agent? Are you a part of the hive mind? Are you Vecna wearing a Steve Suit?”

“Uh. Honestly man, I don’t know. I think I’m still me? As much me as there ever was.”

“Can you feel him like Max could?”

“No, I don’t think so? I’d know, right? If I could?”

“You don’t think so?”

“No, I mean when I woke up I could feel something. But not a Vecna something, more like a bunch of small fluttering somethings. Like a swarm or… a cloud?”

“Like the bats?”

“I guess? It doesn't really feel right, though.”

“But no demodogs or demogorgans or Vecna?”

"Nope."

"And you don't feel like this thing is… I dunno. Watching or taking over or something?"

"Not really, it's difficult to describe. It's like," Steve looked around, trying to figure out how to say what he needed to say, absently fiddling with the hem of Eddie's top, "it's like it's just a very, very small bit in the back of my brain. I don't think it's capable of watching or taking control. It feels honestly like it's a bit left over from whatever made me like this. Like it's not even really conscious."

Okay. Honestly what other kind of answer could he hope for? Steve's eyes were so sincere, so honest like he always was. He genuinely told Eddie when he didn't know the answer to something. He didn't know what that swarm/cloud was in the back of his head and he didn't think it was an issue.

So Eddie didn't think it was an issue and he moved on.

“When did you wake up?”

“I don’t know. It’s pretty difficult to keep track of time down there. But I was…” he gestured around his neck and body, lifting his shirt up to show his unscarred sides and Eddie had to fight himself not to touch. “Fixed. And I didn’t start to feel hungry until I got back here.”

Well… if he was a vampire and he was hungry…

“So, blood?”

Steve ducked his head a little as he smiled. “Are you offering?” God damn it his smile was enchanting. It should be a terrifying thought, the idea of offering himself up for a meal but he wasn’t scared. Not as scared as he really probably should have been.

Evidently he’d been silent for too long because Steve gently pushed him out of his lap and scooted back a little. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’m not hungry.”

Eddie felt his body slump, his weight back on his own legs and just the thought of how nice it had been to be so close left an ache in him. But he didn’t push back.

"I could be. Offering."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"You don't want to taste me?" He pouted, batting his eyelashes.

Steve's eyes visibly changed, his honey brown swirling with yellow like cat's eyes as he bit his lip, his entire face hungry in such a sexual way Eddie could feel his body react almost immediately.

Shit, he was really playing with fire here, wasn't he?

"I'm not going to bite you."

Eddie tutted. "Pity."

"Tell me about it."

“Okay well, when did you last eat? What did you last eat? Is Farmer Dan going to find a vampire cow in his pasture in the morning?”

Steve snorted. “No. I ate this morning. Butcher's blood.” He smiled across at Eddie before his face morphed into panic and he held his hands up. “Not, like, the blood of a butcher! I mean blood from the butcher’s shop!”

“Yeah, yeah, relax, sweetheart, I figured.”

Steve’s face tinged slightly pink at the pet name and it made Eddie’s heart flutter, which only made Steve’s blush deepen.

Well shit.

Nope, he needed to get it back under control.

“Are you telling me that Hawkins' famous dead King Steve Harrington stealthed into Barry’s Butchers and stole?” Eddie slapped his hands to his face in mock horror. “You’re a criminal, Stevie.”

“No, that’s not exactly how it happened. I just kinda… walked in the front door.”

“You- you what? No, man. No way, The whole town knows you’re dead. You’ve practically been canonised. People would have freaked out if you just walked in.”

Steve wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Yeah, so I’ve seen. But um… no, I was able to… I don’t really know how to describe it-”

Eddie’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked for him, leaning forward again.

“Oh my god, can you thrall people?!”

Steve shrugged. “Kinda.”

Eddie slapped his hands down on Steve’s knees, physical distance forgotten. “That’s so cool. Thrall me. Thrall me!”

“You- what?”

“Put me under your spell.” Eddie purred. “I wanna see.”

“How do you know I’m not thralling you right now?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Okay. Thrall me.”

“You’re putting an awful lot of trust in me.” Steve was looking at him like he was crazy but with an undertone of apprehension.

Eddie sat back again and could feel his whole person getting softer. “Well yeah, Stevie. I trust you. You’re a good guy, you’re a protector down to your soul. You’re safe. Of course I trust you.”

Steve’s entire being seemed to inflate with bashful pride. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Eddie watched as Steve’s eyes seemed to worm their way directly into his brain, warm and welcoming and safe.

A different kind of safe than he was used to from Steve, an immediate feeling rather than an earned endearment.

Say "Tears for Fears are musical geniuses".

"Tears for Fears are musical geniuses." Eddie repeated, monotone and bland before immediately scowling.

"Dick move, Harrington."

"Oh, I'm Harrington again now, am I?"

Eddie nodded, crossing his arms and exaggerating his upset face. "You're in the doghouse after that."

"Oh no." Steve pouted, pushing out his bottom lip in mock sadness. "How can I make it up to you?" He blinked his big brown eyes at him, looking so innocent and sincere it lit a hell of a fire in Eddie's belly, the only thought going through his head was corrupt him.

"I'll think of something." He growled feeling his own confidence bolster at the return of the pink blush over Steve’s cheeks. “Pretty cool power though. That’s how you got your blood?”

“That was a part of it.”

“Wait.” Eddie’s smile was starting to split his face, his excitement bubbling through. “There’s more you can do?”

“Yeah. You wanna see?” Some of Eddie’s excitement seemed to be rubbing off on Steve and he sounded almost eager to show off.

“Do I wanna see? Of course I wanna see!”

“Alright.” Steve stood, holding a hand out for Eddie. Eddie allowed himself to be pulled to his feet with a disgustingly hot amount of strength, leaving their hands intertwined. “I’m gonna hide.”

“Well that’s hardly fair. This is your house, you know it inside and out. If we play hide and seek, I’ll never be able to find you.”

“I’m not gonna leave this room.”

Eddie glanced around, there was almost nowhere to hide in here. Maybe under the bed at a push or in the closet but the doors were closed and they would definitely make a noise if opened.

“Where could you possibly-?” Eddie turned back, looking to his side but Steve was gone. He was… what had he said?

The space where he’d stood was empty, there was nothing there and Eddie was having trouble concentrating on the spot where he’d just been.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head trying to get himself to focus. Steve had said something about hiding? Maybe? Quite literally nothing had been moved in the room, there was no flutter of curtains or movement of bedsheets, the doors to the closet were still closed and the bedroom door was only cracked slightly open, like it had been this entire time. If he’d been in here… something would be moved, right?

There was a thread of something in his brain, just beyond his reach. Something he couldn’t quite grasp, like trying to catch smoke in his hands.

Something about it didn’t feel right, there was a release of pressure on his fingers as he moved forward that he couldn’t concentrate on. The only option he really had was that Steve had somehow left through the door…

But he’d…

What had he said?

There was a vague thought in the back of his mind that he should be more worried. Steve had only just reappeared back in his life, back from the dead and was gone again. He should be worrying that Steve had maybe run, or abandoned him or disappeared forever but again, it didn’t feel right.

Just as he reached out to touch the doorknob a pair of arms snaked around his waist, holding him tight and a voice whispered low in his ear “Gotcha.”

Eddie would forever deny the squeak he let out as he was lifted off his feet and spun back into the room, being gently let back down with his heart thundering and his breath ragged, none of which was the result of the surprise of Steve’s sudden reappearance and had everything to do with the feeling of being lifted like he weighed nothing.

He turned back to Steve who had his head cocked to the side and a slight smirk curving up the side of his face.

“You get this cute little scrunch in your nose when you’re confused.”

“You were there the whole time?”

“Yeah. Just like I said.”

Eddie stared at him, trying to keep his brain from going to all of the most depraved of places, thinking up scenario after scenario of how those damn thralling powers could be used.

He had to focus on other things. On the… on the nerdier aspects of vampirism or he might spontaneously combust.

“Sunlight?” He blurted out.

Steve blinked for a moment, surprised, before his smirk softened. “I haven’t been out in the daytime yet, I don’t know.”

“Crosses? Holy water? Consecrated ground?”

“Haven’t broken into a church to check.”

“Garlic?”

“God, I hope I can still have garlic. My nonna would never forgive me.”

“Your nonna? I thought you were Irish?”

“My dad’s from Ireland. My mother’s mother is Italian.”

“So you’re just all around very Catholic?”

"I haven't been very Catholic in a while." Steve laughed.

“Okay. We'll have to re-examine the crosses and holy water later on then. Can you turn into mist?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Can you turn into a wolf? Or a bat? Please don’t tell me you can turn into a bat.”

“I would have assumed you’d think that’s cool.”

“You can?!”

“No, I don’t think I can.”

Eddie huffed, crossing his arms. “It would be cool. It would be so super cool but honestly Stevie, I’m mad.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah! Out of the two of us I'd objectively make a better vampire. I mean look at me.” He took a step back and spun in place.

Steve tracked the movement closely. “I’m looking.”

Eddie glared, trying to seem haughty and irritated but it was a losing battle against that smile.

“And look at you. What kind of vampire looks like he enjoys golfing?”

Steve’s mouth turned down in an immediate scowl. “I do not look like I enjoy golfing. It’s not even a real sport.”

“Are you gatekeeping sport?”

“No.”

“Sounds like you are.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Yeah, fine. I don’t have a vampire fashion sense. I look more like a-”

“A werewolf.”

“A w- a werewolf?!”

“Yeah. All that hair.” Eddie smirked, running his hand over Steve’s chest.

“Don’t hate on the chest hair, people love the chest hair.”

“Yes they do.” When Eddie finally managed to drag his eyes away from Steve's chest and back up, his gaze landed on his head hair and a horrible thought occurred to him. “Oh shit! Mirrors! Stevie, what are you going to do if you have no reflection anymore?!”

“I have a reflection, don’t worry.”

Eddie sighed in relief, placing his own hand over his heart. “Thank god, I don’t know what I’d do without that hair. I’d never be able to get it right and you’d hate me.”

“What?” Steve laughed. “You’d learn to do my hair if I couldn’t see myself?”

“Well, yeah. It’s important to you, right?”

The laughter stopped abruptly and the smile slipped from Steve’s face replaced by a look that was impossibly soft. “You don’t think it would be a bit… vain? Or like… ridiculous?”

“I think I’m the last person allowed to pass judgement on what makes people feel comfortable in their own skin.”

Steve looked at him for the longest time, so long that Eddie started to feel the need to fidget.

“You’re a really good guy, Eddie. You know that right?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Sweet talker.”

“No, I mean it. It’s why I came to find you first before anyone else.”

“Pretty lucky, you finding me in your bed.”

“Never felt luckier.” Steve flashed that smile that used to make all the girls in school swoon and Eddie’s heart was practically beating out of his chest.

“But uh,” Steve looked down, nibbling on his lower lip. “It wasn’t exactly luck that led me to finding you here.”

“What did you prowl after me from the treeline like a creature in the night hunting your prey?”

“No, dude, that sounds so creepy. I-” Steve faltered, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I followed your… your blood. Your scent.”

“My what? I’m not even bleeding.”

Steve nodded absently. “It’s really potent.”

“Oh god, don’t tell me if I skink,” Eddie hid his face in his hands, peeking out through his fingers. “I don’t know if I can take it.”

“No, you smell like… it’s like…” Steve inhaled lightly through his nose, as if trying to not make it obvious that he was smelling Eddie’s blood in the air. “It’s really difficult to describe. Like trying to describe a new colour.”

The smell must be really god damn strong right now because he could feel his blood rushing through his body, unsure if it wanted to go to his heart or his face or his dick. “Okay, well what’s the first thing that comes to mind? First word that jumps into your head. Go.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered ever so slightly.

“You smell like… October.”

“October.” Eddie deadpanned.

Well that’s definitely not what he expected. He didn’t even really like the taste of pumpkin.

“Yeah, like… leaves falling on a cold morning. Like a log fire. Mixed up with… with sugar and the night and scratchy warm wool all jumbled together into… Eddie.”

Eddie had to bite down hard on his fucking cheek to stop from outright swooning. Jesus Christ who gave this guy the right?

“Uh-huh. Right. So,” he choked out. “That- that’s it then? The thralling and the blood smelling? Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “Do you have darkvision?”

"I don't know what that is."

"Can you see in low light?"

"Oh yeah." Steve glanced around, only seeming to now notice the room was lit by just moonlight. "I can see you just fine."

"Okay so, darkvision, blood smelling and thralling. Cool."

“I also heal quickly, move fast and I’m super fucking strong.”

“Oh.”

Oh no.

Now his brain was full of images of Steve throwing him around like a ragdoll and he was pretty sure he was about to expire on the spot.

Like, he'd guessed based on what he'd seen but having it confirmed was… something else entirely.

“Wanna see?”

“Wh-which part?”

Before he could even blink, Steve was in front of him, gripping him around the thighs and hoisting him up. Eddie was vaguely aware they were moving. Where to? He really didn’t fucking care at that moment, he just squawked like a bird and latched on as tight as he could, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and scrabbling at his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I won’t drop you.”

Eddie couldn’t respond, his- he wasn’t- his brain was in his dick and he was pretty sure he’d dropped like twenty IQ points.

His entire body was rattling with the force of his heartbeat as he was pressed up against the bedroom wall like he weighed as much as a stuffed animal and he was practically panting from everything thrumming through him.

“I have a question for you.” Steve asked, even and measured and frustratingly calm.

Eddie looked at Steve whose eyes were so cocky and self-satisfied it should have been an immediate turn off but he was pretty sure nothing could turn him off right now.

He only managed to breathe out a mmhm as Steve held him there, gently, with only the weight of his body keeping him in place, sandwiched in between a solid chest and a solid wall and with his legs clamped around Steve’s hips and holy mother of god.

“That bandana in your back pocket…”

Yeah, Eddie had completely stopped breathing.

“Does it always stay on the same side?”

Steve wasn’t even looking at his eyes anymore, he was pretty resolutely staring at his lips, his jaw, his neck and Eddie had fucking transcended consciousness, no longer on this plane of existence.

He shook his head, like an idiot before trying to push an answer out.

“I sw-” His throat swallowed suddenly, involuntarily, against his will. “I switch.”

Steve nodded, his eyes still hot on him, low and lidded. "Me too."

Eddie could do nothing but stare with his mouth parted, the puffs of air he was breathing out gently ruffling Steve's hair.

“And how do you like it?” Steve’s hands were slowly crawling backwards, inching up his thighs towards his ass.

Eddie swallowed again. “Rough.”

Steve’s eyes were nearly black but there was none of that yellow colour that had appeared before around the edges. Any colour that was visible was that human honey-brown.

“I could hurt you.”

“I’d like it.”

“No, I could really hurt you. I’m not… I’m not human anymore.”

“You never would though.”

Steve searched his eyes, looking intently for any kind of doubt or hesitation but of course there was none. Eddie had been all in for a long time now. He slung his arms loosely around Steve’s shoulders, running his fingers lightly through his hair and squeezing his legs tighter, bringing the two of them incrementally closer.

“You have to tell me to stop. If I- if it’s too much or too far… you have to tell me to stop. Or slap me, punch me, push me away, anything-”

“I’ll tell you to stop, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Will you kiss me now, please?”

Steve leaned forward, gentle and careful. His lips were warm and smooth and he was pliant and golden and god damn perfect but Eddie was having none of being treated like a delicate porcelain doll. He bit down hard on Steve’s bottom lip, being rewarded by a sound of surprise before it changed into something darker and the thrill was like a live wire through him.

It was like being hit by lightning the way his whole body tensed from anticipation then went limp, trying to mould himself against Steve’s chest like water. There was a large hand in his hair and another on his ass grinding, pushing and pulling him forward and backward and Eddie was pretty sure he’d never tasted anything so indulgent in his life before.

They were a mess of grabbing hands and desperate tongues and his jeans and boxers were being ripped effortlessly under him, right down the middle so he didn’t have to unwind his legs and holy motherfucking shit he nearly came on the spot from that alone.

He begged Steve to bite him. Begged and pleaded and whined and got downright pissy about it but Steve refused.

“I’m not going to accidentally kill you in the middle of fucking your brains out.”

“It wouldn’t- fuck, Jesus Christ Ste- it wouldn’t-” Eddie was finding it very difficult to string a coherent sentence together in between getting his guts punched out and the rhythmic up and down movement of Steve’s thrusts. “Wouldn’t be a bad way to go- Ah!”

“You’re a menace. Let me be sweet to you, baby.”

“Yeah, real fuckin’- real fuckin’ sweet. Oh, fuck me. T- Tell that to my jeans.”

Eddie was completely lost to the stars, surrounded and invaded by Steve and he’d never been more thankful for anything in his life before.

If he could show himself from the start of spring break a snapshot of this moment, that this is where everything led… sweaty and panting and undone, being wiped down with extreme care with the only thing that was in reach which was some scrap of fabric that had been magicked out of somewhere, by the man of his dreams who was looking at him like he was someone… he’s pretty sure he’d do it all over again.

Just to get here.

Although… Eddie grimaced as he thought a little harder on it.

“Something wrong?” Steve asked as he helped Eddie out of his ruined jeans, dropping down heavily next to him on the bed. Steve’s hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat and he was sleepy and blissed out, blinking at him with those giant hazel eyes.

“I think I would have preferred if you didn’t have to die for us to have gotten here.”

Steve pursed his lips and shrugged. “We’re here now. I think if I hadn't died we’d have gotten here anyway. I’m kind of crazy about you, you know?”

“Oh really?” Eddie grinned, laying back, closing his eyes and stretching out his body like a giant cat, completely comfortable in his nakedness. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Har har.” Steve crawled up the bed, settling down on the pillows next to him.

Eddie reached over to brush a lock of hair back into place. “I’m crazy about you too.”

Steve smiled, turning his head a little to hide in his pillows. “I can tell.”

“Am I that obvious?” Eddie wiggled around, trying to snuggle himself up as much as possible under the covers.

“Yeah.” Steve followed suit, burying himself in deep. “But I can also hear your heartbeat and it’s been singing to me since you swung that bat.”

“I mean,” Eddie shuffled a little closer. His body was so tender. He was going to be so sore tomorrow, he couldn’t wait. “You were a creature of the night creeping up on me to come and steal my seed.”

Steve blinked at him before lifting his hands and holding Eddie’s face softly. “Jesus Christ, you are so fucking weird.” He pulled him forwards into a kiss that was so adoring and sickly sweet Eddie thought he could feel a cavity coming in.

He kept his eyes closed for a second after the kiss was broken, sucking his lips into his mouth.

“Do you sleep?” He asked, yawning.

“Better than I have in years, ironically enough.”

“Good. Because I don’t know how much longer I can stay awake for. And we have a lot of people to see tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Steve turned his back, pulling Eddie’s arms tight around him.

“G’night sweetheart.” He mumbled against the back of Steve’s neck.

“Night Eds.”

~x~X~x~

It was an entirely new experience, waking up slowly, one that he hadn’t had in over a month.

Before this he would jump awake from every little sound in the boathouse and when he was safe again with Uncle Wayne he’d always wake up suddenly, either screaming, panting or crying.

Lying relaxed and easy, opening his eyes slowly and feeling warmth and comfort around him was something he had sorely missed.

Steve was pressed up against his chest and held tight, still passed out and beautiful in the indirect morning light.

Eddie snuggled back in, not wanting to move, not wanting to give this up for anything in the world.

If he hadn’t seen first hand the devastation that the Party was currently experiencing he would have made a hell of an argument for staying here all damn day.

But he’d already been gone for far far longer than he ever had before and they were going to notice. There was no need to send them all into a panic ahead of time, especially when it was going to be an extremely emotionally exhausting day already.

Steve huffed in his sleep, stirring and apparently irritated at the very idea of having to wake up. Eddie gleefully filed it away, delighted that sunshine boy himself Steve Harrington was not a morning person.

He was shoved onto his back as Steve rolled over, draping himself completely over Eddie’s chest and apparently settling down to go straight back to sleep.

“Stevie.” Eddie sing-songed.

Another huff.

“It’s time to rise and shine with Mr. Sun.” He traced his fingers across Steve’s face, outlining his cheeks, his jaw, his nose.

“Mr. Sun can fuck off.” Steve grumbled, rubbing his cheek against Eddie’s sternum. “‘M a creature of the night. Mr. Sun is my enemy.”

“We don’t actually know that yet. We’ve gotta get you out into the light to find that out.”

Steve turned his head, poking his chin into Eddie’s chest, squinting and trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. His hair was a mess, completely flat on one side, sticking up in every direction in the other. Paired with the unhappy scowl on his face it was the most adorable thing Eddie had ever seen.

“Come on, baby. We gotta go inform everyone you’ve risen from the grave.”

“Just call them here.”

Eddie froze for just a second, regaining his composure quickly but not quickly enough to not be noticed. Steve sat up, hovering over him. “What is it?”

Eddie chewed on his lip, looking up at the concerned look he was getting. “They won’t come here. It’s too- they think you’re dead, first off. So it would be like breaking and entering… or tomb raiding or something. But they’re all not really… in a place to be around anything that reminds them of you. It hurts too much.”

A complicated set of emotions flitted over Steve’s face before he let out a soft “Oh.” slumping where he sat.

“We usually meet up at my place now. Big Government gave me and Wayne a house so that’s nice.” He reached up to push back some of Steve’s wild morning hair. “But I’m going to have to borrow some pants. Some savage got at my jeans last night and I’d rather not arrive home in DIY assless chaps.”

“You’d hear no complaints from me.” Steve muttered, smiling a little as Eddie wormed his way out from under him, wincing slightly as he stood, crossing the room and starting to dig through the drawers.

“Of course I wouldn’t. But I’m just taking these to get home in,” he waved a pair of sweats around “I’ll change into something more fashionable once we get in.”

Steve scoffed. “Fashionable. Right.”

Once Steve had managed to drag himself out of bed and he got dressed, they both stood in front of the closed front door.

“It’s pretty sunny out there.”

“Yeah.”

“No neighbours though. So no one to see if you shrivel up.”

“I won’t shrivel up.”

“Maybe you’ll turn to ash.”

“Oh thanks, now that’s in my head.”

Eddie took Steve’s hand. “You really think you’ll be okay, though?”

Steve squeezed his hand back. “Only one way to find out.” He swung the door open and without missing a beat stuck his hand straight out into the sunlight.

The hand didn’t shrivel up or turn to ash but Steve didn’t leave it out there for too long. “Feels like really intense summer sun. Like a heatwave. But that’s all.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

“Better than ash.”

“Yeah.”

They both looked out across the front garden again. Eddie’s van was about ten feet away, without a lick of shade in between.

“Think you can make it into the back okay?”

“I’ll just sit in the front.”

“Not that I don’t want to parade you around town sweetheart, but people will see you. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I can hide. Use my thrall or whatever.”

“Oh yeah, and I’ll wrap the van around a tree when I get confused about where you’ve gone.”

“Well obviously I won’t use it on you.” Steve rolled his eyes, tugging on one of Eddie’s curls.

“You can choose?” Eddie slapped Steve’s hand away, trying and failing to smooth his hair back down.

“Kinda. I can choose who isn’t thralled.”

“Freaky.”

Steve chuckled. “Thanks.”

Eddie smiled back, having to drag his eyes away to check his watch. “Okay. It’s still a bit early to start volunteering at the shelter so Wayne could be home. I might have to pretend you’re not there.”

Steve nodded, nonchalant and entirely too innocent. Eddie couldn’t help but feel like he was walking into a trap but Steve just smiled at him, gentle and easy.

“I’m on to you.” Eddie said as he stepped out of the house and crossed the garden to open the passenger door. He wasn’t, he had no idea what devious thing Steve was thinking up but he didn’t have to know that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

By the time he had rounded the van to pull his own door open, Steve was already sitting in the passenger seat, moving faster than Eddie could see.

He just rolled his eyes, hopping inside. “Show off.”

They didn’t really talk on the ride over, Steve was taking in all the ways the town had changed in the past month, how abandoned it was, the cracks in the earth.

Eddie hesitated at the threshold of his front door, turning to look back at Steve from the hallway.

“Are you not gonna invite me in?” Steve asked with a cheeky smile.

Eddie smiled right back, shaking his head and waiting with his hands clasped behind his back.

It was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes now, taking a swift and unimpeded step forward into the house, grinning again.

“Ed?”

Wayne’s sudden voice came from right behind him causing him to jump nearly a foot into the air.

“Are we air conditioning the whole road now? Close the door.” His uncle was waving his hand in front of him in a closing motion, completely blind to the resurrected vampire standing just to his right.

“Right, sorry!” Eddie shot Wayne what he hoped was a bashful smile while Steve sniggered loudly beside him. He closed the front door and whacked Steve across the arm before following his uncle into the kitchen.

It really hit him then how strange it all was as Wayne started informing him of the latest drama at the shelter. It was a very strange sensation, to be standing, talking to his uncle as if it were just the two of them, like there wasn’t an apex predator of a creature standing over his shoulder directly in Wayne’s line of sight but not seen.

It made him feel uneasy, like he was on display in a zoo or some kind of arena. And Steve, ever the meddling bastard, was trying to torture him.

“Marion needs to get her head out of her ass.”

Wayne just shrugged as he knocked back the last of his coffee. “It’s easier to let her think she’s in charge.”

“I don’t know how you hold your tongue around her.”

“Not all of us go pickin’ fights against ‘the man’ for no good reason, Ed.”

“There’s plenty of ‘good reason’!” Eddie threw his hands up. “Marion wishes she-” He inhaled sharply as a pair of hands grasped his hips and Steve ground himself right up against Eddie’s ass.

Wayne cocked an eyebrow at him. “You alright?”

“Uh,” Eddie breathed out as he attempted to jab his elbow backwards, trying to make it look like he was running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’m-”

That was a terrible mistake. A terrible mistake because as he’d shifted his hair he’d left his neck exposed and there was now a pair of warm lips running gently up and down his skin.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure you’re not comin’ down with something? You look a little flushed.”

“Yeah, you look a little flushed, Eddie.” Steve’s husky voice breathed into his ear and he fought hard not to shudder. He was gonna stake Steve in the heart himself, the prick.

Eddie breathed in, flapping his arms around trying to make it look like a dramatic gesture. “I’m good, don’t worry about it.”

Wayne stared him down for a few more seconds before putting his empty cup in the sink. “Alright. I gotta run. Don’t be gettin’ up to any mischief while I’m gone.”

“No promises.” Eddie laughed, a little hysterically, waving his uncle off. “Bye Wayne!”

As soon as the front door clicked closed he rounded on Steve who had the most infuriating smile on his face.

“Were you trying to fuck me in front of my uncle?”

“Wanted to test my limits.” Steve tilted his head innocently.

“Your limits? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“So I heard.” Steve purred, leaning in close but stopped short, his eyes snapping to the front door over Eddie’s shoulder. “Someone’s outside.”

“Yeah, Wayne. Don’t change the subject. I didn’t know I was starting up with some kind of sex demon-”

“It’s not Wayne.”

Eddie glanced behind him to see the door still closed and no one lurking in the window before looking back at Steve.

“Are you still hidden?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Eddie took a few deep breaths trying to bring the flush on his cheeks down and get himself back under control before he made the few strides necessary across the floor plan of the house and swung open the front door.

Shit.

Robin stood there, with her arms wrapped around herself, wearing a sweater that he was positive she’d stolen from Steve months ago, the same blank look on her face and her eyes on the ground.

Eddie hesitated for just a second before he decided whatever was about to happen, it was better for it to happen inside. He stepped back from the door, letting her in and coming up with a complete blank of how to move forward with this suddenly delicate situation.

After he’d clicked the door close behind her he turned to Steve who was openly staring at Robin, wide eyed and incredibly worried. He looked devastated, letting out a small exhale, a whisper of “Robbie” that sounded so pained and so small.

Robin’s head snapped up with a quickness she hadn’t possessed for a long time, her eyes sharp and alert.

“Steve?”

The colour had completely drained from her face. Eddie had never really understood the phrase white as a sheet until that moment, it was like she didn’t have a single drop of blood left in her head.

Robin swayed dangerously on the spot for just a second before her eyes rolled completely back and she collapsed into a dead faint.

Before Eddie could reach out, before her body could even hit the ground Steve had almost teleported from one end of the room to the other, catching her securely in his arms and clutching her tight to his chest.

“How…” He breathed, turning his panicked gaze back up to him. “How could she see me? Eddie? She wasn’t- she wasn’t supposed to be able to see me!”

Steve knelt down on the ground, settling Robin gently in his lap and cradling her close to him. Eddie just shook his head dumbly in their direction, he didn’t know. He didn’t have any answers. He was just as shocked as Steve was.

Before either of them could say anything else, Robin stirred in Steve’s arms.

The two of them looked down at her with bated breath as her eyes fluttered open, squinting and confused before widening when she realised who she was looking up at.

“Ahoy, sailor.” Steve whispered.

Robin placed a shaking hand on either side of Steve’s face.

“Am I dead?” She croaked, her voice weak from lack of use.

“No,” Steve let out a wet laugh, sniffling immediately after. “No, Birdie, you’re not dead.”

“Oh.” Her eyes darted around Steve’s face, taking it all in before glancing to Eddie, taking in the room behind him then back to Steve as though trying to figure out exactly where she was.

Robin blinked slowly once more before her face crumpled and twisted into a sob and she threw her arms around Steve’s neck.

“I’m sorry. Robin, Birdie, Bobby, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, it was supposed to be a gentler introduction, I swear. You weren’t supposed to see me.” Steve babbled as Eddie tried to quietly remove himself from the situation, to give them some privacy, slowly backing away, patting his pockets, looking for his cigarettes.

“Stevie-Evie. Steve.” Robin implored. “I'll always see you.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 AO3

@romanticdestruction, @darkwitchoferie, @justforthedead89, @didntwant2come, @estrellami-1, @warlordess, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @weeennussy, @studentlife-with-sassyaf-friends

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vodika-vibes · 6 months

Note

I feel you with being sick lately, I’ve been sick all week plus I got the ol’ red tide happening so I’m not having a good time T-T. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the A-17 & Fordo combo, so if you want and have time and feel able could you please do another Alpha-17xReaderxFordo fic where the boys comfort and care for a busy reader who won’t stop to take care of herself? Thanks for your time and i hope you’re feeling better and having fun!

Take A Break

Summary: As a post war Senator, you've been working hard to make sure that the clones remain safe...perhaps too hard.

Pairing: Alpha-17 x Reader x ARC Captain Fordo

Word Count: 719

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I am feeling a lot better, thank you for asking, I'm just tired, so my brain doesn't want to make words work today, lol. I also do have your other request! Thank you for your requests, and your patience.

You’re exhausted. Down to your bones.

You feel as though you’ve been going non-stop for years now. And at this point maybe you have been. And now that the war is over, you should be able to rest and relax more, not less.

But for every person who supports your Clone Rights Bill is another person who opposes it, which means that you’re working just as hard now as you were when the war was at its height.

You haven’t even managed to go home in the last three days. Though, at least, you’re not alone. None of the other Senators who are working on this bill have been able to leave either.

You caught Bail staring at a blank wall earlier today with a cup of caf in each hand and a straw in each cup, allowing him to drink both at the same time. Personally, you think it’s brilliant, but the look on Commander Thorn’s face when he gently escorted Bail back to his office makes you think that maybe you’re too exhausted to really judge that.

You thread your fingers through your hair, and you stare at the datapad laying on the table in front of you. You’ve been reading the same argument for the last hour, and you haven’t managed to retain a single word of it.

You drop your hands from your hair and press the palms of your hands over your eyes. They’re burning from exhaustion and strain, and you really should dig your glasses out of your desk to help with at least some of that, but that sounds like work and you’re so tired of work-

For a moment, just a moment, you consider taking a break. And then your datapad dings as a new message crosses the screen.

It’s from Padme. The subject line simply reads, “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

You open the message and it’s a message forwarded from Senator Burtoni. The basic idea being that she’s claiming that the Clones are Kaminoan property and so they should be returned to Kamino for repurposing and decommissioning.

And that sends a shot of awareness through your exhausted mind, and you start typing rapidly. And you note, absently, that you’re not the only one.

About an hour later, you notice that Bail is no longer online. And then neither is Padme.

And then your office door slides open and you blink, blearily, at the two men that enter your office. Alpha looks unimpressed, and Fordo doesn’t look much happier, actually.

Alpha folds his arms over his chest, “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since you’ve been home?”

That’s a silly question, of course you do. It’s been…uh…

You blink at him, and decide that it’s a dumb question and ignore it, “This is important.” You finally say, “Senator Burtoni wants to decommission-”

“That’s normal. Senator Burtoni has always wanted to decommission us.” Alpha says with a roll of his eyes, “Have you slept at all in the last three days?”

“Uh…I closed my eyes for an hour yesterday while listening to a speech?” You offer as an answer, and then you squeak when Fordo crosses the room and gently pulls you from your seat, only to pull you into his arms.

You slump into his embrace, the exhaustion becoming almost overwhelming now that you’re not actively staring at your work.

“Have you eaten, cyare?” Fordo asks, his voice soft.

You nod mutely, because you have. The Senate Droids have been bringing you meals, which is part of the reason that the senate has droids, honestly.

“You just haven’t been home…or sleeping.” Alpha says, and you can feel his fingers against the back of your neck, rubbing soothing circles there.

“...’m sorry.”

“Shh. We’re not mad. We’re worried.” Fordo lightly squeezes your hips, “This isn’t healthy, cyare.”

“You need to take a break.” Alpha interjects, “It’s time to go home. You can take a bath and curl up in bed and sleep until you’re not tired anymore.”

“And maybe we’ll cuddle with you.” Fordo adds with a small smile.

You sigh softly, and rest your head against his chest, “What did I do to deserve you both?”

Alpha chuckles and presses a light kiss to your shoulder, while Fordo drops a light kiss to your forehead. “Come on, cyare. Time to go home.”

#star wars #tcw #alpha 17 x reader x fordo #x reader fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #answered asks

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mehoymalloy · 8 months

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Tossing some Grace/Athena (Stray Gods) into the world in the form of the drabble that ran away from me. Consider it a taste of the slow burn fic idea that's been buzzing around in my brain for the past 48 hours.

And yet, Grace had the audacity to show up at Athena's apartment—wearing an almost awkward smile that contradicted the casual ease she carried herself with as she leaned against the door frame. Time after time again, she arrived uninvited. And what was Athena to do—turn her away at the door?

No; instead, Athena forced the shadow of a joyless smile to twist her lips, at least for a moment, before begrudgingly inviting Grace in. And each time, Grace made it a little further into Athena's home.

First, Grace lingered in the entryway for a quick, tense chat about her duties as mortal liaison—how Athena could stand to cooperate a little more. Athena listened, her frown growing more and more pronounced, and Grace met her expression with a surprisingly understanding look that somehow didn't deter from the stern set to her jaw.

Next time, Grace made her way into Athena's kitchen, all because Athena had politely, foolishly, offered her an obligatory cup of coffee. Athena stared at Grace's black and purple polka-dotted socks, stark against the white tile floor. For a long time, only the steady dribble of coffee trickling into the pot broke the silence. Until Grace struck up a conversation, stubborn as a bull colliding with a stone wall, honey eyes bright with an irritating flicker of satisfaction when Athena responded with all the grace of a striking snake.

Afterward, Athena washed the mugs by hand, pausing when she picked up Grace's cup. The smudge of lipstick around the rim had Athena reluctantly recalling the easy smile Grace had tossed her way, even when Athena had done everything in her power to dissuade such gestures. The dark, waxy residue stained the pad of Athena's thumb when she wiped it off, lingering even after the soapy water had supposedly washed all traces down the drain.

The next time Grace showed up, she didn't even wait for Athena's lead; she simply strolled across the living room. Athena trailed behind her from a distance, watching Grace fiddle with the lock on the balcony door before she slowly slid it open. Leaving the door ajar, she stepped into the fading light of the setting sun and padded over to stand beside Bubo, where he was perched on the railing. Athena leaned against the frame, and all three of them surveyed the city for a long moment, watching as twinkling lights slowly came to life beneath the cover of twilight. Then Grace turned to the owl, reaching out and gently smoothing down a ruffled feather. Bubo appeared unbothered—but surely only the dim lighting gave the illusion that he leaned into her touch.

Athena herself was even a part of the problem. One day, she found her gaze drawn to a loose button on Grace's shirt, hanging on by a frayed thread. She had opened her mouth and offered to fix it before she could even consider her words. They tumbled out unbidden, and Grace graciously agreed too quickly for Athena to snatch them back. And so Athena led her even further into her home, to a study that doubled as a craft room of sorts. Athena's eyes did not linger on the way Grace's undershirt hugged her frame when she removed her top. No, Athena kept her eyes on her work, not at all distracted when Grace came to stand over her shoulder. Athena did not shiver when Grace murmured a low, sly comment about never knowing the goddess of wisdom and warfare sewed. And Athena absolutely did not mirror Grace's playfulness by inflecting an air of exaggerated arrogance into her tone when she primly informed the other woman that she was also the goddess of weaving.

#stray gods #stray gods the roleplaying musical #athena stray gods #grace stray gods #athena #grace #grace x athena #grace/athena #mehoymalloy #wip stuff

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harudnae · 5 months

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Next in line for the Great Draft Eradication Plan, today's fic is a Gaban x Reader fluffy one-shot!

Also posted on AO3 on 2024.01.13

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Gaban x GN!Reader, Roger x Rayleigh if you squint

Summary: A new hairdo unexpectedly brings you closer to your crush.

Content warnings: obvious & oblivious crush, hair braiding, fluff, no pronouns used for Reader, no body description either

Word count: 2k

✨ Great hair

"Morning."

You lift your head from your breakfast plate and crack a smile. "Morning, Gaban."

He tilts his chin towards the empty space in front of you. "Mind if I join you?"

You nod the negative. "Not at all."

"Great." Gaban sets his plate and mug on the table, flashes you a smile then digs in.

Your heart beats faster. What were the odds that your crush would sit right right there in front of you? There are plenty of other available places in the galley, so you can't help but ponder your luck.

Gaban looks back up at you. "You did your hair differently today."

You let a shy smile curl your lips, happy that he noticed. "Yeah, I did. I braided them like my people do."

"It really suits you."

Your cheeks heat up. "Suits anyone", you dismiss with a wave of the hand. Before your brain catches up with your mouth, you add, "I bet it'd look great on you too."

Gaban tilts his head to the side, a playful smile at the corner of his lips. "You think so?"

"Yeah." You briefly make eye contact, then quietly say, "You've got great hair", before diving back into your breakfast, a little flustered.

He resumes eating too, throwing the occasional glance your way. After a while he asks, "Would you do my hair like your people do?"

You swallow around a mouthful and blink at him, heart threatening to burst inside your chest. "Just so you know, with long hair like yours, this could take a few hours."

"That's why it looks so good afterwards, right? I don't mind. Do you?"

You have a light laugh. "Nope. Alright, I'll do it." Your newfound luck lifts your spirits higher than they've ever been since your arrival in this crew.

Gaban smiles wide. "Nice."

Gaban unties his hair and fluffs them down across his back before sitting cross-legged in front of you.

You get a whiff of his scent and take a short moment to enjoy the tingle it sends through your body. Then you exhale slowly, quickly shake your head, and you move closer to him, gently parting his hair with your hands before you tie what's going to be in your way. "You really have great hair", you comment while you separate the curly strands from each other, "Braids tend to remain longer on curly hair and thick hair, you've got both."

Gaban laughs. "Nice, that's good news." He adjusts his position, leaving you more room to work.

Your hand brushes against his back in the process but he doesn't seem to mind. You, on the other hand, do mind, but you do your best to focus on the task at hand, pun intended. A little after you started braiding Gaban's hair, your hands work by muscle memory while they thread through his curly mane, so your mind simply focuses on spending such a nice time, being allowed to touching your crush's hair and being in such close proximity. It's a treat in and of itself, and you wouldn't want to miss a single second of it.

"It's relaxing", he says after a while.

You softly smile, noticing how you drifted into an almost meditative state. "Yeah, it's nice to have someone else do it for you."

He gives you a quick side-glance. "You don't, though."

You shrug. "I manage."

After a quiet while, Gaban adds, "I could, if you taught me."

Your heart misses a beat before spiking up. "For real?"

Gaban grins. "Yeah."

You swallow, then exhale a breath you hadn't noticed you'd been holding. You wonder if he offered out of simple courtesy, or if you should read more into it.

Buggy peeks from behind your shoulder, derailing your train of thoughts. He curiously inquires, "Say, say, (y/n)-san, what are you doing?"

Shanks, never too far from his friend, quickly joins him and observes you working on Gaban's hairdo.

You give them a side-glance and focus back on Gaban's hair, making sure to hold the curly strands tight enough that no stray hair gets out of the braids. "I'm braiding. See?" Your hands work slower, using larger movements so the cabin boys can watch how it's done.

"Pretty", Shanks wistfully says.

Buggy excitedly asks, "Would you do my hair later?"

Shanks' gaze leave your hands only to glance at Buggy, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. A split moment after, he turns his attention back to you. "Hey, me too, me too! Do my hair!!"

You softly laugh, fond of the kids and their spirit. "If you wait for your turn, patiently, I will."

Both cabin boys nod the affirmative. "Aye, aye", they say, and they remain close-by, excitedly chatting among themselves and giving each other the occasional elbow nudge while they try not to show how eager they are.

You keep progressing on Gaban's hair, but you regularly glance at them. "The boys are cute", you fondly say.

Gaban exhales a thoughtful hum. "For once, they're not bickering. It's been a while since I last saw them behaving properly..."

You push two fingertips against Gaban's scalp so he tilts his head for better access. Once he's in the right position you ask, "How long have you known them?"

Gaban chuckles. "Since forever. We raised them since they were babies."

You stop braiding for an instant, stunned. "What??" You've been in the crew for a couple of years, and it's true that Shanks and Buggy have always been around, but you never thought that the boys would have been aboard as literal toddlers, or younger.

While you start braiding the last of his hair, Gaban tells you how they met one, then the other kid, and how both times Captain Roger decided that he'd raise them as his own.

Rayleigh, Gaban, and the rest of the crew were left with no other choice but to comply with their Captain's whim. And although a few complaints were heard, everyone quickly warmed up to the boys and actively cared for both of them.

You realize you've been doing just the same since you joined the Roger Pirates: kids aboard means extra care and attention, and you naturally assumed care-taking when needed, just like each one of your nakama does.

Shanks and Buggy are around eight now, and with the adventures you all have together, it's a miraculous gift that they've grown into such great kids, full of life and always eager to do something new.

You happily sigh, and reluctantly get to work on Gaban's last braid. You thread your fingers a bit more slowly, caressing the thick curls, and your hands linger a little longer on his scalp when you work your way down the black strands. It's a nice moment, and you wish it wouldn't end so soon. But a deal is a deal... Once you're finally done, you glance around Gaban's head to fix any stray hands with some wax you brought for the finishing touches. Once satisfied with your work you walk around him and offer him a smile. "I'm done", you proudly say, "You should go see your–"

Shanks runs towards Gaban, yelling, "It's so good!"

Buggy closely tails him, and excitedly walks around Gaban to study the work you've done. "It's so nice! I want the same, I want the same!"

Shanks, "I'll go first, I'll go first!"

Buggy protests, "Hey! I asked first, get in line!"

Gaban pats both kids on the head, prompting them to shut up. He looks at you and asks, "Why don't you teach me, then? I can learn while you do it too."

Heart fluttering at the prospect of spending some extra time with Gaban, you all too happily nod. "Yeah, sure!" You turn your attention back to the kids. "That way you'll both get nice hairdos at the same time. Deal?"

Buggy and Shanks exchange a look and a shrug, then the blue-haired cabin boy wriggles away and sits where Gaban was while you did his hair. "Okay, but you do mine because I asked you first."

You softly laugh. "Alright, alright. You'll both get the same treatment, though."

Gaban leads Shanks next to Buggy and installs himself, offering you a smile.

You hope you can conceal how flustered you are as the target of his attention, and you do your best to focus on teaching him how to braid.

He's a patient pupil, listening closely and asking whenever doubt arises. He frowns while he focuses, and the tip of his tongue pokes between his parted lips while he tries to find the right balance between tightening the braids enough and not pulling on Shanks' scalp too much. He's a quick learner though, and he manages to do a really nice work following your instructions.

Since you work faster than he does, you pause in-between braids and selfishly enjoy the endearing sight.

He looks so soft like this, gentle and attentive.

"Say, say", Buggy impatiently says, "Does it look good already?"

Your eyes flicker back to the boy's hairdo a short moment after they met Gaban's curious gaze. "Yeah, it really does. Be patient, it takes a while but it's worth it."

Shanks nudges an elbow against Buggy's arm, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Buggy gives him a side-glance, then he grins back.

Gaban gets more confident over the second half of Shanks' head, and almost matches your own speed by the end of it.

You explain him how to give the final touches to such a hairdo, and you tell the three of them how to protect their hair afterwards so the braids remain neat for a longer time.

Both boys attentively listen to your explanations, and as soon as you're done, they run to the nearest mirror to admire themselves. They excitedly run back to you and wrap their arms around you for a tight hug, thanking you profusely.

Gaban warmly smiles at you, patting the boys on the shoulders.

This is nice. I could get used to it...

Rayleigh's voice a little further on the deck derails your train of thoughts. He eyes the four of you, a knowing smirk on his face. "Oh, you're all assorted. That's cute."

Buggy protests, "I'm not cute!"

Shanks grins. "Are too."

Meanwhile, you're standing still, quite flustered by the First Mate's innuendo, but you finally dare a glance towards Gaban.

His cheeks are tinted a darker shade, his stance a little stiff, and he still hasn't said a word.

You frown, hesitating between hope and despair.

Rayleigh's smirk grows. "You look like a young couple and their kids."

You stiffen and choose despair.

Gaban huffs a sigh, and grabs Shanks and Buggy by the collars. He brings them both to Rayleigh, countering, "For starters, these are your kids."

Rayleigh grabs both cabin boys and touch their braids. "Fair. Thanks for the hair, too. Looks like you had a good–"

Gaban punches his shoulder before he has a chance to finish his sentence. "Knock it off", he growls.

Something tightens in your gut when you hear the low rumble of his voice. You mentally slap yourself for getting aroused so easily, not to mention in front of the kids. You blink and quickly gather your comb and hair-ties, intending to retreat to the lower decks and bury yourself under a blanket until the embarrassment disappears.

Rayleigh laughs as he leaves, excited cabin boys in tow.

You're just about to make a beeline for your cabin when Gaban walks back to you.

"Hey, thanks for today", he softly says, "Maybe some time later I can do yours in return?"

You blink, then your cheeks heat up.

Smile faltering just a bit, he quickly adds, "If– If you want to, that is. Either way, it was really nice."

You replay Rayleigh's earlier intervention in your head, and finally you come to a realization. Ah. Maybe I'm not the only one with a crush. You exhale a soft laugh. "Yeah, it was. And..." You take a deep breath and eagerly add, "I'd like that. A lot."

#one piece #op fic #gaban x reader #nae's writing #one piece x reader #x reader

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heyclickadee · 9 months

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So I forgot that this was in my drafts and has just been sitting in there for a month and a half. Anyway, actual ramblings on “Replacements”:

1. I took notes while watching this one. My first note just says, “Sad whale noises,” underlined four times, with a little frowny face.

2. Hunter’s little lopsided grin as he says, “Well, that doesn’t look comfortable—for either of you,” to Omega and Gonky. He’s stressed and not sure what to do next, but he’s still kind of playful at this point. The depression hasn’t quite set in. And Omega’s little, “We’re fine.” That’s the “We’re fine,” of, “My legs are asleep and I can’t feel my spine but I’d rather die than take up space or admit I’m uncomfortable because I don’t know what I can get away with around you guys,” I swear….

3. Gonky’s little kicky feets!! Also, how did he get down there? Did he fall over while Tech was doing some unnecessary barrel rolls? Did Wrecker put him there? Did he flop over so Omega could use him as a backrest?

4. Again, Hunter’s deadpan shake of the head when Wrecker just *fyoom* inhales that ration bar. Also, can we talk about how much living on ration bars must suck? You probably get your caloric needs for the day, but it’d be like eating one single cliff bar for every meal. You wouldn’t starve or be malnourished, but you’d never feel full, hence why Wrecker, who is lärge and probably has the metabolism of a Bugatti, never has (I want to make him all the treats! He deserves all the cinnamon rolls and pie and plank grilled salmon and burgers and…).

5. I do kind of appreciate that they start introducing the idea that practical needs, like food and ship fuel, are a concern for these guys, and that they’re more or less flat broke. Other Star Wars shows have touched on people having to actually pay for things to survive—that’s part of the point of the Lando episode of Rebels—but’s a constant thread in this show. Clone Force 99 is always a few really bad days from being stranded, because they can’t afford to fuel the ship, and starving, because they’re out of food.

6. I do kind of appreciate that even though Hunter physically pushes Wrecker back to keep him from grabbing Omega’s ration bar (good for Omega for offering it but), he does so pretty gently, and he drops his voice because even though he wants Wrecker to understand that Omega will absolutely inconvenience herself to make other people comfortable, he doesn’t want to call Wrecker out in front of the whole ship. He’s trying to make it as private as he can…in the space RV…with limited space. Besides, it’s not as though Hunter could shove Wrecker out of the way unless Wrecker allowed himself to be pushed. “I’m gonna push you away from someone who doesn’t need to overhear us now, back up with me,” seems to just be the accepted language of private conversation between all of them. And I also appreciate that Wrecker, as fundamentally kind, gentle, and emotionally intelligent as he is, does have a little trouble switching to/considering other perspectives. He never needs reminding once it’s pointed out, but he does sometimes need it pointed out to begin with.

7. Tech says he’s building the brain scanner so that he can double check that their chips don’t work. Bullshit. BULL. SHIT. I mean, okay, not total bullshit—I do think he’s at least partially telling the truth. He’s definitely thinking that Crosshair was acting the way he was because his chip activated, and if Crosshair’s chip activated, then why wouldn’t theirs? It’d be good to check. But I think that’s a secondary reason. Based on how he’s the one who brings up the chip as an explanation for Crosshair’s behavior, the added context of season two, and the way he totally drops the scanner after this episode until Rex shows up in episode seven, I really think he’s building it because he’s under the impression that they’re going back for Crosshair sooner than later, and he thinks they’ll need it to locate his chip so they can figure out a way to deactivate or remove it. Tech just told Echo what he did so he could keep working on it.

8. “It’s not affecting life support. We’re fine.” “Are you kidding me?!” I love them. Also: Shout out to poor Gonky rattling around the back of the Marauder like the last tic-tac left in the pack. Get the poor droid a seatbelt.

9. I love that Wrecker tests his tie-down to make sure it’s locked. The Bad Batch isn’t a perfect show, but I adore little background gestures like these, and it’s full of them, even compared to the other animated shows. They help the characters feel a little more alive.

10. I feel like I need to have a, “That’s one hell of a pilot,” counter for every time Tech does some impressive piloting. The ship isn’t functioning correctly and goes from zero visibility and turbulent conditions to, “OH SHIT, THE GROUND,” and a very narrow window in which he can react, and he still manages to land the ship. Not crash, land. With the landing gear down. And, yes, I’m sure that there is some kind of ILS system on the ship for low visibility landings, since this is a universe where autopilot exists, but still—Tech kind of strikes me as the sort of person who would turn autopilot off. (Also, tell me that if the ship would be in one piece if it was Anakin flying it. I love Anakin, and he’s a phenomenal pilot, but I also think that both Tech and Hera could outfly him.)

11. There’s something endearing about the way that they all spring into doing different jobs to figure out how to get out of the mess they’re in once they’ve landed—Echo’s checking the weather, since it’s knocking out their commas and they can’t call for help; Tech’s checking which parts they need to fix the ship and if they have any on board; Hunter’s making sure everyone’s okay and getting Gonky on his feet; Wrecker…might actually just be recovering because he hit his head pretty hard (STOP DOING THAT, WRECKER. STOP IT)—and Omega doesn’t want to be left out or useless so she instantly starts trying to help out, too.

12. “That’s…Crosshair’s weapon kit.” Hello darkness my old friend….

13. Everything about this moment is a gut punch. The way Hunter just stares at the weapons kit for a moment, the way that Wrecker’s the first one to speak up, the anger on Echo’s face when he counters with, “He shot you!”; the way Tech looks between Wrecker, the kit, and Echo a couple times before speaking up and then looks right at Echo as he finishes saying that it could be Crosshair’s chip that’s making him act the way he is, as though he’s trying to convince Echo specifically; Echo’s disbelief and the awfulness of, “That’s what they were designed to do.” Hunter shutting the conversation down before the debate really gets underway, and turning away from everyone (and us), probably so they (and we) can’t see his face. The way that each of them expresses one aspect of what they’re probably all feeling: the loss (Wrecker); the betrayal (Echo); the need for an explanation or a justification (Tech); and the way it’s all too painful to deal with (Hunter).

Speaking of Hunter, the way he reacts by shutting the conversation down and shifting the focus to the task at hand is a pretty well done depiction of the way some people deal with loss. Finding something to do, something to fix, something to keep your mind and hands busy, having a problem to solve; that’s just how some people are. Hunter isn’t taking Crosshair’s absence well, even at this point, and it’s important to remember that he only really found out about the chips and clone programming a few days ago. He’s probably still trying to reconcile that with the emotional betrayal of seeing Crosshair walk out into that hangar wearing black armor and ordering him to stand down.

Also, listen for a little four note motif in the music that plays under this scene. Then go listen to “Mayday.” I could be hearing wrong, but I could also be hearing right, and if I have to suffer, so do you.

14. Speaking of Crosshair, I really want to know why he needed another chip amplification procedure done. I mean, yes, it’s not definite that that’s what’s just happened to him when we cut to Kamino, but all the visual cues are there. My personal suspicion is that the first round took, as we saw at the end of “Aftermath,” but that it didn’t last the way it was supposed to after the batch left. My other personal suspicion is that this repeat procedure was potentially augmented, or more targeted, and that it wasn’t the only other time it happened to him. As much as a segment of the fandom was (and is) worried that Crosshair was or is going to be turned into another Clone X or proto-death trooper, I sort of think it works the other way around. Crosshair was already a test subject, we saw it happen in “Aftermath” and in this episode, and he might have already been patient zero for the early versions of what was later done to the poor guy who ended up as Clone X and the people who are going to end up death troopers, and his chip either being damaged or having to be removed after “Reunion” might be what saved him from being experimented on further, for a while, anyway. I don’t think being brainwashed again is in Crosshair’s future, just because that seems like the one way to screw up his character arc, but we’ll see.

15. God, the way Tarkin, Rampart, and the rest back up the literal chip-powered mind control poor Crosshair’s under with some good old fashioned regular brainwashing by making him a commander (in name only, apparently) of an elite squad of new recruits and talking about how important these new clone lead units are going to be for the transition into imperial power is just cruel. Crosshair’s brain is all kinds of messed up and they’re doing their best to make sure it stays that way. And Crosshair is so inexpressive through the episodes where his chip is at full strength compared to how he is in the rest of the show. He’s still in there, and it’s still him, but he’s being filtered through GoodSoldiersFollowOrders.exe and I just. What if I crawled into my screen and kicked Tarkin in the shins? What if I did that? (I would get shot, that’s what. But still.)

16. The Echo-Tech banter as they’re trying to fix the ship is fun, as is the Empire Strikes Back homage. Also, I love how Tech kind of downplays the situation by just saying that other systems are shutting down, and that Echo IMMEDIATELY jumps in and explains that SOMETHING IS ATTACKING THE SHIP.

17. So, we get Tech explaining that the creature is probably an ordo moon dragon, a creature that feeds on energy (we’ll get to that), and Echo saying that it would have been great if Tech had said that earlier. This isn’t the first of the last time someone will say something like this, and this next bit is kind of a silly thought based on almost nothing, but I sometimes wonder if Tech occasionally thinks he’s said something out loud or explained something when he hasn’t.

18. I don’t know what to do about the fact that the ordo moon dragon feeds on raw energy but lives on an apparently unsettled planet with no power generators or ships or whatevers, but it’s also not the only creature we meet that does this. The zillo beast also slurps down electricity like a breakfast smoothie. That kind of implies that there are natural sources of electricity around and that a number of creatures evolved to take advantage of is. But also it has teeth. Maybe it’s like the Zillo beast and can also eat other things. Maybe it grabs electric space eels, chews on electric charge for a while, and then eats the eel. Or something. I don’t know, it’s Star Wars, there are star whales that fly and jump through hyperspace, it doesn’t really have to make sense.

19. Omega says, “Then we’ll find a way to get him back—somehow,” and then Hunter looks back at her and smiles. And it kills me. And maybe it’s because we can only see half his face, but it’s the most unguarded smile I think we’ve seen from Hunter the entire show. He doesn’t think they can go back yet, but I think he still thinks it’s going to be possible someday, maybe even soon, and that when they do it’ll all work out and be fine and oh my sweet summer child…

20. That transition from Crosshair jumping down to Hunter and Omega walking though the mist is such a cool transition. You can’t even tell you’re in a new location until you see Hunter’s and Omega’s legs.

21. Crosshair opens fire on Saw’s camp, of course, but he misses. A lot. I think there’s one point where he fires four shots but only lands one. It’s not the batch, but he’s still pulling his shots here, as much as he can.

22. Along those lines, I do think it’s interesting that Crosshair doesn’t kill the civilians himself. They’re going to die, he can’t stop that, because those are the orders and he doesn’t have the capacity to say no to it at this point, but he passes the order along to his men. He doesn’t do it himself, and he doesn’t watch. Which is interesting.

23. Speaking of Crosshair’s men, you know what? Cowards. All except that one guy who had the backbone to say that murdering civilians is wrong. He’s a jackass about clones, but at least he’s not down for murder.

24. So the way Crosshair says, “dealt with,” when he reports to Tarkin and Rampart is brutal and it’s going to live rent free in my head.

25. *screams about the whole ending sequence with Wrecker and the room and the lights and Omega but also it’s the gunners chair and Crosshair sitting on his bunk and Echo patting Wrecker on the shoulder because he did a good thing and how the warmth of the one scene and the emptiness of the other enhance each other this show is going to kill me again*

#the bad batch

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