#and he smiles something soft and fond at the way the gold lights him up. glaring lightly against the blaze of sun.

[kylobith]

Little Town Tails

Chapter 6: Something Fishy

Summary: A curious visitor comes to Emerald Grove.

Ship/Pairing: Halsin x Fem!Tav

Trope: Modern AU, Meet-cute, Little countryside town, Cosy

Word count: 4,831

Read it on Ao3 here

Listen to the dedicated playlist on Spotify here

‘Ah, Halsin, there you are!’

‘Good morning, Jaheira,’ he greets the florist back with a bright grin. He wipes his muddy shoes on the rubber mat outside until they are presentable enough to go in. Behind him, Scratch sits at the door, unleashed, waiting for Halsin to be done with his visit before heading home.

Jaheira grins at the white dog and whistles, calling him inside. The dog eyes his owner hesitantly, but when the latter gives him an approving nod, Scratch trots up behind the counter to be petted by his host. She grabs the banana she was snacking on and takes off a piece she offers him.

Halsin approaches the counter and smiles at the sight, always happy to see that his dog is accepted somewhere. While petting Scratch behind the ears, Jaheira looks at his visitor and smirks.

‘Walked around the forest this morning again?’

‘Indeed. The weather was perfect, but last night’s rain made the ground a bit soft, as you could tell from my boots.’

‘It’s always like that. At least they say that this spring will bring more sunny days than usual,’ she adds, chuckling as the dog lies down at her feet. ‘Anyway, did you happen to see Minsc at all? I’ve been trying to call him for two days because he ordered a fresh bouquet, but now the flowers are waning.’

He leans on his elbows and fidgets with one of her business cards on the counter.

‘I did, he was patrolling the area by the other bridge. Had I known, I would have reminded him.’

‘Oh, don’t bother. It’s always like that with him. He tends to forget what he orders on a whim. He’s always ready to support my shop since I opened but he never picks up his orders. He did, once, but that was a flower for Boo’s birthday and he ordered flax seeds. That was it.’

They share a laugh. Minsc certainly is quite the character, anyone meeting him can tell. Quite eccentric compared to the rest of Heawick, but he adds to the charm of the community. Whenever somebody needs help, whether when the flower shop was merely an idea sprouting into Jaheira’s mind or with Beaky’s incident with the bear trap, he never hesitates to lend a hand, even though it tends to distract him from his daily tasks and chores. Yet, there is no better forest warden.

Jaheira flips through the pages of her logbook and finds Halsin’s recent order.

‘So, the spider plant, was it?’ she says absent-mindedly. ‘Found a gorgeous one for you. Fluffy, in good health. Perfect for your counter.’

‘Eager to see it!’

She chuckles and heads to the back to fetch the plant. She returns with precisely what she promised him, setting it down on her counter for him to examine. He touches the long leaves between his fingers, sensing the freshness of their greenish white stripes and admiring the way that they curve elegantly around the gold-painted bucket serving as its display pot.

‘What a beauty!’ he coos, his eyes sparkling in awe. ‘How much do I owe you?’

‘Eighteen gold coins.’

‘Perfect, thank you.’

He takes out and begins to rummage through his coin purse, which takes Jaheira by surprise and causes her to smile. Shaped like the head of a teddy bear, its fur is made from light brown fleece, and the eyes and nose are embroidered in black and pink thread. He bought it at a flea market a few years ago on one of the rare holidays he allowed himself to take. Many raised an eyebrow to see a grown man buy it for himself, but even though he is far from materialistic, it is one of the few objects that he has grown particularly fond of.

He places the eighteen gold coins in the palm of Jaheira’s hand and slips two more into her tip jar.

‘Thank you,’ she says with a brief bow of her head. ‘Don’t forget to repot it from time to time, the roots tend to grow fast. And water it once to twice a week. It’s usually alright if you skip a week, as long as you don’t do it for a month straight.’

The veterinarian laughs and watches the florist remove the plant from the yellow pot. He purses his lips and tilts his head.

‘How much for that pot? It suits the plant quite well.’

Jaheira stops and eyes the bucket.

‘Oh, this? Ah, just take it. On the house.’

‘Certainly not,’ Halsin protests, unzipping his coin purse again and counting the coins in it. ‘Name your price.’

‘I insist, take it. I bought it years ago but it doesn’t suit my home, I use it for visualisation most of the time… Or as a pencil pot.’

She nudges it towards him with a wink. With a sigh and a heavy blush, Halsin slips ten gold coins into the tip jar and winks back. Once the plant is back in the bucket, he calls out for Scratch, who seeks one last pet from Jaheira, then rushes to his owner’s feet. The veterinarian and the florist exchange cheerful goodbyes, and the former exits the shop with his dog in tow and the spider plant tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Halsin whistles a tune as he crosses Heawick with his free hand buried in his pocket. He nods politely at everybody he sees with a smile and continues his walk back to Emerald Grove. The town is still awaking from its slumber and some of the shops are only just opening. Sometimes it still surprises him that Jaheira decides to open hers this early, but as she once said to him, she prefers to tackle her daily routine in the early hours, then close one or two hours before most shops so she can enjoy the town herself and have a longer evening to relax or meet up with her friends at the old pub on Westway Street.

Come to think of it, it is not such a bad idea. Shop owners and employees seldom have the opportunity to shop for themselves, unless they work half shifts or rely on partners who have the time to buy everything they need. More often, their only occasion to do so is on Saturdays, but the busy aisles deter quite a few. Since Heawick has a wider variety of establishments of all the nearing towns — not counting the city, of course —, its streets bustle with visitors on that particular day.

As he turns onto his street, he switches hands to hold the plant and fumbles through his pocket to find his keys. When he pulls them out and looks up to make sure that he does not walk too far, he notices the figure of a man peering through the windows of the practice. Dressed in black from head to toe, matching with his silky and spiky raven hair, the man does not seem to have come with a pet and does not seem particularly eager to enter.

‘Good morning,’ Halsin greets him with an eyebrow raised. ‘May I help you? Do you have or need an appointment?’

The man is startled despite the veterinarian’s soft tone. He straightens up and looks over at Halsin, seemingly analysing him in detail. The stranger rubs his index and thumb together and scowls at Scratch, who does not dare approach him at all. His demeanour already betrays the fact that he comes from the richer quarters of the city and is not used to visiting the area at all. There is a haughty air to him in the way that he carries himself, as if the word ‘peasant’ is about to slip off his tongue at any moment to describe Halsin and his shockingly unleashed pet.

‘No,’ he replies in a honeyed tone still tinted with firmness. ‘But I will come back later.’

Without uttering another word, the man spins around on his heel and walks away, leaving Halsin utterly confused with his key in hand. What a strange character.

The veterinarian shrugs it off and enters the dark practice, ushering Scratch inside before closing the door again behind him. He walks over to Karlach’s counter and finds a suitable spot for the plant, making sure to stand on both sides of the desk to ensure that the view is not obstructed for neither his assistant or a patient’s owner. But in the end, he finds that it does not quite fit there with the cards and flyers and tip jar, so he carries it over to the small coffee table in the centre of the waiting room. At least, if the anxious pets munch on the leaves, they will not be sick from it.

After a brief shower and a change into scrubs, he lets Scratch rest upstairs and heads back to the practice to follow the daily opening routine. As he takes a minute to make himself a cup of fruity tea — a bold decision considering how often he drinks his signature mint and honey infusion —, his mobile phone pings. Karlach’s name appears on the screen.

‘Morning doc, sorry but I’ll be late today, Vixen just won’t start! I’ll be there ASAP, promise promise!’

Halsin grins and immediately types back as he flicks the light switches on and shuffles towards the front door without paying much attention to his surroundings.

‘It should be quiet for the first hour, hopefully you will have found a way by then. Good luck finding an alternative! Perhaps you can ask Gale? Halsin. PS: I hope that Vixen will be alright. Too bad that she is not the type of vixen that I would treat at the practice :-).’

His wrist flicks to unlock the door while he re-reads the message to correct any typos he might have made. Eager to let some fresh air in, he opens the door wide.

‘Morning, doctor!’

Halsin nearly drops his phone when he jolts in surprise, not having expected that somebody might have already arrived. After all, he does not have any appointment planned before an hour. Outside, wiping her feet on the mat, Tav smiles at him with twinkling eyes and a light flush from noticing that her sudden greeting startled him.

His heart instantly leaps inside his chest and his lips mirror her grin.

‘Oh, good morning Miss Ashguard! I apologise for my reaction, I did not expect such an early visit. Is everything alright?’

Tav quickly combs her fingers through her freshly-cut curtain fringe. It suits her incredibly well, he catches himself thinking. The way that it sweeps across her eyebrows, its colour only highlighting the deep blue of her irises… It nearly steals the breath from his lungs.

‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine!’

He steps aside and invites her inside. As she passes him by with a light step, he closes his eyes for a second, savouring the aroma of her flowery perfume. As he realises what he is doing, he clears his throat and follows her to the reception.

‘Do you need anything more for the case against Mr Bongle? Perhaps I have forgotten to include some information in the report?’

She leans her elbows on the counter and does not seem able to eff the smile across her rosy cheeks. The sight, however sweet and pleasant, does stir something within him and he curses himself internally for reacting the way that he does.

‘No, not at all. The lawyer said it was quite complete, actually. She’s revising the case and I just have to wait now,’ she chimes with a shrug. ‘I’ve come here because there’s a stray cat in my street that’s been going around for a while but lately he’s been looking quite thinner. The old lady who used to feed it everyday died a few weeks ago, and I’m not sure anyone feeds him anymore.’

Her gaze wanders over to the rows of kibble bags on the display shelves.

‘I’d like to buy some food for him just to be on the safe side, and since I don’t want to risk giving him the wrong stuff, I thought I’d buy it here.’

‘I see,’ he responds with a nod. His eyes brighten up at the thought that she cares for an animal that is not hers. Most people he has seen refuse to approach stray animals out of fear that they might catch diseases or fleas, and while some caution is always advised, too many of them end up suffering all sorts of infections that go untreated and only cause them agony. Knowing that there is someone like Tav out there caring enough to notice the change in the cat’s weight gives him hope.

Halsin steps back to peruse the selection he has got, heading straight to the cat section.

‘Do you know how old the cat is, approximately?’ he asks.

‘Mmh, he doesn’t look too old. Hears and sees properly from what I know, his fur isn’t too patchy. Some neighbour said the old lady fed him for about three years.’

‘Then let us take one for adult cats to be on the safe side. I suppose that you do not happen to know what type of kibble she gave him?’

‘Not at all. Sorry.’

He nods and asks her a few more questions about what behaviours she has noticed from the cat in general. Once he is able to define a clearer profile of the animal, he picks a bag and sets it down on the counter, pointing at the information written on it with his pen.

‘This is food that is perfect for a cat used to the outdoors, aged five years or more. If it turns out that he is slightly younger, that should not cause any trouble. Since you said that he is on the lighter side, I would recommend thirty grammes of kibble per day. See how much he manages to eat and add a little more if he starts gaining a bit of weight again. But do not give him more than forty-five grammes, since it is likely that he hunts mice or birds on the side.’

‘Noted!’

Reaching into a cabinet behind the reception, he takes out a measuring cup and places it next to the bag.

‘This should help you measure the food without a kitchen scale.’

‘Practical. Alright, let’s take it!’

Halsin smiles and circles the recommended doses on the bag so she does not forget the amount he has told her to give the stray cat. He signs in to his software and enters the right reference to log the sale.

‘Would you like me to add it to your patient account in case you need to buy some new kibble later on?’

‘Gladly,’ she responds cheerfully, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand while watching him typing on the keyboard.

‘Done! That will be twenty-two gold coins, please. The measuring cup is free.’

Tav takes out her credit card and pays for the bag. Once her wallet is stored away into her small cross-body bag, she carries the dry food under her arm and holds the measuring cup between her fingers.

‘Thank you very much, doctor.’

‘You are most welcome. If anything, I should thank you for caring for the cat.’

She returns his smile and tucks her hair behind her pointy ear, whose tip is reddening. Before he starts staring at it, Halsin drums his fingers on the counter.

‘Oh, before I forget, I beg you not to leave out milk for the cat, because—’

‘— because cats are naturally lactose intolerant,’ she completes his sentence with a smug expression that can be likened to this of a pupil who is proud to show that they have learnt their lessons by heart.

‘Indeed,’ he chuckles. ‘Well, it seems that the cat is in most capable hands, I can sleep soundly at night.’

Tav laughs and readjusts her grip on the bag.

‘When I’m released into society, I’m the type to always bring up that fact and everyone gets annoyed,’ she laughs.

‘At least you are spreading the good word out there. I did not know that you were doing public service on top of jingle compositions.’

‘I’m full of surprises, doctor.’

They share a playful grin, which lingers perhaps a bit longer than it should. His heart stirs when he notices the twinkle in her eye and the subtle reddening of her cheekbones. When her fingers unconsciously loosen around the measuring cup and it slips out of her grasp, he skilfully catches it before it bounces on the floor and hands it back to her.

‘Oh, thanks,’ she mumbles bashfully, tucking it under her free arm. ‘If anything goes wrong with the cat, can I try and bring him here?’

‘Of course. I will be happy to help.’

‘You’re the best! Thanks again. Have a lovely day, doctor.’

‘You too, Miss Ashguard. If you have any doubts, you can always contact me.’

‘I will!’

She waves at him and walks out of the practice. His eyes follow her as he sighs dreamily. However, his distraction is quickly cut short when he finds himself face to face with Astarion stepping inside with a cup of blood from the butcher.

‘Morning.’

‘Ah, good morning, my friend! Could I ask you a favour?’

The vampire grunts and slides his sunglasses up, letting them rest on top of his head. His ruby irises scowl at the veterinarian. Favours are never good in the younger man’s book. Or rarely.

‘I suppose I don’t have a choice,’ he mumbles. ‘What do you want?’

Halsin crosses his arms. No matter how much he tries to connect with him, even if just on a superficial level, Astarion always keeps his guard up and his distance. Honeyed words sometimes ornate his speech, but they never feel genuine, merely a façade that shelters him from others. He does not need to befriend him, of course, but he wishes that they could get along as well as he and Karlach do. But again, everything is easier with her. Sometimes, she might be too social and kind in a world that does not always value such qualities.

‘Karlach’s motorcycle broke down this morning, so she will be late. Do you mind working the reception until she arrives?’

Panic fills Astarion’s eyes right away. He furrows his brow and tries to act nonchalant, but his hesitation clearly stands out.

‘Wh— I don’t even know how any of this works!’

‘Do not worry, I am not saying that you must do all her tasks. If you could keep an eye on the appointments list and welcome the patients, that will help tremendously already. If the phone rings, answer it and write down the names and numbers, I will call them back between consultations. If it is urgent, do not hang up; call for me instead.’

‘Mh. That sounds doable. Alright.’

Astarion walks to the kitchen to drop his jacket and sunglasses, then comes back to the reception. He sits behind the desk and Halsin shows him everything he needs to know. Then, the veterinarian walks into his office and logs in to the general inbox and answers some emails himself.

Soon enough, the first appointment of the day arrives and Astarion directs them to the waiting room, where Halsin eventually comes to call them in. The consultation goes smoothly despite the very reticent puppy howling dramatically at the prospect of receiving one of her first shots. When he is done, Halsin guides the owner and the pet to the reception and registers the payment himself, before offering a treat to the brave puppy.

When they walk out, Halsin’s phone pings again.

‘Found a way, Dammon is bringing me. Be there in ten. Btw, doc, did you just make a joke?? And use a smiley??! Who are you and what did you do to Doc Halsin???’

Halsin laughs and updates Astarion on Karlach’s estimated time of arrival. Before the second consultation, a grumpy customer enters and asks for an anti-flea treatment suitable for a corgi. Once he has explained how to apply the solution efficiently, the veterinarian slithers back behind the desk and Astarion rolls a few inches away with his chair to give him enough space to deal with it all. 

‘Do you already have an account?’ Halsin asks the amber-eyed tiefling, whose tail is whipping around behind him in annoyance.

‘This little shit is not my dog, thank the Gods!’ the customer answers with a scoff and a roll of his eyes. ‘He’s my sister’s.’

‘I see. Does she have an account?’

‘Listen, can I just buy the treatment and go? I feel like I’m being devoured by fleas myself as we speak!’

‘Of course.’

Without protesting, he processes the sale and gives the little pipettes to the young man, who turns around with another scoff and leaves as fast as he can, scratching his head harder than he probably should.

Eyeing the man with concern, Halsin leans towards Astarion.

‘Do you think the dog is at risk with him?’

Much to his surprise, the vampire laughs while filing his nails and admiring the result.

‘Most likely. I know him. Well, know is perhaps a strong word, but I’ve spoken to him a few times. As you can clearly tell, he’s from the city. He’s one of the most arrogant pricks I’ve talked to, and it takes one to know one. He owns a bookshop specialised in academic publications of all sorts, and my husband happens to love the place.’

Could it be? Is he actually opening up by accepting to gossip with him? Not that Halsin particularly likes hearsay and talking negatively about people in their backs, but this exchange already brightens up his day.

The vampire carefully taps his glass nail file on the edge of the bin under the desk to rid it of dust, then tucks it away in its little sleeve.

‘But don’t worry, Rolan’s all bark and no bite, he won’t hurt that pup,’ he continues while shoving the file inside his shirt pocket. ‘You know, he’s clever and all, but Gale took him down a notch a couple of times. You know what? I think my husband’s at his hottest when he gives arrogant people a reality check.’

‘That is good to know, I suppose.’

‘Trust me, doc, I think your next appointment’s here.’

Indeed, the next patient comes in and Halsin welcomes him warmly. Halfway through the consultation, he hears the faint sounds of the sewing machine upstairs, and he concludes that Karlach must have arrived in the meantime and relieved Astarion of his temporary duty.

Halsin does not see her until he finishes the next examination and logs everything into the computer. His assistant pokes her head in when the patient leaves and speaks in a hushed voice.

‘Morning, doc! Uh… There’s an odd chum lurking around in the lobby, doesn’t have a pet or anything and he keeps ignoring me when I ask him if I can help him.’

The veterinarian turns around with an eyebrow raised and instantly rises from his high stool.

‘Go back to the reception, I will talk to him.’

Karlach nods and does as he instructed her, sitting back on her chair and anxiously browsing playlists for something that will calm her nerves while being acceptable to play from the practice’s speakers. Situations like this one is among those she has been dreading most about working at Emerald Grove. Owners losing their pets and leaving without their furry or feathery friends remains the worst of all, but weird and creepy people are close.

In previous jobs, she had her fair share of lurking visitors and customers who made her feel uncomfortable, but the employee handbooks always stated that she could not shoo them away outright. Either a manager or security had to do it. Sadly, it often left her feeling incapable of fending for herself and infantilised.

Soon enough and much to her relief, help is on the way and Halsin arrives, clicking a pen. Without making himself look menacing either, he puffs up his chest slightly. If anybody seeks trouble, he is hoping that his size and his brawn will dissuade whoever stands before him. But as he catches a glimpse of the man in question, his stomach tightens. Intent on not showing his discomfort to Karlach, he smiles and speaks as naturally as possible.

‘Good afternoon, sir. I believe we have met this morning, you were looking inside the practice before opening time?’

The man turns around with a smug smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes so dark that one cannot quite pinpoint their colour. Now that Halsin is closer, he can discern the man’s outfit more clearly. Tucked into high-waisted trousers, his tailored black silk shirt with the top five buttons left undone allows his black chest hair to peek out. His overcoat adorned with golden embroideries has its collar upturned, completely covering the back of his neck. If anything, it gives him a menacing look, as though he is the villain of a fairytale come to life, but dressed as a model.

‘You are the veterinarian who owns the practice, aren’t you?’ the man answers at last with a brief squint of his eyes.

‘Indeed, I am. May I be of any help?’

‘Oh, I am merely looking around.’

As he says so, the stranger buries his hands into his pockets and paces around, inspecting the walls and the layout of the reception and the waiting room. Karlach sneaks a glance towards her boss, wondering how he is going to handle this most peculiar situation. Without blinking, Halsin steps forward, tucking his pen into the breast pocket of his scrubs.

‘May I know what you are looking for, sir?’

‘This is a beautiful working space you’ve got here. Most impressive.’

Before he can press him on, the stranger faces Halsin with a smirk, rubbing his fingers together in the same unsettling way that he did earlier this morning.

‘Tell me, have you ever considered selling this practice?’

Halsin crosses his arms. This time, he has no intention to behave in the same friendly manner. While he knows that escalating such a ridiculous situation would be useless, he knows now that he does not want this man lurking around anymore.

‘No, sir. We have only just opened, thank you very much. Now, if you do not wish to make an appointment or buy anything for a pet, I kindly ask you to leave. I must soon tend to another patient.’

‘Oh, that’s a bloody shame. Well. I’ll see what I can do.’

The man reaches into his inside pocket and takes out a business card, which he hands the veterinarian by tucking it between two well-groomed fingers.

‘In case you change your mind, I would be very happy to discuss it with you. Here’s my contact information. The name’s Enver Gortash.’

Without as much as a goodbye, Gortash walks out of the practice, leaving a dumbfounded pair at the reception. Karlach stands up from her chair, her gaze shifting between the door and Halsin.

‘What in the hells just happened, doc? What the fuck was that about?’

Her boss examines the business card he is holding with a deep frown.

‘I have no clue, Karlach. I am quite at a loss, to be honest with you.’

‘What did he say his name was?’

Halsin hands her the business card. Before she even gives it a look, she sits back on her chair and drags her keyboard towards herself, instantly typing the name in her browser. His curiosity piqued by the results, he joins her behind the desk and leans in to read what comes up on the screen. Karlach clicks on a biographical article from a business-centred media website and begins to skim it.

‘Fuck me, Gortash’s quite the big guy,’ she mumbles pensively. ‘Owns a big company that owns lots of brands itself. Apparently, he’s known for gentrifying the shit out of many neighbourhoods in several cities already. He’s kicked out independent shops to establish a coffee chain and turning flats into offices.’

His eyes scan the same words and the more they read, the tighter the lump in his throat feels. Karlach hands him the mouse so he can peruse the article himself and open others. He checks several sources, and much to his dismay, the information they read in the first article seem to be confirmed through others.

‘I do not like how that sounds,’ he whispers.

‘Me neither, doc. But now that you told him off, he’ll lose interest, right?’

‘Mh. I doubt it. But now I wonder if he has shown interest in other places in Heawick. There is only one way to know.’

The assistant looks up quizzically as he sighs heavily and crosses his arms.

‘If anybody in Heawick knows anything, it is Melly.’

Taglist: @emmanuellececchi @reignydeys @cakenpiewhyohmy @beardedladyqueen

#Little Town Tails #Halsin #Halsin Silverbough #BG3 Halsin #Halsin x Tav #Halsin x Fem!Tav #Halsin x OC #Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 #Tav #Fem!Tav #Modern AU #BG3 fanfiction #BG3 fanfic #BG3 fic #Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction #Baldur's Gate 3 fanfic #Baldur's Gate 3 fic #BG3 romance #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Fic #BG3 modern AU

[therainywriter]

Mistaken (Fluff/Suggestive)

Pairing: Rh’auk x Reader

Request: Hi, I’m a massive fan of your writing and I adore your yautja fics, but I have to ask if your consider writing something similar to the jealously fic. Like reader is jealous thinking one of the much larger women yautja are trying to court your mate, only to find out your mate is jealous cause it’s clear the woman is trying to court you instead.

Your mate was in a meeting with important members of the tribe, occupied inside the hut you sat outside of.

You weren’t sure what it was about, though you were curious now, hearing their low, muffled clicks. You smiled, recognizing Rh’auk among them.

The breeze was warm and humidity comfortable, you couldn’t help but lean your head on the tree you sat against, letting your eyes shut and mind rest.

You didn’t fight it when you began dozing off, Rh’auk would be a while anyway.

When he finally emerged from the hut, he found you where he left you, only now you were sleeping peacefully.

He was beyond fond of his precious little hooman, wanting nothing more than to scoop you up and nap the evening away.

Alas, there were things to be done, tasks he couldn’t brush aside, not even for you.

He crouch in front of you and brushed a clawed finger against your cheek, waking you gently with pets and small kisses.

You grumbled at first, so cruelly being pulled from your light slumber.

But once you saw him you grinned, arms finding their way around his neck as you pulled him into a tight embrace.

“You’re back,” you mumbled happily, nuzzling yourself closer.

His chest rumbled lowly, mandibles clicking together occasionally. Your warm greeting making his heart melt- as it does only for you, “Yes, I am back ank’te.”

He lifted you to your feet with ease, immediately missing your arms around him as you released your hold at his neck and stood with a small yawn.

“How was your meeting?” you questioned, interlacing your hand with his larger one as you began your walk back home.

He thought for a moment, “It went well. There is much to do in little time.”

You nodded, pressing a quick kiss to his arm, deciding not to push for details he didn’t wish to share.

You felt slightly aggravated when a female Yautja stopped you and Rh’auk in your walk. It was ridiculous how often they fawned over your mate, even with you clinging to his side.

She was strong and tall, bigger than Rh’auk, but still delicate in a way. Gold accents of jewelry rest upon her skin in a beautiful contrast, shimmering with each movement she made.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit insecure at her powerful elegance. She was worthy, worthy of a male such as Rh’auk.

Her eyes were soft as she looked at you, but harder when your mate spoke their native tongue, demanding her attention.

Rh’auk seemed more territorial than aggressive towards her. He growled and snapped at her words, whatever she was saying, he really didn’t take lightly to it.

They seemed to be arguing, a part of you worried they’d begin fighting.

You flinched when she hissed, mandibles flaring before backing off. She gave you one last soft glance as she wandered elsewhere.

You looked up at him confused, “What was.. that about?”

He grumbled, “She wished to challenge me- to court you,” the words came out sharply, fading into indecipherable, sharp clicks.

Your eyes widened, oh.

“There is always one to threaten me for you. What am I to do?” he picked you up bridal style, continuing walking whilst he glanced down at your wide, surprised eyes.

“You are lucky I did not take you then and there for everyone to see mei’aki.” he huffed, making your body heat up at the mere idea.

“I thought she was trying to court you,” you said after a moment, fingers absentmindedly tracing the deep scars on his chest.

He shook his head, the sharp appendages at his jaw moving as he chittered, amused.

“She is not the only female who has sought you out ooman,” Rh’auk seemed so sour again at the idea of anyone stealing you from him.

You kissed his chest, feeling the way his hands tightened on your skin, “You’re the only one I’ll ever call my mate,” you said sweetly.

He couldn’t help but stop in his tracks and lean down to kiss you, your words meaning far more to him than you’d ever imagine.

He could only think to show you how much they meant to him.

#request #absolutely love this idea anon!! #yautja x reader #yautja x you #yautja #yautja fluff #predator x reader #predator x human #predator fluff #predator x you #predator #x reader #fluff #slightly suggestive #my writing #rainywriter #human reader

[izvmimi]

cw: smut. both of you are inexperienced. handjob and cunnilingus only. fem!reader. reader has vaguely specified magic.

I want to do all the things that make you happy. 

Mash has a way of saying things that light a flame through your body from head to toe as though they are natural and hold minimal weight, as if the very idea of the man being at your service is a matter of fact, rather than a privilege you won’t easily give up.

It’s been a long road to making things official so to speak, converting the idea of friend into boyfriend, going so far as to having to use your magic to demonstrate the kinds of things ‘couples’ do. At times, it feels a little pushy and you wonder if you’re demanding too much of him, and that your next unexpected graze of his fingers might be met with recoil rather than softness. 

But when he holds your hand tighter whenever you reach for it, or rests his head on your shoulder; when he tells you how he feels, however serious or silly, you know that perhaps, at least for the time being, there’s something special between you. 

The only remaining matter is sex. Sex is something you’re hesitant to propose, particularly to someone who thinks of physicality only in the sense of battle or sport. You’ve laid awake many nights, conjuring images in clouds you think you could present to him to help better explain it, but your boyfriend is innocent like a child, and there’s no pure and demure way to tell him you want him so far up your center he needs a tour guide to come out.

But he’s told you, honestly and meaningfully, that he wants to make you happy, in any way he can. 

And so here you are, under the cover of night, letting him spoon you the way he knows you like, and wondering if he’s asleep yet.

“Mash.”

“Mm?” His legs fold, the fronts of his thighs pressing closer to the back of your legs. Sleeping together was something you’d also proposed, and for now it truly meant sleep, with some cuddling, and he’s found that he’s good at that too, fond of nuzzling his neck in the crook of your shoulder and inhaling your scent. You turn around and face him, and he’s not asleep or even tired yet, but his eyelids are lowered as he watches you, gold catching the moonlight. He’s pretty like this, mouth closed, and watching, attentive and waiting.

“Are you sleepy?” you ask. 

“I’m okay.” His hand grazes your cheek hesitantly then falls back under the bedsheets. “You need me?”

You fight the urge to pull his hand back to your cheek, then muster the courage to say, “Yes.”

He doesn’t ask how, because he can tell that there’s the same need in your eyes whenever he kisses you and pulls back too quickly, or when you watch a movie with him and a scene is particularly steamy, forcing your legs to press together as you lay against him, wrapped in a throw blanket. Instead of inquiring further, he turns your face towards him and lets his lips press to yours, tongue slipping quickly into your mouth, pulling your leg around his waist. You breathe him in until you’re practically dizzy, panting by the time you’ve pulled away from him. You never go further than this, but tonight, nipples pert against the thin fabric of your pajama set, warmth flooding the space between your legs, you are selfish enough to ask for more.

“Mash, can I… touch you a little lower?”

His hand takes your wrist and presses it to his abdomen, letting your fingers trace over the ridges of his sculpted core. His voice is breathy as he responds to you. “Here?”

“Lower.”

He nods and lets go of your wrist, letting you take the reins and have your fingers march slowly down, keeping heavy-lidded eye contact with him to make sure he’s okay. You travel to the soft hair of his happy trail, to the uncharted territory of his pubes and stop as he gasps, your hands reaching the root of his cock. 

“I-I can stop,” you say breathily. He kisses your wobbling lip, then smiles gently. 

“I don’t mind.”

Reassured, your hand closes around the girth of his cock, warm, thicker and heavier than you expected which makes your throat dry up and water just as fast once you start stroking. His eyes close as you pump his cock, leaning forward to suck kisses at his clavicle. He moans, a new sound that you haven’t heard, one that excites you and makes you hungrier for him - you pump faster, thumbing the pearls of pre coming from his tip, delighted in the fact that he feels good, you’re making him feel good, and soon-

He gasps and shudders, and your hands are now wet, sticky and he’s breathing heavily, looking at you again with a new hunger in his eyes.

“Can I repay you?” he asks, quickly, too eagerly. It’s all you want him to do, and your body arches as his fingers travel in the same way along your own anatomy, down the soft of your lower belly, past your pubes, lightly resting on your clit. There he lingers for a moment, and watches you for instruction. You don’t use the clouds you’ve prepared, rather you just whisper,

“Tap softly.”

He does, and he moves faster when you ask him to, slower when you do, the pads of his fingers surprisingly soft and careful. He dips his fingers in your warm center when you ask him to fill you, two teasing through your wet walls and curling, pressing up with gentle pressure against your front wall, the way you’ve guided him. Your stomach turns pleasantly as you careen into pleasure, and soon he’s up, straddling your legs, his other hand resting on your belly as he continues to move his fingers in and around your pussy. 

What shocks you, sending electricity down your spine is when he dips low and presses his mouth to it. 

“You, ah-” you moan and shudder involuntarily as his tongue replaces his fingers. “H-how do you…” your voice trails off as he continues to suck at your sensitive places, making your head rock back in need.

“I asked.”

The idea of him asking how to give you head should make you laugh, but you’re too busy letting your thighs squeeze around his head and hang off his shoulders. He’s doing a good job, it almost upsets you because perhaps you should have just asked earlier.

“M-Mash…”

He’s still working your center and now he seems like he’s gotten a rhythm to it, lapping up the juices that leak out of you like sweet cream. His hands dig into your thighs and his hands slip under as he eats, lifting your lower body off the ground to adjust his angle. 

He’s quiet and intentional, trying his best to make your body feel the pleasure you so desperately crave, to wear you out so you can fall asleep peacefully in his arms and not worry about if you’ll ever receive a sexual flavor of love from him, or how he feels about you sexually. He likes you in all ways, even if you have decided that him not wanting you sexually is acceptable if you can have the rest of his tender love and care.

Your head spins as the last long lick of his tongue from clit to taint sends you over the edge and you tremble in his mouth. He lowers you down as you shake, content to watch you let pleasure wash over you, hot and pliable before him as he settles on his knees.

“Do you feel good?” he asks.

He kisses you as you nod, then settles beside you. He smiles to himself as he stares at the ceiling, his own hand on his cock again, stroking up and down. 

“You wanna try something else?”

And as usual, Mash shows you that in all things physical, he's a very quick learner.

And more importantly, he's very good at what he does.

#mash burnedead x reader #mash x reader #mash smut #mash burnedead smut #mimi's notes #daydreams: mashle #shmimi

[leighsartworks216]

Hello!! I love your writing a lot and Im sorry if you've written something similar before but I just think a quieter Tav who would gently tug on Astarion's sleeve or shirt everytime they need help with a lock or a trap would be super cute. It would be super light and gentle tugs or taps to his shoulder, nothing forceful or hurtful. In exchange for his help they would let him have first pick of whatever is inside. Tav thinks he agreed to help because he gets a cut of the rewards, and that is true, but mostly because he's more fond of Tav than they know and he likes the way they smile and look at him when he helps - worth far more than the treasure inside any chest or room.

Thank you for sharing your writing! ❤️❤️❤️

This one feels super short to me but I still think it's pretty cute

Warnings: none

Word Count: 572

Masterlist

AO3

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Astarion couldn’t quite recall when it started. He remembers that you were cagey around him - around everyone, for that matter. Always so quiet, never speaking unless you absolutely had to. He’d tag along with you while you explored, and when you needed his lockpicking expertise, you’d call for him. Even if it was barely a whisper, his sensitive ears picked up on it and he came sauntering to your aid.

It evolved, rather quickly, he thinks. You stopped calling for him in favor of tapping against metal or knocking on wood, calling his attention to your location. It was especially effective over long distances, if you’d ended up wandering off.

And then it evolved further. This time it was mostly on his part. He decided once to stay nearby, search the rooms with you, looking for anything you may have looked over. But when you needed his help, you didn’t knock, you tapped on his shoulder. Admittedly, it startled him at first. Your footsteps were so quiet he didn’t hear you coming up behind him. Somehow, despite the efficiency of knocking, this was how you continued to get his attention.

You tugged on his sleeve, tapped on his arm - always gentle. That, too, formed its own little code. You tugged when there was a trap ahead, telling him without words to be careful. You would tap when you found a locked door or chest, or even just to get his opinion on something.

It was… endearing. The rest of the group would wander on ahead, exploring for themselves, and he stayed by your side the whole time. He wrote it off, of course, claiming he didn’t want you to strain your voice for his sake, but it became much more than that. And even though you always compensated him for his trouble (First dibs on treasure had earned him a few lucky finds, things that the others sure would have liked for themselves.), he found a greater treasure in your smile. In the way your eyes lit up at a particularly interesting discovery.

-

You tapped on his arm excitedly before you ran to a door. It was old and rusty, but not rusted enough to break through the lock keeping it in place. You tugged on the door handle and turned to him with such glee. He could hear your heart racing with anticipation.

“And what do you hope to find in there, darling?” he teased as he pulled out his lockpicks and got to work. He could see you shrug from the corner of your eyes. “Well, if all that’s in here is a skeleton, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on claiming my reward.”

You nudged his shoulder playfully. He had a hard time keeping a smile off his face. With a few clicks and a very stubborn turn, the door unlocked. He stepped back before you could barrel him over.

The room was dark, with small reflections of light off metal catching your attention. It was probably gold or weapons or something worth the effort. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from you. Your child-like enthusiasm as you rushed inside to grab anything good, bright-eyed and smiling. If he could see his face, he’d see just how fond he looked at them - the gentle smile that came unbidden to his lips; the softness of his eyes, full of adoration and affection.

Yes, he thought, this was the best reward.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr

#request #requested #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #fluff

[comatosebunny09]

Inspired by @sserpente’s The Sunwalker’s Gift.

Imagine being a shopkeeper, selling heirlooms and antiques in a quaint mom-and-pop shop.

Business is incredibly slow. You find yourself flipping through the worn, deckled pages of a book, your chin cradled in your palm. There is nary a customer in sight. Not since that new, mainstream jewelry store popped up down the street.

You’re about to close up shop early to enjoy what’s left of the day—it’s lovely outside. Too pretty to be tucked between these browning walls. But the jangle of the store’s bell lures your attention to the door.

Finally.

You look up as you prepare to greet the store’s newest occupant. But you forget how to talk—forget how to breathe—rooted to the floor like a basilisk has petrified you.

He’s ethereal amid the sunbeams pouring into your tiny store. All wintry-skinned, thin, and tall, dark lenses perched on his sharp nose. Rounded cheeks, petal-pink lips, and foxlike features.

His hair is what entrances you. Swaying like snowflakes in the breeze, and you wonder if it’s as soft as the snow it resembles. Vaguely, you register it sifting through your fingers, smell it exuding the faintest hints of rosemary and firewood.

The stranger surveys your shop, one hand tucked in his pants pocket, the other holding onto an oversized coat. Even his stance is princely. Nothing captures his attention for too long as he peruses through your wares, feigning interest in your rickety things.

You suddenly feel insecure; small—he strikes a picturesque figure amid the dusty antiques lining your shelves. The store across the way would probably suit someone so devastatingly beautiful better.

Nevertheless, you remember how to speak. Square your shoulders, plastering on your most welcoming grin despite your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath your skin.

After smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire, you offer the customer a warm, rehearsed “Welcome!”

He perks up at the sound of your voice. Lips twitch into a half smile, silver brows lifting slightly. Your heart hiccups at the sight.

The stranger saunters towards the counter, carrying with him the scent of bergamot and brushed sage. It’s a homely scent. Somehow nostalgic as he leans towards you, tilting his shades down to ingest you with eyes the color of smoldering coals.

“Good afternoon, love,” he drawls, his accent thick with regality. The purr of it causes your body to flood with warmth. It’s almost dizzying, the ground shifting beneath your feet.

You swallow, your throat thickening with your voice. “What brings you in today?”

“Actually.” He looks thoughtful, a long finger tapping his chin. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers like all the world’s secrets bare themselves to him. “Maybe you can help me with something.”

You watch with bated breath whilst the stranger retrieves something from his coat pocket. It catches in the sunlight. Glints a pretty ruby red as he places it on the display counter with a resounding clack.

“I’ve been trying to part ways with the damned thing for ages. Yet somehow, it always finds its way back to me.” His gaze is far off for the barest of seconds before he replaces it with a nonchalant shrug, waggling his hand dismissively. “It’s long since served its purpose. An antique, if you will. I wondered how much it would go for if it still holds any value.”

He speaks of it so contemptuously. As if it’s been a burden to carry all this time. But it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Tarnished gold, carved with intricate runes you can’t quite decipher. It houses a gorgeous crimson stone that seems to hum and swirl with energy—with power. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light or your nerves causing you to hallucinate.

You’re delicate as you hold it against the sun’s rays, further studying its design. In your peripheral, you capture the stranger’s eyes, regarding you with something you can’t quite place. Disdain? Curiosity? Fondness? Whatever it is, it unnerves you. Makes your mouth fill with sand as you clutch the ring in your palm, intending to scrutinize it some more in the back. It radiates against your flesh despite it being so frigid.

“I’ll have to take a more thorough look at it,” you conclude, masking your shakiness. You muster another smile. “Would you like some tea in the meantime? It may take a while to appraise it properly.”

“No thank you, darling,” replies the fair-skinned stranger, leaning against your counter in an easy slouch. His smirk is back, boasting what you mistake for a fang, peeking through the plushness of his lips. “Never had a taste for the stuff.”

“Coffee your thing?”

“Gods no.”

“Water?”

He waves you off with a quiet scoff, venturing away to prod and examine the other little trinkets in your shop.

“Take all the time you need, love. I’ve nothing but time to spare. And, by the looks of it, so do you.” He eyes you over his shoulder with mirth gracing his countenance. A flash of affection colors his gaze before he busies himself again.

You huff a laugh at his peculiar mannerisms, disappearing behind the curtain of the back room to fetch your jewelers loupe. All the while, your mind swims with wistfulness.

You can't help but feel like the handsome stranger who’d fatefully wandered into your shop is watching you, burrowing deep into your soul, even through the thick veil of your curtain.

masterlist

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #past lovers #soulmate au #reincarnated lovers #astarion imagine #astarion drabble

[ghosttotheparty]

part one also on ao3

Steve’s breaths land on Eddie’s chest as he sleeps.

Slow, and soft, and quiet, and Eddie relishes it. The feeling of his breath, the warmth of his face pressing to Eddie’s skin, and the weight of his hand that’s curled into a loose fist. He feels so small on top of Eddie, though his limbs are long, though he’s larger than life itself. He feels like… a boy.

He’s just a boy.

Eddie blinks his eyes open in the morning light, squinting the way he does every morning as the sun rises. It drives him a little crazy, never being able to sleep in, but it’s nice to be awake when Wayne comes home. To get his forehead kiss and fond, “Mornin’.”

Eddie shifts down a little, carefully moving Steve to look at him, and Steve nuzzles his face into the pillow, sighing in his sleep. His fingers open, spreading and then curling like he’s trying to grab at Eddie’s shirt, but his fingers just dig into his skin a little bit. Eddie smiles, reaching to take his hand carefully, and when Steve’s fingers curl around his, Eddie lifts it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles.

He gazes at him. In the morning light, his hair looks like it’s glowing, like threads of spun gold, like he’s some fairy tale character. His expression is light, and Eddie realizes that his resting face is almost smiling. His eyelashes fan under his eyes, and his cheeks are pink, and Eddie’s dark sweatshirt makes his skin looks even more golden. Eddie gazes some more.

He never thought he’d be here. Lying in bed on a Saturday morning with Steve Harrington across from him, sleeping, holding his hand like a child. Steve breathes. A bird chirps outside.

Something shifts in Eddie’s chest. It falls into place.

Steve wakes up slowly. Eddie thinks he wants to see him wake up every single morning. He inhales deeply, his fingers tightening on Eddie’s hand for a moment as he sighs, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he blinks them open. His gaze finds their hands first, and he blinks again, his finger shifting in Eddie’s, and then he looks up.

He half-smiles, and his voice is rough when he speaks.

“You’re watching me sleep?”

Eddie smiles, releasing his hand and reaching out to touch him as Steve settles his hand on Eddie’s arm that’s bent under his head. His fingers push his hair aside and press into Eddie’s bicep as Eddie caresses the side of his face.

“Sleeping beauty.”

Steve’s smile widens, and he closes his eyes again. Eddie brushes his hair back, and he moves forward to kiss his forehead before he gets up.

Wayne comes home as they’re sitting at the table, sipping coffee from mugs that were taken down from around the living room. Steve’s is blue.

“Mornin’.”

He stops as the door closes behind him, eyes finding Steve sitting there, his feet on the chair, one of his knees drawn up to his chest. Steve freezes, looking up at him, and Eddie leans back in his seat, smiling as Steve’s cheeks flush pink in embarrassment, like he thinks Wayne can just tell.

“...Who are you?” Wayne asks as he toes off his work boots, eyeing Steve.

“I’m, uhm, Steve Harrington. Sir.”

Eddie grins into his mug, watching Steve set his down awkwardly like he doesn’t know if Wayne is going to want to shake his hand or something. Wayne looks at him.

“Harrington,” he says.

Steve blinks, nodding after a moment, and Eddie remembers suddenly that Wayne’s been in this town his whole life. He knows the Harringtons. Everyone knows the Harringtons.

“And you’re here with Eddie?” Wayne says, looking down at Eddie, who meets his eyes and raises his eyebrows, tilting his head.

“Yes, sir?” Steve says hesitantly.

“You don’t know?”

“I— Yes, I’m with him.”

Steve’s face is red, and he glances at Eddie nervously.

“You’re hanging out with Eddie?” Wayne says, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“…Yes.”

“Even though he’s weird?”

Eddie lets out an offended squawk, and Steve half-smiles.

“I like him,” he says, his voice softer.

“Why?”

Steve giggles, looking at Eddue. His cheeks are pink.

“Be nice, Wayne,” Eddie says, mumbling into his mug as he takes another sip.

“I am,” Wayne says defensively. “I sure hope you’re nothing like your daddy, boy,” he says to Steve, and Eddie clicks his tongue, swinging his arm around to hit his leg.

“Respectfully, sir, I’d rather kill myself than be anything like him.”

Wayne barks out a laugh, and Eddie chokes on his coffee, leaning forward to wipe his face. Steve looks at him with wide eyes, murmuring an apology, smiling.

“Alright then,” Wayne says, and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed,” he says, ruffling Eddie’s hair and leaning down to smack a kiss to his temple. He pauses on his way down the hall.

“Steve?”

“Uh, yes?” Steve stutters, leaning to see him around Eddie, who turns to look at Wayne with a raised eyebrow.

“You need anything, you come on by, alright?”

Eddie looks back at Steve. Steve blinks, his expression softening, and he nods.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Wayne disappears down the hall, and Steve dissolves, slumping. He lowers his head to the table, pushing his mug away as he hits his head lightly on the table a few times. Eddie laughs, reaching out to pat his head.

“Leave me to die,” Steve grumbles into the table.

“You’re so dramatic,” Eddie says fondly, tugging his hair. Steve just groans. “…Stevie.”

“Mm.”

Eddie tugs again and leans over the table, tilting his head at him as Steve looks up at him, his eyes cutting up at him like a sad puppy. Eddie’s chest aches a little.

“I like you too,” he says softly, smiling when Steve’s cheeks flush pink.

“Really?” he asks, his voice small. Eddie tilts his head the other way.

“We had sex last night, Steve.”

Steve shushes him, and Eddie grins.

“And?” Steve says quietly, taking his mug again and twisting it around, fidgeting. “We’ve both had meaningless sex with people.”

Eddie pauses, looking at how Steve is looking down at his mug, legs crossed on his chair, the sleeves of Eddie’s sweatshirt almost covering his hands. And he reaches across the table, tracing Steve’s knuckles lightly, tentatively. Steve looks at him again with those eyes. Shy. Nervous.

“Last night wasn’t meaningless,” he says softly. “To me.”

Steve blinks at him, his cheeks flushing again. (Eddie loves how much he blushes.)

“Me too,” he says, and then he pauses, blinking again. “Me either? You know what I mean.”

Eddie giggles, and he leans across the table, tilting his chin up. Steve smiles, softening as he leans to meet him in a light kiss that tastes like coffee. (Steve takes his black, the menace.)

They stay in the living room. Watch a movie on the small television. Steve sits next to him on the sofa for a while before he relaxes when Eddie puts his arm around him, pulling him close, and he gradually melts against him until he’s finally laying next to him, his head in his lap. Eddie plays with his hair, forgetting about the movie as he gazes down at him. Steve holds his other hand, tangling their fingers and squeezing.

— — — — —

“Oh my god, no, he was so sweet about it.”

“But he rejected you, I can’t believe that.”

Eddie sighs heavily, dropping his head onto the textbook in front of him. It was quiet just a few moments ago, and his brain was finally getting used to it enough for him to read without getting distracted. But the girls’ voices carry over through the bookshelves, through the air, and he really doesn’t care about their drama right now.

“He was so nice, Marie, seriously. Told me I was pretty and all, but…”

“Why didn’t he wanna go out with you?” the other girl asks, aghast. “You’re a total catch.”

Eddie almost groans out loud.

“He just said he wasn’t interested,” she says lightly. “It’s not a big deal, he was nice about it.”

“Steve Harrington has never once rejected a girl,” Marie says, and that catches Eddie’s attention. He lifts his head. “I don’t get why he’s starting with you.”

Eddie blinks, tilting his head as he listens.

“Maybe he has a secret girlfriend,” the girl says, and Marie giggles. Eddie pulls the collar of his shirt up over his face, suppressing a smile.

The next time he sees Steve it’s in the hallway, and their eyes meet. And then Eddie is the one blushing, because Steve smiles at him. (That’s all it takes. A smile. Eddie is pathetic.)

Eddie tilts his head, gesturing down the hall, and Steve nods subtly. He’s standing with Tommy Hagan and some others, but as Eddie steps backward down the hall, he says something to them that Eddie can’t hear. And then he’s following Eddie down the hall, calling something to his friends, and Eddie is suppressing a smug smile, heading down toward the bathroom, praying it’s empty.

Steve is right behind him as he’s headed inside, and Eddie is grinning now. It is empty, and Steve’s hand presses against the top of his back, pushing him inside and toward the stall that’s the farthest back. Eddie goes easily, dropping his bag as he turns and lets Steve push him into the wall as the stall door swings shut behind them.

“Hi,” Eddie breathes, grinning and reaching up to touch his face as Steve kisses him hard.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back when they part with a gasp. He’s holding his neck and leaning against him to press him into the wall.

“Heard you rejected some girl,” Eddie says softly, his eyes trained on Steve’s lips, which curve into a smile.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Sound carries a lot in the library,” Eddie complains, tracing his jaw carefully. “‘Steve Harrington has never once rejected a girl,’” he murmurs, dragging his fingertip lightly across his jaw to touch his lips, pulling the bottom one down before he releases it, smiling as it pops back into place. Steve hums softly.

“Maybe I got my eye on someone right now,” he says softly, almost whispering, his eyes shining, half-shut as he looks at Eddie. His hands slide over Eddie’s waist

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

“She pretty?” Eddie teases. Steve suppresses a smile, his tongue sliding across his lower lip.

“The prettiest,” he teases back.

Eddie scrunches his nose, tilting his head at him, and Steve kisses him. His hand presses into Eddie’s chest, pushing him into the wall, and Eddie tilts his head, wrapping his arms around his neck, letting his lips part as Steve slips his tongue across them.

He pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, and he kind of wants to mess it up, to tangle it and make it stick up in ways Steve would never allow it to, and then he kind of wants to make Steve leave like this. To not let him fix it in the mirror. He kind of wants Steve to look like he’s been making out with someone. And he kind of wants people to talk. To ask Steve who the lucky girl is.

Eddie tightens his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling it at the roots, and Steve huffs, sliding a hand down to the small of his back and pulling him close. Eddie licks into his mouth, tugging his hair to make him tilt his head back, and Steve lets him, sighing softly.

They part when the door to the bathroom bursts open, and they freeze, holding each other tightly, staring at each other and holding their breaths as they listen to someone come in, muttering to himself.

Eddie’s chest aches. Because they have to hide. Because they both know it, they know it so well they aren’t even breathing. And Steve seems to think it at the same time. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s, and his hands run across the small of his back. Eddie slides his hands to hold his face tenderly, looking at him intently.

They both flinch when the boy rips some paper towels from the dispenser loudly, the sound echoing in the room. And then the door opens and shuts again.

They exhale, and before Eddie can say anything, Steve is leaning in and kissing him hard. Eddie closes his eyes, his fingers sliding behind his ears to hold his head. He lets out a soft groan.

They’re both breathing hard when they part, and their foreheads press. Steve reaches to touch Eddie’s face, holding it gently in his hands, and Eddie feels like he deserves it, this tenderness he’s only found on the palms of Steve Harrington’s hands.

They look at each other. Steve looks like he’s going to start crying. Eddie brushes his thumbs over his cheeks as he whispers to him.

“We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Steve blinks at him. His expression softens. And he kisses him again, slow and soft and gentle.

“I know,” he murmurs.

Eddie pulls him into a hug. He buries his face in his neck, sighing as Steve hugs him back, and he closes his eyes.

“I have basketball practice today,” Steve says, his voice muffled. “It ends at, uhm. Five.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly.

“…You wanna come over tonight?”

Eddie grins.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“I’ll make you dinner.”

Eddie’s smile widens.

“You don’t have to convince me,” he says. “I already said I’d go.”

“No, I wanna,” Steve says softly. “Wanna treat you good.”

Eddie groans into his neck, grumbling a weak, “Baby,” as he kisses him. Steve’s hand makes its way to Eddie’s head, cradling the back of it as he exhales.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, honey.”

“...Can you give me a hickey?”

Eddie pauses, nuzzling into Steve’s neck.

“Here?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, pressing a slow kiss to his skin. Steve’s breath hitches, and he tilts his head farther to the side, humming affirmatively.

“Want people to wonder.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, and he whines softly in the back of his throat. He’s never made a noise like this before, and his face flushes with heat, but Steve just breathes a soft, “Please,” and Eddie is putty in his hands.

Eddie opens his mouth and presses another kiss to his neck, slowly, carefully, intentionally, and Steve exhales, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s hair and scratching at his scalp lightly. He hisses in pain when Eddie bites down hard, sucking his skin between his teeth and licking at it, but his hand holds Eddie in place, his other hand gripping his waist as he breathes hard.

“Yeah,” he chokes after a moment, his voice weak and thin. “Fuck, like that.”

Eddie grins, digging his teeth into Steve’s skin, sucking harder, and Steve whimpers, pulling Eddie’s hair. He releases the skin after a moment, kissing it softly and dragging his tongue over it to soothe it, and then he bites down again, his body flushing with heat when Steve lets out a weak, “Oh, shit,” and whimpers again. Eddie shushes him softly, slipping his fingertips under the hem of his shirt to touch his soft skin. Steve squeaks, and Eddie grins again, listening to Steve’s breathing as he kisses his neck again.

When he pulls away, Steve’s skin is reddening.

“How was that?” he asks like he doesn’t know.

“Eddie,” Steve whines.

Eddie shushes him again, grinning and kissing his lips softly.

“Was that good?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. His eyes are closed, his head fallen back. Eddie brushes their noses together, stroking his neck softly, and Steve reaches up after a moment, tilting his head and pressing his fingertips into the bruise. He lets out a strained breath, biting his lip.

Eddie kisses him again, smiling as Steve kisses him back desperately, his hand jumping to hold Eddie’s neck, and Eddie pushes him back against the other side of the stall. Steve hums softly, moving to wrap his arms around Eddie's neck, and Eddie slips his hands under Steve’s shirt.

Steve chokes, his arms tightening, his tongue sliding between Eddie’s lips. Eddie kisses him some more, listening to his soft, breathy hums, listening carefully in case the door opens again.

“Gotta go,” he says after a little while, between kisses. Steve whines. “Come on.”

“I don’t wanna stop,” Steve complains, his head falling back to the wall as Eddie leans to pepper his neck with kisses. Eddie hesitates before kissing the hickey, scraping with his teeth, and his chest aches as Steve lets out a pained whimper. His fingers tug at Eddie's hair again, but he holds him in place when Eddie tries to lift his head, and Eddie grins, licking the spot gently.

“Stevie,” he whispers.

“Mm.”

“Don’t pout,” Eddie giggles, nudging their noses together.

“‘M not pouting,” Steve says, pouting. He’s almost smiling, looking at Eddie like a puppy again, and Eddie wishes he could freeze time. He touches the hickey, pressing against it lightly, watching Steve’s eyes flutter shut, watching him furrow his brows and bite his lip.

“I’ll give you another one tonight,” he murmurs. “After dinner.”

Steve’s eyes open.

“Wherever you want,” Eddie asks, whispering. Steve’s eyebrows jump, and he smiles.

“Okay,” he breathes. Eddie kisses him.

“I’ll see you later.”

Another kiss.

“Okay.”

Kiss.

“Have fun at practice.”

Kiss. Steve is smiling now.

“You’re stalling,” he says between kisses.

“I know.”

He kisses him again, and Steve giggles, finally pushing his shoulders.

“Get outta here,” he says, holding Eddie away. Eddie bites his lip, taking a breath as he stoops to grab his bag, and he pauses before opening the stall door. He’s almost past the stalls before he groans, turning back around, and Steve is lingering in the stall door, smiling like he knew Eddie would do this: come back to kiss him desperately, holding his face and grinning. It’s fast, three kisses in quick succession before he finally tears himself away.

“See you later, sweet thing,” Eddie says, and Steve blushes before he waves half-heartedly. Eddie catches himself before he can say love you without thinking, and he blows him a kiss.

The sun is going down when Eddie shows up at his house, and Steve greets him by jumping him in the doorway. Eddie catches him in his arms, yelling in protest, and they fall to the floor, Eddie on top of Steve.

“Oh my god,” Eddie says loudly, grinning as Steve cackles, his arms around Eddie. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” Steve says, looking up at Eddie and pushing his curls back, tucking them tenderly behind his ears. Steve’s hair is wet, and it smells like expensive products. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Eddie says softly, looking down at him. His eyes find the hickey on his neck, and it’s almost purple now, dark against Steve’s skin. Eddie exhales. “Oh, I fucked you up.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, grinning happily even though he’s on the floor.

“Did people talk?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And?”

“They’re very curious.”

Eddie beams, caressing his face. Steve turns his face into his hand, his eyes shining, and Eddie can’t help but lean down to kiss him softly.

“What’d they say?”

“‘Steve’s got a secret girlfriend,’” Steve says, imitating the others, a smile teasing his lips.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, I just pretended to not know what they’re talking about,” Steve says nonchalantly, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. What hickey?”

Eddie laughs harder, and Steve pulls him down into a kiss, smiling and nipping at his lower lip. Eddie lets him, revelling in the kisses as he remembers they’re laying in the doorway of Steve’s house, the door open, halfway on the porch. Nobody’s around to see them, except the trees and the clouds and maybe some lightning bugs.

Eddie pulls away when Steve starts to lick into his mouth intently, and Steve groans.

“Dinner,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve leans up to catch his lips again. “And then we can make out.”

“You’re the worst.”

Eddie presses a finger into the hickey, and Steve lets out a hiss and an Ow!

“Fucker.”

Eddie snickers and kisses him again before he pushes himself up.

Steve makes pasta. Eddie sits on the counter and watches as he fills a pot and turns on the stove, as he gets out the pasta from a cabinet and sets out vegetables on the counter. He tells Eddie about how basketball practice went, and Eddie is barely following along. He doesn’t know any of the terminology, and Steve doesn’t seem to realize that Eddie doesn’t know anything about basketball, but Eddie doesn’t mind. Because Steve is ranting, his voice soft and smooth and content as he spins a knife in his fingers without even noticing himself do it (and that’s so much hotter than it should be) before he starts chopping the vegetables. He knows what he’s doing, and even though he’s talking the whole time, he finishes with the vegetables faster than Eddie could ever chop them. (Also Eddie would definitely at least nick his finger a few times, but Steve does it all effortlessly, smoothly. And Eddie grips the edge of the counter to control himself.)

Steve sits on the counter when he finishes, sliding the plates across the surface so they’re in front of Eddie, joining the cans of 7-Up, and hopping up. That’s effortless too; he seems weightless as he moves up onto the counter that Eddie had to use one of the chairs to get on. Eddie presses his lips together and pops open his soda.

“Cannot believe my boyfriend’s a normie,” he says quietly, and Steve snorts.

Eddie looks at him as he’s sipping his soda, and his heart swells when he sees the way Steve’s eyes are shining, almost sparkling.

“Problem?” Steve says playfully.

“You got a problem with your boyfriend bein’ a freak?” Eddie asks, tilting his head, and Steve tilts his head back before he reaches out and hooks his fingers on the silver chain around Eddie’s neck. He pulls him in so they’re both leaning over the plates between them and kisses him softly.

Steve hums thoughtfully when they part, eyes lingering on Eddie’s lips before he says, “No. I like it.”

Eddie giggles.

They go to the living room after eating, and Eddie comes up behind him as he leads him down the hall, stooping down and wrapping his arms around his legs to pick him up, holding him over his shoulder. Steve shrieks and clutches at him, laughing loudly as Eddie carries him into the living room and dumps him on the sofa before pouncing on top of him. Steve is laughing carelessly, happily, and Eddie’s whole body aches as he looks at him, at the way his eyes squint under his smile, at the way his hair is messy, now dry and a little frizzy.

“Are you gonna give me another?” Steve asks between kisses, his fingers in Eddie’s hair as they lick the taste of pasta out of each other’s mouths.

“You want more?” he asks breathlessly.

“Yes, please.”

Eddie shifts so he’s straddling Steve’s hips, and he sits up, tying his hair up in a ponytail with the hair tie around his wrist. Steve giggles, watching, his hands on Eddie’s thighs.

“Where do you want it?” Eddie asks, running his hands across Steve’s chest. Steve’s cheeks are pink, and he looks up at Eddie like he’s fucking reverent before he tilts his head, exposing the side of his neck, the side that’s bare. Eddie grins.

He leans down, brushing Steve’s hair out of the way, and Steve sighs as Eddie brushes his lips over his skin.

“You want it like the other one?” Eddie murmurs.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes.

Eddie kisses his neck softly at first, smiling when Steve’s hands squeeze his thighs. He takes his time, pressing soft, lingering kisses across his skin for a while before he starts licking him, short kitten licks that make Steve exhale slowly, melting into the sofa, his hands loosening on Eddie’s legs before they slide around to his ass and squeeze. Eddie giggles, lifting his head to look at his neck. He can see his veins beneath his skin in some places, and part of him feels like a vampire here, gazing at them.

He presses a kiss to his neck and slides his mouth across his skin until he feels his pulse against his lips. He hums softly, pausing there, feeling the rhythm of Steve’s heartbeat against his lips, lingering. It’s a little fast, and Eddie smiles.

“Eddie,” Steve whines. “Bite me.”

Eddie snorts.

“Rude.”

“You know what the fuck I mean.” Eddie can hear the smile in his voice.

“I know what the fuck you mean.”

He kisses his pulse. And then bites.

Steve lets out a shaky exhale, his hands tightening. Eddie closes his eyes, enjoying himself as he sucks on Steve’s skin, as he bites him and scrapes his teeth over it, as he soothes the spot between bites with gentle swipes of his tongue, as Steve squeezes his ass absentmindedly, almost kneading it. They’re both humming softly, and Steve is letting out strained groans as Eddie bites him, murmuring curses and Eddie’s name under his breath.

When he finally sits up, he looks at the spot on Steve’s neck, and it’s already bruising.

“Might actually be worse than the first one, actually,” Eddie says thoughtfully, brushing over it with his thumb. Steve exhales without opening his eyes.

“Thank fuck,” he says, smiling when Eddie snorts. “Want ‘em to see it.”

“You are an attention whore,” Eddie says, smiling as he leans down to kiss Steve’s lips, and then he kisses across his face as Steve laughs softly.

“‘S fun,” he says as Eddie kisses his jawline, nipping at his skin with his teeth.

“You want one more?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Eddie gives him one more. This time it’s just under his ear, and Eddie can smell his shampoo as he bites and licks and kisses him, smiling the whole time as Steve whines and groans and swears.

“Eddie,” he says when Eddie finally pulls away.

“Yeah,” Eddie says breathlessly.

“I wanna come.”

“Go ahead.”

Steve whines again, his eyes squeezing shut, and Eddie shifts on his lap, grinding down on him and grinning when Steve gasps. Steve’s hands slide to Eddie’s hips, pulling him down harder.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m—”

“You got it,” Eddie says softly, reaching to his neck and curiously, carefully holding his throat so his fingers press into the bruises. Steve keens, his fingers so tight on Eddie they might bruise (and wouldn’t that be nice: the memory of Steve’s hand on him), and he lets out a loud moan, follows by a breathless Yes.

Eddie tightens his hand, grinding against him again and grinning when Steve lets out an open-mouthed moan, and he’s suddenly very grateful that Steve lives in the fucking woods, that nobody is around to hear him like this. Then he remembers that no one ever has heard him like this, and his grin widens, because he’s the first. Because he gets this, and no one else does.

And because—

“Never thought I’d get this,” he murmurs, leaning down to nudge their noses together, still moving against Steve. Steve’s eyes flutter open to look at him, and he reaches a hand up to touch Eddie’s face. His eyes are glassy. “Even in my wildest fuckin’ dreams. Never thought I’d get anything like you.”

Steve whimpers, his other hand sliding up Eddie’s back, pushing his shirt up.

“Me too,” he says breathlessly. He sits up, pushing his face into Eddie’s neck and kissing him desperately, panting as he pulls at the small of Eddie’s back. Eddie smiles, tilting his head for him and closing his eyes, hugging his neck and pushing his fingers into his hair.

“Eddie,” Steve chokes after another minute.

“Yeah, baby.”

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Me too.”

They hold each other as they come back down, arms tight around each other, faces buried in each other’s necks, and Eddie giggles quietly.

“That was fun,” Steve mumbles. Eddie kisses his neck softly and lifts his head, looking at him. His hair is messy, which Eddie loves, and his eyes are half-closed.

“Yeah, it was.”

He kisses him slowly, tenderly, holding his face. Steve doesn’t open his eyes when they part, his face relaxed, blissful.

“Will you spend the night with me?” he asks softly. “Please?”

Eddie just giggles and kisses him again.

He isn’t allowed to make fun of his wallpaper, which Steve tells him before he leads him upstairs, which just piques his interest. He hides his face in his shirt when they finally go into Steve’s room, trying not to laugh at the horrific plaid wallpaper, but he can’t hold back his giggles when he hears Steve snort.

They take a shower. Steve does his hair with some of his fancy products that smell nice, and Eddie tells him it’s never happening again. Steve sticks his tongue out at him in the mirror, his fingers dragging through his curls, but Eddie decides he’ll let Steve do this whenever he wants to when he sees the way his eyes are shining as he’s scrunching his curls and twisting them around his finger. He looks like he’s making art instead of doing Eddie’s hair.

Also, it feels nice. Which is a nice plus.

And every once in a while Steve’s bare chest presses to Eddie’s back as he reaches for another product. Which…

He’s so warm. Probably because of the shower and the lingering steam in the room, but Eddie thinks it might just be him. Like there’s sunlight in his veins.

In the morning, Eddie wakes up with his chest to Steve’s back, his arm draped across his waist, and he sits up slowly, squinting in the sunlight as he looks down at Steve, who shifts after Eddie’s movement. There are two bruises on the side of his neck that Eddie can see, and he smiles. He leans down and kisses one, and Steve inhales, one of his hands lifting sleepily and reaching for Eddie, who takes it and lifts it to his lips.

“Morning, gorgeous,” Eddie says roughly when Steve blinks his eyes open and rolls onto his back. Steve smiles and opens his arms, and Eddie lies on top of him, sighing as Steve’s arms wrap around him.

Eddie falls in love with mornings like this. Steve gets used to Eddie waking up early in the morning before his alarm clock goes off, and it becomes routine for him to just pull Eddie into a hug for a while. It also becomes routine for him to complain that they have to get up. Neither of them ever wants to, not when they know they have to go to school and they won’t be able to kiss each other or hold each other, when they’ll be separated until after school (unless Steve has basketball, or Eddie has Hellfire or band practice). But they still go.

Eddie hears the rumors and gossip swirling around school. About Steve’s secret girlfriend. About the hickeys that he refuses to hide. There are countless theories about whose mouth could have left them there. One of Steve’s friends asks if Steve refuses to tell them who it is because it’s a freshman, and Steve gags before glaring at him.

“No, I’m not a fucking creep.”

“Alright, we’re narrowing it down.”

Steve just rolls his eyes.

Theories span from other students, girls that Steve has and hasn’t hooked up with, to teachers, but when someone asks if it’s a teacher Steve just laughs.

Nobody even glances Eddie’s way.

— — — — —

Steve’s car is in front of the trailer when Eddie gets home from band practice. Eddie pauses when he parks the van, staring at it curiously for a moment before he gets out, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat of the van.

“Hello?” he says when he walks inside, looking at Steve and Wayne on the sofa. Steve’s legs are crossed, and he’s holding a mug in his hands, smiling contently. They’re watching a baseball game on the television.

“Hi, baby,” Steve says lightly.

“Are you coming over just to hang out with my uncle now?” Eddie asks as he kicks his sneakers off and sets his bag on the table. Steve’s head is tilted toward him, but his eyes are on the television, and Eddie smiles at how careless he looks, comfortable in Eddie’s living room. Eddie leans down to press a chaste kiss to his lips, and Steve smiles.

“I forgot you had practice today,” Steve says. “And there happened to be a game on.”

“Ah,” Eddie says, collapsing heavily onto the sofa between them. “So you guys aren’t becoming best friends.”

“Obviously Steve and I are best friends,” Wayne says dryly, turning to press a kiss to Eddie’s temple, eyes still on the game. Steve giggles, and Eddie grins.

He loves them.

He hasn’t told Steve yet (yet), but he thinks it all the time now. Every time he looks down at his sleeping face, every time he asks for a new hickey, every time he sees him laugh with Wayne.

They keep ganging up on Eddie together, teasing him about his hair, his music, his clothes. (Wayne teases him and calls him a vampire when he sees the way he’s marked up Steve’s neck. Steve burns red the first time, but Eddie just grins, shameless.)

Eddie fucking loves it. Loves seeing their eyes sparkle, loves the way Wayne ruffles his hair affectionately, which he starts to do to Steve too. Whenever Steve is home when Wayne comes back or goes off to work, Wayne reaches to muss his hair before he leaves, and even though he’s Steve the Hair Harrington, Steve just grins and hunches his shoulders like a little kid.

Wayne calls Steve son. Eddie can see the way Steve’s eyes shine every time he says it.

And he sees the way Steve’s eyes shine when Wayne comes home one morning to find them on the sofa and kisses both their foreheads almost mindlessly, murmuring a soft Good morning before he heads off to shower and go to bed.

Eddie’s heart feels warm as he watches Wayne kiss Steve’s forehead, and then Steve watches Wayne disappear down the hall before he looks at Eddie, his eyes shining.

And then they’re glistening, and his lip quivers, and Eddie frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning toward him, and touching his face as a tear escapes.

“Just…”

He shrugs, closing his eyes and falling against Eddie, who takes him into his arms.

“What is it?” Eddie asks gently, holding him and swaying as he rubs his arm.

“He’s really nice,” Steve says finally, his voice weak. Eddie smiles into his hair.

“He is, isn’t he?”

Steve sighs shakily, reaching to hold Eddie’s forearm.

“Sorry,” he says after a moment. “I don’t know why that was… I don’t know. Overwhelming.”

“‘S alright, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, leaning to kiss his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

And he aches to say it. That he loves him.

But he doesn’t. Not now. Not when Steve’s already crying because he’s gotten casual affection that he isn’t used to.

It gets progressively more difficult to hold it back as time passes. Every time they say goodbye when they leave for school, every time they make out in a bathroom or a janitor’s closet with their veins full of adrenaline, every time they murmur greetings into each other’s mouths, every time they kiss regardless of their morning breath, every time Steve smiles the way he smiles every single time Wayne ruffles his hair and kisses his forehead.

— — — — —

They’re watching a movie when Steve’s parents come home. Steve is laying on Eddie’s chest as they lay on the sofa in the living room, his fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, and Eddie feels a little sleepy, but the air stills when they hear a car pull into the driveway.

Eddie is about to ask who it could be when Steve sits up abruptly.

“What day is it?” he asks frantically, looking at Eddie with wide eyes.

“Uh, Saturday?” Eddie says, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie. Steve stands, clearly in a panic as he reaches for his hair.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Wait, wha— Babe, what’s…”

“‘S my parents,” Steve says, looking at Eddie desperately. “I forgot they were coming home today, I—”

Eddie reaches and gently pulls his hands out of his hair, squeezing them.

“It’s okay,” he says softly despite the panic in his own chest. “It’s alright. We’re friends, right?”

Steve exhales, lacing their fingers and squeezing as the front door opens.

“Okay,” he says softly.

Steve’s parents look how Eddie expected. His mother’s hair is stiff, frozen in place with an abundant amount of hairspray, and his father is wearing a suit that’s somehow not wrinkled despite the drive back to Hawkins from the airport.

Steve already seems mad at them. Eddie wonders if he is.

His mom kisses him on the cheek in greeting, but Steve looks stiff, smiling tightly as Eddie lingers in the doorway, hands rubbing his legs anxiously, trying to look normal.

“Who’s this?” Steve’s mom asks, eyeing Eddie when she releases Steve from their uncomfortable embrace. She’s looking him up and down. They both are.

“Uh, this is my— my friend,” Steve says, and Eddie waves, smiling. “Eddie.”

“Eddie,” his mom says lightly, but it’s a forced lightness. “What’s your last name, hun?”

It’s sickly sweet.

“Uh, Munson,” Eddie says, and Steve’s father finally speaks.

“Munson,” he repeats, looking at Eddie distastefully. His nose is almost wrinkled, like the rips in Eddie’s jeans have a stench.

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought your parents moved from Hawkins.”

Eddie blinks in surprise, and he remembers suddenly how small Hawkins really is. They probably went to school together.

“They did,” he says. “When I was sixteen. I live with my uncle now.”

“Your uncle.”

“Wayne Munson,” Eddie says confidently.

Steve’s father nods, looking at Eddie again, and then he turns to Steve with an air of disappointment around him. Steve seems to shrink into himself when their eyes meet, and Eddie wants to grab his hand and pull him away, to take him somewhere his father can’t look at him. To take him home.

“This is who you’re fraternizing with now?” he says as though Eddie isn’t even there. “A Munson? What happened to the Hagan boy?”

“I— I’m still friends with Tommy,” Steve says, and he even sounds like a kid now. “I can have more than one friend���”

“Stephen.”

Steve shrinks back even farther, looking down.

“I don’t want you fraternizing with people like this,” his father says, gesturing toward Eddie, who just watches, eyes wide, heart pounding, aching because Steve looks so scared. And a part of him wants to laugh at the use of fraternize. If he only knew that his son begs for Eddie to dig his teeth into his neck until bruises bloom on his skin, for Eddie to tug his pants down his legs and toss them aside, for Eddie to kiss him like the world is ending.

“You don’t even know them,” Steve says, looking up at his father anxiously. “Wayne is—”

“I knew Wayne in school,” his father snaps. “A pathetic underachiever, he isn’t the type we associate with, Stephen.”

Eddie’s hands are shaking. He glares at him, curling his fingers into fists to suppress the shaking, but it doesn’t work.

Steve is glaring at him too. Slowly, he raises his chin, squares his shoulders, and he’s shaking too.

“Don’t talk about Wayne like that.”

Eddie looks at him.

His father scoffs.

“You have no reason to associate with his type, he’ll rub off on you, Stephen,” he says matter-of-factly. “You need to stick the Hagans, not… trailer park trash.”

“Don’t talk about Wayne like that,” Steve says again, his voice louder, and his father looks taken aback, blinking in surprise.

“Stephen—”

“Wayne Munson is a good man,” Steve says firmly, his voice shaking a little. “He’s— He’s kind, and— and hardworking, and he—”

“I knew him in school, Stephen,” his father says again, his voice condescending and mean, and Steve snaps.

“That’s your problem,” he bursts loudly, and Eddie’s never seen him this angry. “You’re so stuck in your head, and— and focussed on stupid fucking juvenile things like popularity a— and— and social status, that can’t see past your own fucking nose.”

His father is staring at him, wide-eyed, scandalized.

“You’ve lived your life with your father’s fucking money, and you got everything handed to you,” Steve says angrily, jabbing his father’s chest with his fingers. “Your house was a wedding gift, and your job was waiting for you when you finished college, which you didn’t even pay for. You never had to fucking worry about affording food or water or a car.”

He’s breathing hard, and Eddie’s lips part in awe as he watches.

“Wayne fought for everything he has,” Steve says, his voice rough now. “You wouldn’t survive a day in his life, show him some fucking respect.”

Eddie’s eyes sting with tears, because Steve is defending Wayne. Standing up against his father even though he doesn’t have to, even though Wayne isn’t here to hear it. Even though he’s scared.

It’s quiet suddenly as Steve and his father stare at each other, and Steve is challenging him, chin raised as he looks into his eyes, hands in fists by his sides. Eddie can hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

And then his father is looking at Eddie, almost scoffing.

“What have you done to him?” he asks lightly, like it’s a joke, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do, what to say, but it doesn’t matter, because Steve speaks again.

“Don’t you fucking look at him.”

His father looks at him again, his eyebrows raised.

“If you have a problem with me, it’s with me,” Steve says evenly, firmly. “Not him.”

It’s quiet again. Eddie’s hands ball into fists, and adrenaline courses through his veins as he waits, just about ready to push his way between them, to do whatever he has to.

“How dare you speak to me like this? I’m your father—”

“I don’t care.”

“Stephen,” his mother says, speaking finally from where she’s backed into a corner, and Eddie looks at her, noticing how young she suddenly looks.

“I don’t care!” Steve yells. He looks at her, and then back at his father. “I don’t care. I’m sick and fucking tired of listening to you talk about people like this, especially people I love,” he says, his voice rapid and angry, and holy shit—

“You come home after leaving for weeks,” Steve says, skimming right past it like he didn’t notice himself say it, and Eddie is crying now, because Steve loves Wayne, Steve loves Wayne, Steve loves Wayne— “And the first thing you do every goddamn time is start bitching about the dishes in the sink, or the dirt on my car, or what my hair looks like, or who I’m with, or the fact that I didn’t call or I called too much, and there’s nothing I can fucking do right, and I don’t care.”

Eddie wipes his cheek quickly, sniffing as he watches Steve’s father nod, running his tongue over his teeth as he stares at Steve.

“You think I’m only here because of my father’s money,” he says slowly, eerily calm, ignoring everything Steve’s said. “Then we’ll see where you end up without your father’s money, how does that sound?”

“Sounds great,” Steve says without a beat. “At least I won’t end up as big an asshole as you.”

And then he’s turning and grabbing Eddie’s hand, pulling him out of the living room and toward the door, where they slip their shoes on and head out the door, leaving their dirty dishes on the coffee table as if in spite.

Steve is breathing hard as they get into the Beemer and pull out of the driveway, as they drive down the road, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do. He’s the only one crying, which feels wrong, but he can’t stop.

But even though Steve isn’t crying, his hands are shaking, and he’s breathing too hard, too fast, and Eddie finally reaches out to touch his arm. The road is luckily empty, but anxiety builds in his chest as Steve’s chest rises and falls and rises and falls.

“Stevie, pull over for me.”

Steve doesn’t pull over, still breathing hard, and Eddie shifts in his seat to face him, squeezing his arm.

“Steve. Pull over.”

Steve finally does, pulling over on the side of the road and putting the car in park. His hands fall to his lap, trembling, and Eddie squeezes his arm again.

He lets go to wipe his own face quickly, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to face Steve completely, reaching to take one of his hands. Steve laces their fingers, still breathing too fast.

“Stevie, baby, look at me.”

Steve inhales sharply, and he turns to look at Eddie before he exhales slowly. Eddie nods, squeezing his hand.

“There you go,” he says softly. “Need you to breathe.”

Steve closes his eyes, nodding and taking a deep breath. Eddie runs his thumb across his knuckles, waiting as he exhales slowly, pauses, then inhales again.

When his breathing is slow again, he squeezes Eddie’s hand and turns toward him. They look at each other, and both of them are crying now, their eyes filled with tears. Eddie reaches out to wipe one away when it falls down Steve’s cheek, and Steve leans forward to press their foreheads together.

“Thank you,” Eddie murmurs softly.

“For what?” Steve whispers, twisting their fingers.

“...Standing up for Wayne like that,” Eddie says, his voice breaking. “I just…”

Steve lifts his head, looking at him, and his lip quivers, and he looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know what.

“I love you,” Eddie says, his voice thick as another tear falls down his cheek. Steve blinks, and tears fall from his eyes, and Eddie wipes them away.

“...Really?” Steve asks in a small voice. Eddie nods, smiling softly.

“Yeah. Really. I really, really love you.”

Steve blinks again, his lip quivering as his eyebrows raise like he’s shocked.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while,” Eddie says. “I just— You stood up for Wayne like that, and—” He sobs weakly, taking a stuttering breath.

“I love you too,” Steve says quickly, reaching to hold Eddie’s face. “And I love Wayne, and I love your trailer and all your fucking mugs and your posters and your music and—”

Eddie pulls him into a kiss, squeezing his eyes shut. Steve kisses him back desperately, hands holding Eddie’s face, fingers slipping into his curls. (Which have been so much softer and smoother since Steve’s been taking care of them.) When they part, they stay close, their foreheads pressing, taking slow, deep breaths as they hold each other.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Steve says after a while, his voice soft. Eddie sighs, caressing his cheek, and Steve turns his face into it, his eyes closed. There are tears caught in his eyelashes, and wet streaks down his cheeks, and his nose is rosy, and Eddie aches with how beautiful he is. He wonders how quickly he actually fell in love with him. If it was so fast he didn’t even notice until he almost blurted it out loud without thinking.

“Come home,” Eddie whispers, stroking his cheek. “You can borrow some clothes from me and Wayne, and we can go to yours to pack a bag if we need to.”

“...Okay,” Steve breathes.

He goes home.

Wayne is in the kitchen making himself coffee and a sandwich when they finally get to the trailer, and he notices right away that something is wrong. He leaves everything on the kitchen counter as he comes closer, looking at their tear-streaked faces.

“What happened?” he asks anxiously, wiping crumbs off his hands on his legs as Eddie and Steve kick their shoes off, and Steve wordlessly crosses the room toward him and pulls him into a tight hug. Wayne hugs him back tightly, looking up at Eddie worriedly. Eddie just smiles, watching.

Steve is crying again, shaking in Wayne’s arms, and Wayne runs his hands up and down his back firmly. Eddie leans against the table by the door, watching as Wayne closes his eyes, murmuring something too quiet for Eddie to hear. But Eddie hears Steve’s response, even though his voice is muffled by Wayne’s shoulder.

“I love you, Wayne.”

Wayne’s arms tighten around him, and they sway, and Wayne runs a hand over his back and he turns his face to kiss Steve’s head.

“I love you, too, Stevie, I got you.”

It’s like he knows.

Wayne carefully wipes Steve’s tears when they finally part, nodding and whispering to him. Eddie watches. He’s crying again. Wayne holds his hand out to him when he notices, and Eddie moves forward, taking it and leaning against Steve’s back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as Steve sighs.

Wayne gets them both glasses of water and has them sit on the sofa. Eddie tells him what happened. Wayne’s eyes get glassy as he listens, looking at Steve, who’s quietly sipping his water and looking at the floor, his cheeks red like he’s embarrassed. And then Wayne is pulling him into another hug and kissing his forehead.

And he tells Steve that he’s home now. That he’s safe here. And then Steve is crying again, falling against Wayne as Eddie takes his glass and carefully sets it aside, smiling despite the tears.

Eddie and Steve stay in the living room when Wayne heads off to work after ruffling their hair and kissing their foreheads. It’s quiet when he’s gone, when they hear his car drive away. They’re sitting side by side, and the room is darker than it was when they got home because the sun’s set and nobody turned on the lights.

Eddie reaches for Steve’s hand. Their fingers lace. Steve squeezes.

He falls against Eddie after a moment, his head on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie releases his hand to wrap his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“My school stuff is at my parents’,” Steve says quietly, mumbling a little bit. He’s tired. Eddie can hear it in his voice, can feel it in how heavy he feels against Eddie.

“We’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Eddie says softly, running his fingers through Steve’s hair to pull it out of his face. “And we’ll get your hair stuff and clothes and everything. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not,” Steve breathes. “Just thinking.”

“...You wanna go to bed?”

“...Yeah.”

They go slowly, sleepily. Eddie brushes his teeth while Steve changes, and Steve brushes his teeth while Eddie changes. (He already has a toothbrush here, set in a cup with Eddie’s.)

He’s wearing Eddie’s boxers and a sweatshirt. He looks beautiful.

They climb into bed in the dark, seeing through touches and the sliver of moonlight, and before Eddie is even laying down, Steve is pulling him into a messy, sleepy kiss. It tastes like their mint toothpaste.

Eddie sucks on his lip, guiding Steve onto his back gently, listening to him sigh, feeling his hands dance down his spine. Eddie smiles against his mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers softly when he pulls away for a breath, and Steve hums, fingertips digging into his back.

Eddie tilts his head and kisses down his cheek and jaw before he buries his face in Steve’s neck. Steve tilts his head to give him room, sighing again.

“You want one?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Mhmm.”

Eddie smiles again, kissing his neck, and their legs entwine under the blanket as he bites down on Steve’s pulse. Steve whines weakly, pushing a hand under Eddie’s shirt to touch his skin. His hands are warm. They always are.

Right now, Steve’s fingers press into his skin as Eddie’s teeth press into his, and Eddie revels in the way his breaths come out sharper, the way he hums and swears, and when Eddie finishes, he kisses the spot softly, tenderly, before licking it to soothe it. Steve hums, wrapping his arms around Eddie tightly.

Eddie can’t see the bruise in the dark.

He’ll see it in the morning when he wakes up before him and looks down to gaze at him in the morning light, before Steve stirs and opens his arms to hug him.

The thought makes Eddie kiss him one more time, his lips landing somewhere on his cheek as they roll onto their sides slowly, and Steve hums, sighing sleepily. In the morning, Eddie will hold him, and then Wayne will come home as they’re drinking coffee. He’ll ruffle their hair and kiss their foreheads, and Steve will feel beautiful and loved, and he’ll know that he’s home.

Eddie can’t wait for the sun to rise.

#working on the last part of lonely town and i kept getting them mixed up i am so confused and sleep deprived #pray for me #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic

[qierxing]

yandere Corpse bride AU, where you're a undead person who died in their wedding attire and swore to be reunited with their spouse.

When Trey accidentally summons you after practicing his wedding vows to his fiance, he nearly faints when you stagger to your feet, covered in dirt and silk white tatters that barely cover flesh and bones. You happily accept the polished silver ring and trap him in a tight hug. It's much too late for him to get a word in while you babble about plans on whether the wedding venue should be decorated in white lilies or red roses. But he's too kind, and he can't find it in himself to squash the sparkling hope that lights your gaunt eyes, and so–

–he keeps quiet. His groomsman, an eccentric cat like gentleman who has a fondness of unsolvable riddles and mischief, merely grins widely when he hears Trey's conflicted explanation.

"The poor dear probably means no harm," he laughs and shrugs. "And if you help them, then they might be able to pass on."

Trey sincerely hopes so. From your overall look, it's clear that you've been dead for a good while, and although you refuse to talk about it, the gaping hole in your chest most likely meant that your death was not caused by natural means.

He comes to learn that you had planned to elope with your fiance, but somewhere along the way, you had perished waiting for them. Robbed of the meager gold coins you took to keep you and partner afloat, you were resigned to waiting for the day they would come back to your waiting arms.

He didn't plan on this. He thought it was just pity that kept him by your side, gently adjusting your limbs when they became askew from rot or making sure to fix your tattered wedding wear back to its original luster, with the help of an old teacher. No, it was not pity when he showed you how he baked cakes, watching with a soft smile as you admired wholeheartedly his frosting skills. It was not pity he felt when he let himself listen to you play elegant piano pieces, haunting melodies echoing off stone walls.

Somewhere, along the way, you had become endearing.

He doesn't think about the fiance who wonders where he must be, whose curiosity leads them to follow Trey to his meeting place with you. They are horrified, but most of all, outraged. How dare you take away their future partner? And that is indeed what they shout when they confront you when you're alone, shrieking about how you were a monster and taking someone else's husband away. Needless to say, you run from them in confusion and fear.

Is that really what you are? Just a heartless monster? The more you ponder upon it, the more you realize their words ring true as you try to search your memory of Trey agreeing to marry you. Anything that would have confirmed that he loved you. But it all comes up blank. There are no watery tears when you weep; but your ribs crack under the weight of your stuttering breaths, your lifeless body barely able to maintain your lively emotions.

And so, you decide to let go. Perhaps you can bear to love Trey, but you can't bear being the reason he couldn't love. When Trey comes to see you again, you quietly slip off the silver ring, still shiny and new, and hand it back to him. His face pales, worried confusion lacing his questions on if you changed your mind because of something he said? Were you mad at him for not staying longer with you the other day? You can only smile as he rambles on, and it's only when you clasp both his hands gently, he finally, finally, looks you in the eyes.

You apologize for everything: not asking him whether he wanted to even marry you, forcing him to spend time with you, making him acquiesce to your stubborn demands. It's a miracle you don't break down midway through.

There's a comforting pull when you laugh with tears in your eyes at Trey's horrified face. It's so soothing, there's barely any resistance, as pieces of you start flickering away, flesh finally rendering itself to dust, silk fluttering into petals that float away on the wind.

If you're lucky, you'll pass on before Trey grabs you in desperation, attempting to bring back dust and particles in hopes of making you stay. You can finally be free of your mortal coil and sorrows–even if you leave behind a man who spirals into madness and insanity. Cursed to roam the earth until he could find a way to join you in the afterlife and beyond.

–but if not, beware.

Death is not torture, it is repreive. Being forced to endure your flesh falling apart at the seams, while in the arms of someone who cannot see sense, is more agonizing than being able to accept your life and move on.

Yes, beware the man who has learned to love so fiercely, he's willing to defy nature's laws and whatever god is out there so you can remain his lovely spouse, for the rest of eternity.

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #my works #yandere trey clover #had to get this out of my mind bc trey rot strong tonite

[optimizche]

Missing (Part 5) [Aemond Targaryen x Reader]

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter, my loves! Feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Early that morning, Aemond held a sleeping Jaehaera in his arm, the toddler sleeping on his shoulder as he sat in one of the armchairs in Helaena's chambers.

His daughter always slept so soundly around him, the thought bringing a ghost of a smile to his lips.

Little Jaehaerys slept peacefully in his cot and Aemond gave the boy a fond glance before returning to the book he was reading in his free hand.

Even as his eye scanned the pages of the book, Aemond could not comprehend a single word. Too preoccupied by thoughts of you.

When you had given him the kiss that healed him in the cave, you had awakened something in the one-eyed Prince. If he closed his eye and let his mind drift, he could still feel the warmth of your full lips upon his, your almost mystical powers tingling against his flesh. Even the gentle touch of your hands reminded him of the spring sunlight underneath the weirwood tree where the two of you had spent so many seasons together…

"You seem distracted, ever since you've arrived from Storm's End," came Helaena's soft, dreamy voice, the observation accurate as ever.

"Hmm," Aemond agreed.

In the hours since you had departed from Storm's End, you were present in the forefront of his mind. The snowy haired prince spent his moments recalling every single detail of you, every single memory of you that he held.

How fond his father and mother had been of you. How you argued with Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys when they took their teasing too far. How intently you spent your time studying, your brows furrowing with concentration as you studied the arts of healing and different tongues spoken in Westeros and beyond. How he'd often find you sitting with a book under the weirwood tree, and how your eyes would light up when you'd see that it was him who had interrupted your solitude.

How hurt you had been when he turned his anger on you that night in Driftmark, tears shining in your doe-eyes as he pushed you aside for claiming Vhagar's strength as his own. All you had ever done was loved him and in return, he had hurt you and cast you aside.

Aemond's thoughts then shifted from memories of your childhood to the present.

What a strong-willed and accomplished woman you had grown up into, maturing into a woman so beautiful that any man in Westeros would be fortunate to have you. How well you had honed and controlled your powers, how you had even become a dragon rider and a woman trained in combat as well.

You were nothing like his sister, the mother of his children, who occupied herself with her bugs, her needlework, her dreams and her babies.

Had you never left, perhaps Aemond would have asked for your hand in marriage upon growing a little older, upon gaining a little maturity. Upon seeing and appreciating you for who you truly were. Perhaps the child, now sleeping in his arms, would have been yours and his…

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Ser Arryk who stepped through the door of Helaena's chambers.

"I apologise for the interruption My Queen, My Prince. The King requests your presence in the Throne Room. Urgently," the knight of the Kingsguard and Aegon's close friend spoke.

Aemond frowned. Strange. Aegon was never an early riser, too inebriated from his drinking and whoring the night before to make it to the Small Council meetings before late afternoon.

"Both of us?" Helaena asked Ser Arryk, gesturing for her handmaiden to take Jaehaera, who was still sleeping, from Aemond's arms.

"Yes, My Queen."

Helaena looked at Aemond with concern, rising to her feet nevertheless and following the knight.

Aemond walked a few steps behind her, letting her lead the way to the Throne Room.

King Aegon sat atop the Iron Throne, holding what looked like two pieces of crumpled parchment in his hands, the black and gold doublet and the crown of Aegon The Conqueror he wore giving him a look of authority.

The Throne Room was empty, save for the presence of a handful of the gold cloaks of the City Watch and the white cloaked Kingsguard. And Queen Mother Alicent Hightower and her father, Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.

Upon seeing his sister-wife and brother enter the Throne Room, King Aegon's face morphed from seriousness to absolutely seething with rage.

"Your Grace, must you do this?" Queen Mother Alicent asked her eldest son, worry laced in her voice, her expression one of utter distress, who held up a hand to silence her.

"I've been a pawn in your scheming long enough, Mother," the King stated. "This is something I wish to find out for myself."

Turning to Aemond and Helaena, the King tossed his brother one of the pieced of parchment he held. "Something interesting arrived by raven at dawn."

Hastily, Aemond smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper, reading its contents at which he slowly felt the blood drain off his face. The broken white wax seal contained no sigil, the penmanship unrecognisable to the one-eyed scholar.

When he looked at Helaena, Aemond could see that she had grown white as a sheet. Cowering at his side, having read the letter with her own eyes.

Trying carefully to conceal the dread that he felt in his heart, the King's younger brother opened his mouth to speak.

But the King interjected him. "Do you deny these charges?"

"My King," Otto Hightower began. "We mustn't let such base calumnies create divide within the house of the Conqueror-"

"Do shut up, Grandfather," Aegon hissed. "I am addressing my siblings, not you. You need to hold your tongue given how useless you've been with securing Princess Rhaenyra's surrender at Dragonstone."

Otto Hightower stared at the King with baleful eyes but gratefully remained silent.

As did the rest of the hall.

"You both don't even have the decency to deny these charges? Shall I assume them as truth, then?" Aegon asked.

"These are blatant lies, Aegon," Aemond said, finding his voice. "Filthy rumours started by enemies to create friction amongst us. We remain ever loyal to you. I've secured House Baratheon for you with my betrothal and-"

"You know, it amuses me that you mention House Baratheon," the King said, leaning back in his seat and drawing out the second piece of parchment, shaking it angrily in his hand. "I received a raven from Borros Baratheon this morning. He has clearly stated that he refuses to ally himself with a Prince who's reputation is sullied by rumours of adultery and fathering of bastards. According to him, your betrothal to his precious Cassandra is now at an end, Aemond. And he is CONSIDERING SWEARING ALLEGIANCE TO RHAENYRA'S FACTION!" the King bellowed, his voice echoing through the Throne Room, sending Aemond's blood run cold. "Perhaps this 'lie' does have some merit to it after all."

"Who- How many?" Aemond gaped.

"The Riverlands, The Vale and the Reach have allied themselves with the Blacks, having received similar letters in the last few hours," King Aegon said, running a hand across his face wearily. "Dorne and the North are currently considering generous terms from Princess Rhaenyra. So, I ask you both once again, is this all a lie?"

Helaena remained silent at Aemond's side, unable to speak a word. While the one eyed Prince looked up at his brother, stunned into silence.

The silence stretched out for a few long and unbearable moments, while Aemond pondered who could have done this?

"Fine," Aegon spoke. "Have it your way. Kingsguard, hold the Queen confined in the Tower of the Hand until my command. Take the twins with her."

Ser Arryk stepped up beside Helaena who had now begun to weep. She threw her arms around Aemond in tears, clinging to him almost desperately while he stood shocked. "Aemond, please, stop them…" she sobbed.

"The remedy is obscured in frost, enwreathed in darkened flames, Aemond! The remedy is obscured in frost, enwreathed in darkened flames!" she cried, and he could only wonder at the meaning of her words.

Before Aemond could ask her what her words meant, Helaena was being pried forcefully away from him by Ser Arryk who guided her out of the Throne Room as her cries turned to wails.

"My King," Otto Hightower said, an urgency finding its way into his voice. "You cannot hold your Queen captive!"

At this, Aegon laughed ruefully. "For as long as I remember, I've been nothing but a bargaining tool in your machinations. Less a grandchild and more a stepping stone on your way to the top of the social ladder of Westeros. I have endured the verbal and physical abuse you and Mother meted out, forever listening and acquiescing to your demands. No more. I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms and my command is that Aemond Targaryen be exiled from the Crownlands. Indefinitely."

Aegon turned his rage toward his brother, his voice turning cold. "Before the day of my coronation, I begged you to let me escape to the Free Cities. You were the one who was always going to be better than me at being King, you said. I never wanted to marry Helaena. I only wanted to spar with my nephews and was content with my childish pranks on you, Aemond. I never wished to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms. But the crown of the Conqueror now rests on my head and you have committed treason against your King. I refuse to be humiliated any further by my own kin," he said. "Consider yourself grateful that I am sparing your life from a public execution. I am sparing you from lifelong duty on The Wall with the Night's Watch. You will surrender your wretched dragon to the dragonkeepers and make your leave from King's Landing within an hour. Never to return."

"Aegon, please! Have mercy!" Queen Mother Alicent pleaded, tears running down her own face as she watched the men of the City Watch drag her second son away from the Throne Room.

The sound of her cries echoing through the halls was the last thing Aemond remembered before the doors to the Throne Room were shut in his face.

You sat at the Painted Table in the Great Hall of Dragonstone, with Jacaerys beside you while you waited with Lucerys, Rhaena and Baela for the Queen Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon and the rest of the Lords and knights on the island to begin the council session.

Jace could see the worry on your face, his hand gently grazing your own in a gesture of reassurance. When you looked at him, he gave you a comforting smile. It will be alright, sweet one, you could almost hear him say.

It was the sound of approaching footsteps that drew you to your feet, Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon smiling, positively smiling, as they walked into the room followed by their knights and lords.

"We have received ravens this morning from the Vale, the Reach and the Riverlands. Lords from major and minor houses swearing allegiance to our side," the Queen informed you all, beaming.

Exhaling the breath you did not realise you were holding, you looked at Jace, who was now smiling openly at you, making a smile break out upon your own lips.

Lord Corlys Velaryon, freshly returned from the Stepstones having recovered from his bout of fever then took over the council.

Briefing you all about his plan to place blockades on The Gullet with his fleet, obstructing the main pathway of trade and commerce to Westeros: The Narrow Sea.

The whole council heartily agreed with the plan, Princess Rhaenys proposing that she would patrol The Gullet herself, starting that very same day, upon the back of her dragon, Meleys.

It was when Prince Daemon brought up the topic of bringing House Stark to Queen Rhaenyra's cause that you saw Maester Gerardys rush into the room with a message.

He handed it to Prince Daemon, before giving you and Jacaerys a rather significant look and taking his own seat at the table.

Reading the piece of parchment in his hand, you could see joy sparkling in Prince Daemon's eyes as he let out a victorious laugh.

"My spies in King's Landing have just informed me that Aegon the cunt has exiled his own brother, Aemond, while imprisoning his sister-wife Helaena and her children in the Tower of the Hand," he said. "He has also sacked Otto Hightower as Hand of the King, replacing him with Criston Cole."

You looked at the map on the Painted Table, trying to avoid anyone's eyes, trying to make sense of what you were feeling. It was a tumult of emotions, ranging from triumph and vindication to a hint of sadness.

The sadness you felt was for Helaena's children, for being discriminated against on the account of their bastardy. You had no love left for Helaena herself, your heart being too resentful after hearing the confirmation that she had borne Aemond's children. You knew that deep down, it was no fault of hers, but you just felt so bitter about her relationship with him.

Jacaerys gave your hand a squeeze, seeming to sense exactly what you felt and you found yourself looking up at him with a small, restrained smile.

"This war's trajectory has been drastically altered, my Lords and Ladies," Prince Daemon said, calling for an end to the meeting.

Just as you were about to exit the hall, you heard Queen Rhaenyra call out to you and Jacaerys.

You could feel your heart thundering in your chest as you made your way back to the table. Had you been found out?

"Cregan Stark, the Wolf of the North, is a man closer to your ages than mine," the Queen said. "Jacaerys, you will depart on dragonback to treat with the Lord. And you shall accompany him to Winterfell, my dear," she said, turning to you.

"Me?" you asked, flabbergasted.

"Yes, dear one. You," the Queen asserted, reaching out to take your hands in hers. "I am not doing the mistake of sending my son without you, as I had done with Lucerys. If it weren't for you, he would be…" she trailed off and you understood exactly what she meant.

"You honour me, My Queen," you said, grasping her own hands with yours. "But I have no royal blood-"

"In the past few days, you have behaved more like royalty than anyone. You have demonstrated how instrumental you are to our side in this war. Not only did you rescue my Luke from sure death, you helped secure the allegiances of so many houses all at once," she said, giving you a knowing smile.

"I- How did you…?" you stuttered, giving Jace an accusing stare but he held up his own hands in surrender as if to say that it wasn't me.

"It was Maester Gerardys, who informed me what you had done," the Queen replied.

"On both occasions, at Storm's End and by writing those letters, you acted without the leave of your Queen," Prince Daemon said, smiling impishly at you. "Your sense of rebellion, your determination to do what is right is something I deeply admire, little one."

"My Prince, I-"

"You remind me of myself, dearest," Queen Rhaenyra said fondly. "Once upon a time, I, too, flew here to Dragonstone, without the permission of my father, the King Viserys, to retrieve a dragon's egg that my now lord husband had stolen."

"Hey!" Prince Daemon chuckled, acting like he was hurt by his wife's words.

"You've proven yourself worthy at every test, my dear. And I'm sure Jace will appreciate your company in the cold and hard North," the Queen said.

"Thank you, My Queen," you could only manage to speak, still trying to come to terms with the consequences of your actions as you left the Great Hall with Jacaerys.

You were in your chambers, restlessly fretting over which dresses and gowns you must take along with you to Winterfell.

Accustomed to the warm and pleasant weather at King's Landing and Dragonstone, you were hardly equipped to deal with the harsh Northern cold.

Also playing in your mind was the news of Aemond's exile. You had not believed Aegon of being capable of it, truth be told. But he had, in fact, exiled his younger brother while keeping his dragon, Vhagar.

Where would Aemond go now? He was effectively homeless, a traitor declared by the King himself. What was he going to do next? He had no lands or holdings of his own, the King must have ensured to strip those away, too. His betrothal with the Baratheon girl was ended. He was separated from Helaena and his children. Surely this would cause a great deal of anger in him, but how would he retaliate? Would he find out that it was you who had written those-

A knock on the door interrupted your relentless train of thought, and when you asked the person to enter, expecting your handmaiden to return with the cloaks and gloves you had asked her to fetch, you found Jacaerys walking in instead.

"All ready to leave?" he asked, brightly, his eyes taking in the mess of clothes in your bedroom.

You chuckled, placing a hand on your forehead. "Well, almost," you sighed closing your eyes to cease your overthinking.

"Hey," the dark haired Prince said, taking a hold of your other hand in both of his. "Are you still worried about Aemond?" he asked, reading you like an open book.

"I am," you admitted. "He attacked Luke with no provocation, despite Luke insisting that he had come to Storm's End as a messenger and not a warrior. What do you think he'll do to me if he finds out that it was my letter that got him exiled?" you asked, concern growing in your urgently whispered words.

"You have nothing to worry about, sweet one," Jace said, tugging you closer until you stood before him, his brown eyes shining with warmth. "You are a dragonrider, a fighter, a healer. You have already proved that you can defend yourself in dire situations."

"But-"

"And I will be by your side," he promised. "My uncle won't harm you unless he goes through me first. I give you my word."

You smiled at his words. Jacaerys always had a way about him that made you feel warm and secure.

Safe.

"I'm also afraid that I'm going to be an utter disaster in Winterfell," you admitted.

At this, Jace openly chortled. "What are you talking about? You will be the delight of Winterfell!" he said, his hand gently sweeping a stray strand of your hair away from your face. "The North will finally have some warmth and light from the radiance of your beauty."

"You flatter me, Jace," you said as colour flushed your cheeks.

"I mean it," he said, before thinking for a moment. "But if Lord Cregan Stark decides to make a move on you, I'll have to kill him."

"Jacaerys!" you exclaimed, before bursting into a fit of laughter along with him.

You'd be fine in Winterfell.

You'd be alright, you were certain.

Almost.

Part 6

#angst #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x helaena targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader

[wysteria-clad]

Keepsake

paring: Marc, Steven, Jake x fem! reader; established relationship.

a/n:

• Thanks to lovely @imgoingtofreakoutnow for helping me with the Spanish words & phrases 💗

• I will never get enough of soft moon boys <3

genre: fluff, slight angst if you squint at Marc's part.

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing too explicit, it's kind of fluffy.

summary: the boys keep something of yours that reminds them of you

gif credits: @mazikeensthings @nightofthecreeps @waititi

---------

Marc:

It happened when you stayed the night at his place. You took off your ring when you were washing your face, absent mindedly leaving it near the sink, forgetting about it the next morning, when you left for work in a hurry.

The scent of your shampoo still lingered in the bathroom—orange blossoms. He inhaled that comforting scent before his gaze fell on your ring. It was a simple one with single daisy flower adorning on top. He carefully lifted the ring, twirling it in his finger with a fond smile on his face.

.

.

When you got back from work, you dropped your things on table, going straight to kiss Marc. Surprisingly, he was relaxing?

He was lounging on the couch. It was a rare sight to find your boyfriend not worrying about something and actually relaxing for a bit. Few entertaining ideas popped into your head when you saw his bare chest and him in that sweatpants. You would act it out later, you shook off those thoughts.

You quickly settled yourself on top on him with unrestrained smile. That was when you noticed it. "Is that my ring?", you trailed your finger from his throat to his chest, stopping right where your ring was dangling from his chain, a teasing smile your lips. He was wearing it in his gold chain as a pendant.

Marc wasn't sentimental kind of man. Well, he would never admit his feelings openly anyway. When he did show his feelings, you treasured each moment. You kept the teasing tone in your voice very subtle, as if trying not to scare away a wild creature in confinement.

You stared at him in silence, and he met your eyes, his hand reaching out to touch a piece of your hair falling over your face. There was that comforting scent again.

"Finders keepers" his voice insinuated playfulness, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. He tucked that piece of your hair behind your ears. His thumb caressed your cheek, sliding down slowly to your lips, pulling your bottom lip open. Your eyes closed involuntarily at his action. "You are real" he whispered to himself.

You weren't a sweet thing his brain made up.

Did he deserve you? Did he deserve the way look at him? Like his eyes holds the whole light in the world.

His rough fingers softly caressed down the hollow of your throat. "You are real" he said again. This time you heard it.

Did he deserve to call you his and claim your love for him?

"I am real", you padded your thumb along his cheek bones on either side of his face, his new stubble feeling slightly rough under your fingers. You leaned closer, gently pressing your cheek against his. "I am real", your whispered again in his ear, a loose strand of your hair tickling the spot behind his ear.

It killed you to see him question himself. You took his hand off your neck gently and brought it to your lips, pressing a kiss on his finger tips.

A light kiss on his fingers; his sinful blood stained fingers. His eyes were closed. He didn't meet your eyes this time.

You were real, real as an oasis. Not a mirage of his dream.

"Marc, look at me" with every second he hesitated, it felt like someone pierced pins in your heart, "please, baby", the previous playful teasing in your tone was long gone.

He finally opened his dark eyes, glossed with silent tears as they met yours—your eyes full of love for him.

You were his oasis in the vast, cruel desert.

You swallowed, trapping the sob rising in your throat. You hated seeing him like this.

He believed he didn't deserve you. It made you feel like your heart strings were being cut off slowly, one by one.

"I am yours, as you are mine", you met his eyes with a promise of love, "You deserve me", you emphasized each word with gentle kisses on his forehead.

.

.

After that day, he always carries your ring with him.

Whenever he misses you, he would touch that ring in his chain, slightly twirling between his fingers. It reminded him of your promise.

I am yours as your are mine.

He was aware of how much you loved him and for some reason, you fell in love with him too.

You deserve me.

Maybe, he did deserve you and your love, he thought, maybe. Still, it was a very good start.

Steven:

You and Steven were waiting for food after you both had ordered. The place was packed that particular evening, so you figured it would take a while.

"I'm sorry, love" Steven was feeling anxious. He wanted this date to be perfect for you. You worked hard and had a rough week and you deserved to enjoy at least one night.

Your expression softened watching the worry lines on his handsome face. He was frowning, his fingers anxiously tapping the table, you knew his legs were bouncing under the table. He was worrying, again, to make you feel more comfortable and apologising even though it's not his fault.

"Hey", you reached out your hand across the table, placing it on top of his, rubbing his knuckles in calming gesture. "It's not your fault, darling, and you don't have to apologise", you assured him with a smile; a smile that made the frown on his face instantly vanish.

To lighten up the mood and determined to make your man smile, an idea popped into your head.

With a grin never leaving your face, you picked up your purse, opening it and grabbing a tiny rubber duck. "Mr. Grant", you said, putting on a silly voice, holding out the little rubber duck to him, " A little duckling told me you are not happy", you continued watching surprise in his eyes, only for a second, then he laughed heartily. "And we are here to fix that"

You didn't care if others looked at you with amusement or gave you strange looks. You only cared about making your Steven smile. That was the only thought echoed inside your mind.

"Ah, love" he reached out, taking your hand in his. He pressed a sweet kiss on the back of your hand. No matter how many times he repeated the gesture, it never failed to make your heart skip a beat. Your face flushed.

How could he not smile now? Your blushing face was endearing. He kissed your hand again, just to see your adorable blushing face, making you smile like a teen girl whose crush said 'hi' to her.

"You carry those baby ducks with you?" now the smile on his face was genuine, without the trace of previous fretting. He held the little rubber duck in palm of his hand, as if you just gave him a fourteen carat diamond rock.

"Okay, don't laugh", you started, "actually, go ahead and laugh" you corrected yourself with a slight chuckle of your own, "I carry around mini ducks in my purse to give to people who needed a goofy smile or simply because I can"

Can you get any more adorable?

Pink heart crown generated above your head in his eyes.

"But shh" you put a finger to your lips, "don't tell anyone my secret"

Steven Grant realised what your smile was like. Whenever you smiled at him, it gave him the same content as eating his favourite chocolates. It wasn't overly saccharine. It sent wave of warmth from the core of his heart to all over his body.

He joked by calling you a new superhero 'The Duck woman'. You shook your head at that name, laughing at the elaborate story he created around your 'secret superhero self'

.

That night was filled with delicious food and sex—where both of you would pause and add even more ridiculous bits to the 'The Duck woman' story in between each caress and touch.

"She has an army of ducklings on command" he moved his hips to thrust deep into you, eliciting a satisfying moan from your lips. "She can take over the world in one night" he punctuated with a kiss to your lips.

"And she can fly too" you mumbled into his mouth, capturing his bottom lip with your teeth and slightly tugging it.

"Ducks can't fly, love" he chuckled against your mouth.

"Yes, she can. She is duck woman, she can do anything" you pushed back his curls away from his forehead.

You tried to be serious, but both of you ended up giggling the whole time.

The ecstasy of the previous strenuous activity slowly faded, yet still left you both with goofy grins on your faces.

"I love you"

"I love you too" Steven moved his face closer, "my duck woman" he kissed your nose, still smiling, "my sweet super hero"

How sweet it was to loved by you, he thought, his arm loosely draped around your waist.

It was your turn to smile and kiss him back.

.

After that night, he carries that little duck in his bag with him wherever he goes.

Whenever he needs to borrow a smile, it's from this silly little rubber duck you gave him.

His sweet super hero.

Jake:

It was a mystery.

How do you keep losing your scrunchies?

You swore you took it off your hair just last night and threw it next to your pillow. Maybe it's somewhere in the bed. You could look for it later. You shrugged it off, grabbing another one and pulling your hair into a ponytail.

.

.

Jake Lockley was not a fan of Taylor Swift. He never liked her songs. But he knew you enjoyed her songs, always humming or singing to yourself when doing chores or cooking.

He knew 'Willow' was your favourite. He listened to it on repeat, it became his favourite too.

Whenever he heard Taylor Swift on the radio while driving, his lips quirk up into a tiny smile. The picture of you singing along came to his mind. He hummed the tune to himself.

"Are you singing? Is that Taylor Swift?" Jake looked into rear view mirror to see a surprised Steven. "Is that Y/n/n's scrunchy on your wrist?". It was pale blue one with little sunflowers on it.

Jake said nothing. He kept his eyes on the road. The cab churned through the familiar street, passing couple of homes and a donut shop on the left. He was supposed to pick you up from your school.

You worked as a third grade teacher at Silver Spring Elementary. You insisted on bus ride, but Jake wanted to pick you up after work. It was his love language.

"So you are the hair tie thief? she has been asking us all these days. Who would have thought?" Marc teased.

"It's called 'Scrunchies'" Steven corrected, only to be ignored by him.

"¡Callaos!" Jake grunted.

He cut off his conversation with Marc and Steven when he saw you. You were sitting on school steps, next to two little kids.

"Hey, baby" you beamed, standing up as you saw him open his door and got out to greet you. "Do you mind waiting till their parents come to pick them up?" you pointed at your students, twins—Reggie & Rose.

"Don't worry about it, querida" his face eased into a rare sweet smile, reserved only for you. It made your heart squeal in delight every time he did it. You cupped his face gently and kissed his lips, pulling back when you heard a giggle from little Rose."She is kissing her boyfriend! Are you going to marry him?"

With a chuckle, you turned towards the children."No, we are not"

-Yet. Jake thought, but didn't say anything.

"You are really pretty, Miss Y/l/n" Reggie admitted shyly.

"Thank you, Reggie"

"Will you marry me, Miss Y/l/n?"

"Aw, Reggie"

"Woah, stand in line, kid" you felt Jake's arm around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. "She is mine"

You swatted his arm playfully for his possesiveness in front of a kid.

"She is our girl, mate"

Jake didn't mind Steven's comment.

Reggie & Rose's parents arrived fifteen minutes later, you waved them 'bye'.

"It's time to marry you, señorita. I can't fight a seven year old" Jake said in his accent, placing his arm around your waist, making you laugh. Both of you were walking towards the cab.

You knew he was joking but the idea of marriage did spark something in your heart.

"Hmm, I don't know Mr. Lockley. I don't think I like you like that" you pretended to be thinking deeply and trying not to laugh.

"Is that so?" he squeezed your ass, before slapping it lightly.

"Jake, we are in public!"

That did not seem to faze him one bit. However, he refrained himself.

"Eres mi corazón" he cupped your face in his hands, kissing softly and sweetly as if this was your first ever kiss. You smiled into the kiss, every cell in your body was in love with him. That's when you noted the blue scrunchie on his left wrist.

"Aw, baby, you are wearing my scrunchie" you cooed.

"Yes, yes. I do. Laugh like them, I don't care"

But you did not laugh. You almost cried tears of joy.

"I knew you are a softie" you took his arm, placing it around your neck.

"Eres mi corazón", he said again, pulling you closer one more time to press a kiss to your forehead.

"You are so adorable" you pressed a mushy kiss to his cheek, mwah. "Give me few minutes to process your cuteness, Lockley" you pulled back and getting inside the cab.

Solo para ti, mi amor.

He thought, smiling to himself and starting the car.

#moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector imagine #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant imagine #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley imagine

[jarofstyles]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes 4- Preparations and Secret Keepers

Helloo my loves! They’re back. Lady Y/N and Princerry have returned and they’re ✨ in love✨ obviously. I hope you enjoy a bit more of them!

Check out our Patreon for exclusive writing and early access.

Warnings- a smidgen of exhibitionism if you squint

WC- 3.9k

Fic masterlist

————

The ballroom was beautiful.

Y/N had nearly felt tears in her eyes when she first saw it. Swirls of saturated color all around. Flowers in opulent garlands wrapping around the marble columns and up to the ceilings. The lights twinkled from them as they hung down from the dark vines that curtained the ceiling, looking like stars in the sky.

The tables were lined with expensive cloth, a deep red with a lace runner going through the middle. Fine dishware was neatly stacked, the golden designs etched and foiled on them shining in the lights. Bouquets were the centerpieces, red ribbon tied around the vases in delicate bows. There were no expenses spared for this. His and her initial was painted on the dance floor with the royal family crest, gold foiling making it sparkle. Staff scurried about to put on finishing touches on the scene while Y/N and the Queen did a last check up.

What had her truly gasping for breath were the specific flowers that she had shown Harry in their walk decorating the royal table, the bouquet specially made for her at her spot clear next to him. The first time she would be at a royal event… as a future royal. Her hands were a bit sweaty as she followed the Queen dutifully, listening to her comments as she made small adjustments for the headmistress to go over with staff.

Y/N admired his gracious she was. Saying please and thank you to staff was not something most nobility did, but she did. She wanted to be just like her. Friendly and kind. Not a feared woman- unless she was crossed. Respected. That was her goal, above all else.

As soon as they had a moment alone, she turned to her. “How are you truly doing, my dear?” Her soft hand landed on Y/N’s forearm, true compassion on her face. She could see her bristling nerves grating on her even though most couldn’t. “You are good at hiding your emotions. The reason I can see it is because I was in your shoes once.” She soothed. “Having good control of when you show them is important. But you’ve proven yourself thus far.” Her kind smile made Y/N relax a little bit.

“Thank you.” She replied. “I am… I’m good. I think it is a bit overwhelming but I remind myself this is the first one. I will get used to it. It’s to celebrate our love and union, too, so I should not be worried.” Y/N refused to let jealous and bitter women ruin the beautiful thing that Harry and her had created. Had been thrust into; his arms welcoming her like a warm bath. The Queen nodded at her statement, the pair walking slowly as they observed the royal table. “He remembered.” Her whisper was caught by the Queen, watching her fingers brush one of the flowers with a smile.

“He is a good man. I am happy with how he’s grown.” The Queen loved her son dearly. She wasn’t fond of the way most royals before her had reared their children, handing them off to nanny’s and other staff dedicated to the job. She wanted to be hands on. To raise him to be a good man, to make changes she had already started to implement. He would not be arrogant and rude. That was a fear, knowing the power could get to his head as it did to many, but she did it herself. She was spoiled with ladies maids who would tend to him at night as a wee babe, but she did everything else. The bond between parent and child was gravely important. “Though I will say… the change I’ve seen in him since he has met you has made me ecstatic.”

Y/N turned to her with curious eyes. “How so, may ask?” She was treading lightly, still wanting to be respectful but dying to know. Any bit of information about him from a reliable source made her giddy. Filing it away in her favorite folder in her memories, she wanted to soak it all in.

“He seemed more… excited about ruling. He learns with vigor. Speaks up. He wants to know the intricacies more and more. Before… he was unmotivated in some ways.” There was a pause as she exhaled. “I suppose that was partially our fault. We wanted him to remain as carefree as he could, to form his own personality without it being directly tied to a title. He learned a lot during his childhood but he had been seemingly nervous as he grew. Now he seems far more settled in it.” It was most definitely because of Y/N. “Having a reliable, trustworthy and level headed ruling partner is one of the most important and undervalued assets a King can have. They do say, "What is a King without his Queen.” She gave a slight smile as Y/N followed her words closely.

“You have those qualities, from what I can tell. Keeping a level head and still being able to defend yourself and the person you love is a beautiful thing to have as a ruler. It isn’t easy. People will disagree simply because you spoke, you rule. I can understand why, to a degree. Taking into account the stress of being a King, I think that you will be able to elevate him. I believe him the same as you. The King may seem to be the one who holds all the power… but know that it isn’t true. I’ve helped come to all of the most important decisions in our kingdom’s history. It isn’t a job to take lightly.” The Queen could see it on her face, how she was agreeing but still spooked. This wasn’t necessarily a test, but it was a reality she needed to face. She couldn’t just play royal. It was a job.

“That is why I was so worried about who Harry would end up with. Many women.. they think that being a Queen is being lavished with diamonds and pearls, being fed delicacies by hand and never lifting a finger. They think it’s the custom dresses and crowns, the balls and the galas, the travels. But it is so much more than that.” She squeezed her hand, giving her another smile. “I was terrified that my son would follow a man’s intuition and just go for whoever appealed to his physical senses without taking a woman’s brain and intentions into account. He was incredibly lucky to stumble across you.”

It was abundantly clear that Y/N loved her son- and if not fully there yet, close to it. She never indulged when she was at the palace, was polite, thanked workers and never threw fits. The girl was respectable, well read and could hold a conversation. It was more than a lot of the other women on the court could say when they were vying for Harry’s hand in marriage.

“Do you truly think I’ll make a good Queen?” Y/N asked quietly, looking her in the eye despite wanting to look at her skirts. This was an intimidating conversation but she needed to hear it. None of it was enough to make her leave. It was a lot more than she had ever expected to take on as a wife- if she had ever married at all- but Harry’s tender heart and gentle touch was well worth the challenges. She hopes.

“I do. I think you’ll be one of the best we have seen. Continue to be fearless, to speak your mind to your husband, to be honest and open with him, rule with a fair hand and you will do amazing. The council will try to intimidate you. Do not let them.” The word of warning was clear. Y/N’s tummy turned at the serious tone. “They will try and sway you. The reason for it, as you know, is to have the people given more of a say. But do not let individual agendas influence your decisions. Make them as your heart and mind see fit. Harry will be behind you.”

That, she didn’t doubt. The man had been continuously proving his devotion to her every single day. She had read in her books; the romance novels that had her flustered and fanning herself at times, about love and men. About how she could be treated. Harry far exceeded any expectation.

“I understand. I will do my best, and I will trust my husband. I know he and I have had some conversations about it. I don’t know if he told you of some of the other encounters I’ve had with some of the women, but I already know the way people will treat me. How they will manipulate and how I will need to be careful. But as long as I have Harry, I have my family? I am strong.”

“You will be wonderful.” The Queen replied. “You are wise beyond your years. I’ve heard whispers of what people have been saying, what they’ve been doing. I am not one to abuse power but if you wish to have anyone removed from this party? That is your right.” She wouldn’t want anything to ruin this. It was a step in the new direction of the kingdom, her first real taste. She needed it to be good for her.

“Thank you, my Queen. I will.” Y/N nodded, looking back towards the bouquet. For him? She would do anything. For herself? She would prove that she wasn’t someone to stand on.

—————

Harry watched as she walked down the hall, alone at last. She was stunning, his intended. So beautiful and strong, her head held high as she walked the corridor as if she knew where she was going. She didn’t. All she knew was that Harry had requested her in the library.

“Hello.”

“My goodness!” Y/N yelped, hand over her heart as it raced like a hummingbird inside of her chest. “Harry! You musn't scare me like that.” She still walked towards him, entering the library as she tried to shake off her bout of fright.

“I’m sorry, my love.” Harry peeked down the hall to see it empty, closing the door behind them. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Approaching her, his hands reached for her waist to pull her into his embrace. Smooth. Always so smooth and warm to the touch, making his fingers flex into the dress. Her corset hid the squish of her flesh, something he was dying to feel under his hands, but he thanked the world that she let him handle her this way. The light blue of the dress did wonders to compliment her eyes, ruffled at the bottom in a way he usually dislike- but again, his sweet Y/N had a knack for making him enjoy things he rarely did in the past. She made any dress she wore look like gold. It was impossible for her to dull her glow, a beacon of light that his eyes always wanted to follow.

“That is a lie, my prince.” She laughed under her breath. His grin made sure to tell her he enjoyed making her jump. “Luckily for you, you’re handsome and far too charming to hold a grudge, so I forgive you for it.” Her head tilted back, taking in his content features. Alone. Truly alone with one another in the Palace’s library. It was quite big, shelves upon shelves of books in every color imaginable. A top floor with a balcony overlooking the rest, dark wooden ladders to reach the tall shelves at the bottom, a large reading area in front of the fireplace and a padded bench in front of the window to make for a nook to hide away in. The large arched window let in beams of light, streaking across the room and illuminating the front of it effortlessly.

“I fear that I’ll spend every free moment here.” She returned her gaze to him after looking around. It wasn’t her first time in here, but she was still amazed at the quantity of books in one room. The palace was much larger than she had ever anticipated. “I don’t think I could read every book in here, even if I read every moment in my lifetime. You’ll have to read with me.”

Y/N had expressed a want for that. To find a book to read before bed, just for them. A tradition.

“Of course. I’ll read with you every night if it’s possible.” He released her waist, taking hold of her hand and letting her lead him into the darker aisles of the library. It was relatively quiet in the room, the sound of their steps clicking over the wood floors being the loudest thing they could hear. “What are you looking to read?” His question was soft spoken, aware of how little space there was in these aisles. They were meant for one person to explore, but he truly didn’t mind. Being close to Y/N was a blessing.

“I’m partial to romance. I love all books- I love learning about my flowers and history, I love fairy tales… but I particularly enjoy romance. Happy endings, mostly. All of them, though…they can be quite eye opening. You’d never guess it. People love to diminish the literature because men do not usually enjoy them- at least publicly. Some of the most breathtaking quotes I’ve ever heard of were in such books.” She ran her fingers along the spines of the cloth bound books, grazing the embossed titles. “You learn a lot about people in them. How betrayal can affect a soul, how love can heal. Above all else, loving is a choice. An action.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, unsure of what she meant. “I don’t think I had a choice. I think.. my heart was yours the moment I laid my eyes on you. I’ve never questioned it.”

“There’s different types of loving. Having your heart belong to someone… It is a different sort of love. A soul deep love. But to be in love actively, you choose it. You choose to show the person your feelings, to express them. You do the acts of love by stroking my hand, by choosing the flowers for our table.” A coy look was shot his way. “It won’t always be easy. You’ll have to choose love above all else, even if it’s harder than another solution.” She turned to him, placing a hand on the side of his neck, the dim light doing nothing to hide his beauty.

“I feel the same. I feel as though you plucked my heart out of my chest like harp strings and held it in your hands. There wasn’t much of a choice in that. But the act of loving? It is a choice. Being loved and in love are two different things. We just happen to have both.” And god, did she love him already. It was soul deep, like she said.

“I see…” he rolled his lips in for a moment before pouting ever so slightly. “I can understand that. I haven’t thought of that before but… I suppose it’s because I haven’t read as many romance novels as you. Or, perhaps you’re just a smarter being than me.” He had to chuckle because sometimes he believed it to be true. Y/N’s thoughts were vast, complex, something he wanted to dissect over time. He loved hearing what she thought about policies so far, what she thought of their system. Even just her thoughts on books and flowers. She thought about things he never would have imagined- and it’s part of why he loved her. The creature challenged him in ways no one else ever would, kept him on his toes all while providing a comfort in her presence many would die to have.

“No. You’re just as smart, but in a different way. It’s refreshing. We both have qualities the other needs. It’s one of my favorite parts about us.” She slightly scolded him for that. No self deprivation on her watch.

“Yeah? What are your other favorite parts?” He murmured, feeling the tightness of the space but not wanting to back up. Instead, he got closer. “For example… I love your brain. I love how you speak, how your lips curl around words. I love how I feel like I was submerged in the warmest bath with all of the sweet smelling oils when I’m around you.” His fingers rose to brush her cheek. “But… I hate that I am not able to touch you how I wish.” Speaking of love always got to him. His reminder of how much adoration festered in his heart, how much impatience he had towards expressing it to her in a physical way.

Y/N’s mouth dried as she felt the man close in on her. If her heart was beating fast before? It was ready to fly out of her chest now. Breathing quickening as she leaned into his touch, she found her words on the tip of her tongue, hands settling on his forearms. Against her better judgment, she allowed herself to speak. “How do you wish to touch me?”

The voice was much softer than she would have hoped, showing how she was weak kneed just from this simple touch. Back against the shelf, she peered at him through her lashes, anticipating the next words out of his berry hued mouth. Oh, how she wanted that mouth.

“I wish to touch you without these corsets. I want to feel your skin underneath my fingertips, the softness of your flesh dipping as I hold you.” He paused, inhaling shakily. “ I want to bury my fingers in your hair and tug your head back so I can kiss you. God, I want to kiss you so, so badly. It aches in my soul. I crave nothing more than your affections. You know that?” He looked pained as he leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. This was a dangerous situation, both of them in a state that they didn’t know how to handle. There were lines they could not cross, things he could not say, but he was feeling them all.

“You do?” She peeped, eyes round at his blunt words. He had expressed some of these things in a letter before but… hearing in person was a whole other experience. The low rasp of his voice as he kept it down, keeping their secrets between their ears and the pages of the books.

“I do. Words can not express how much I look forward to our wedding day.” When they would become man and wife, when he could take her the way they both wanted. “When I never have to worry, I can kiss you freely, in front of whoever I wish. I hate that there are barriers for us. I understand tradition, I respect it… but I can’t help but wish to break it.” He wouldn’t, but he had to hold his breath as he felt her nose brush against his own. The walls of rigid rules were so irritating for him, he wanted to make them crumble to rubble on the ground.

“I know. I crave it just as much, Harry.” She replied shakily, breath felt against his lips. “I want your touch on every part. But we have to respect the traditions. Don’t we?” She asked, feeling as though she could fall over as she felt their lips brush for a single second before his own rested over her cheek.

“We do.” He mumbled against the smooth skin. “But… I can kiss here.” His lips puckered ever so slightly on her cheek, dangerously close to her mouth. “I can kiss here… and it’s not breaking any rules. My ring is on your finger… I tend to claim you in the ways the world allows, to follow those rules.. but you are mine.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to arch into him. A little gasp left her as she felt a firmer kiss placed to her cheek again, letting their lips feather together before he placed one to the opposite side. “My bride. My queen. My heart. I will never be as proud of anything… as I am to have been chosen by you.”

Y/N let out a whimper, pulling him close and returning the gesture. Dangerously close kisses, right in the same places. Temptation. She should have pulled away, but she couldn’t. Her body pulsed, a heartbeat felt between her legs as he let out a quiet groan.

“My sweet…” he rasped. “My self control is so little. It’s merely hanging by a fraying thread. I respect you more than to take you in a library aisle…” he paused. “At least before we are married.” The thought flooded her brain, her skirts lifted up and his firm palm holding her mouth to keep her quiet. Taking her deep and slow against the shelves, filling her to the brim. Her leg hitched over his waist while fingers clawed at him- he didn’t know how he was able to wait.

“Harry…” she gasped, feeling his lips press to her jaw. “You’re making it so hard for me to behave. I need to be…” she lost her train of thought as her eyes closed, head falling back against the wood. His kisses were feather light, brushing over her jaw and making her fingers dig into his arms. If she was in this much pleasure just from this? What would it be like without all of the barriers? Would his fingers make her tingle as much on bare flesh? Would his kiss her all over?

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled against her skin. “I’m sorry…” teeth grazed her ear, making her whine. “I’m sorry, my sweet. I will stop.” He had to drag himself away from her body, tempted to nibble on her smooth neck and leave marks all over. He couldn’t. But he wanted to.

Y/N wanted to gasp at his looks. His dark gaze, eyes glinting in a darkness she had never seen before. Lust. True lust, his cheeks flushed and lips slightly swollen. It would look like they did more than look for books if they were caught, but Y/N committed it to memory. She wanted this very look painted in a portrait. Her Prince’s desire for her. Nothing had ever felt more real. “My beautiful prince…” she sighed, hands prying away from his arms to hold his hands. “We must leave or we will get carried away. You’ll never forgive yourself.” She knew that much. Harry was very proud of doing this properly. Of keeping himself a gentleman.

“I know.” his fingers squeezed over hers, taking his own deep breath as he calmed himself. “I’ll behave. It is hard, having the affections of a woman as stunning as you and not be able to indulge… But I must.” Even if it pained him. He would do this properly, honor her and make her his wife before he devoured her in the way he craved.

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #prince harry styles #princerry #prince!harry #Harry styles au #Harry smut #Harry fluff #harry styles one shots #harry styles fan fiction #Harry styles fantasy #Harry styles fluff

[ceruleancattail]

HELLO CERU!!!

Could i request...a date,, with Riddle Rosehearts,, and reader wipes away a trace of cream from his face,, waa,,,

Actually i'm gonna add Mr. Diamond to the request for fun :D !! I've been seeing Cater a lot in my pinterest feed for some reason!!

A Date with the cards!

Riddle x reader, Cater x reader

@bednbunfast tagging your new blog here too!

Soft seems to be the day’s theme.

Light, spongy cake spooned into your mouth, the sweetness tantalising your taste buds. The whipped cream practically melts on your tongue, much to your delight.

Strawberries, fresh and red. Every bite delivers an explosion of flavours in your mouth, the tangy juice of the fruit simply spilling out.

The gentle white lace that lined the cafe table, the velvet plush of the seats. The careless caress of the wind, kissing both of your cheeks in turn, tousling your hair along with it. The delicate culinary, elaborate designs curling across your spoon.

The soft glow of the sun, wrapping around everything it touches. Gold encased your boyfriend, softening his every feature. His rounded cheeks, the way his scarlet hair curves around his face, framing it perfectly. The elegant way he wields his utensils, carefully dissecting each pastry.

Crimson pupils meet yours. Riddle’s lips slide up in a soft smile, before he sets down his fork. Chin resting on the back of his palms, he leans forward.

“What is it, love?”

A trail of white hung on his lips, cream smeared on his face. Reaching over cautiously, your palm cups his cheek. Riddle’s eyes widen in shock, before his expression melts a little. He leans into your touch, heaving a sigh of relief.

You give him an affectionate squeeze, before swiping your thumb of his lips. Blinking rapidly, Riddle stares at you in shock. Your hand withdraws quickly. You show him your thumb, covered in cream.

“You had… something on your mouth.”

A faint pink glows on his cheeks, as Riddle rapidly dabs at his mouth with his napkin. A laugh, as you reassure him that he looked impeccable, as always.

Reaching for a napkin, Riddle’s fingers find their way around your wrist. He pulls it upwards, gently guiding it to his mouth. A kitten’s lick, lapping up whatever cream remained on your thumb.

“Now, it’ll truly be a waste to simply throw that wonderful cream away.

Especially since it’s been graced with your touch.”

Sweet, cute things always seem to trend online. Unfortunately, Cater wasn’t too fond of sugary treats. However, he certainly terribly fond of social media. Frequenting pop-up cafes, giving his reviews on whatever new, super popular deserts he could get his hands on.

You were his trash can.

Literally.

After Cater forces down a bite, he’ll discreetly slide the dish over to you. All you had to do was to hold the camera, and eat whatever remained. That was usually the case, although it was a little different today.

No camera was rolling, and Cater seemed a little more gentle today. Ordering your favourites deserts, carrying the tray for you. He set down the deserts, before spooning a large chunk into his mouth.

Staring at him, your brows knit together. Catching your eye, Cater glances up, a nervous smile stretched tight across his lips.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like the cake?”

Tilting your head, you regard him quizzically. Jabbing a fork at him, you questioned Cater.

“The last I checked, you loathed sweet things. Why invite me out here?”

Cater blinks in surprise, before he starts laughing. A merry chuckle that has him doubled over, eyes scrunched shut. Wiping a tear from his eye, he regards you, now with a certain warmth in his gaze.

“Loathe sweet things? How could I?”

His hand reaches for your mouth, fingertips skating slowly over your lips. A thin layer of cream lines his fingers. Raising a hand to your mouth, your cheeks burning red hot.

Lapping at the cream on his fingers, Cater’s eyes never leave yours. Not for one second.

How could he ever hate sugary treats?

You’re the sweetest thing here, after all.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #cater diamond x reader #cater x reader #cater diamond #cater #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle #lucky charm🔷

[loserdiaz]

"if you love me, you don't love me in a way i understand" pretty please?<3

my hand slipped and this ended up being a little longer than i hoped.

buck/eddie | 1k words | getting together

Buck is not dumb. He's not stupid. He's not oblivious.

Against popular belief, Buck knows that what Eddie and he have is not just friendship— he knows the way Eddie looks at him is not platonic.

He knows what Eddie's feelings are.

Buck knows they both have been dancing around this for a long time, too scared to make the first move, take the first step.

And he thinks he knows why Eddie hasn't done or said anything yet— he thinks he might, at least.

And Buck, well, he knows why himself hasn't done anything.

He doesn't understand what Eddie sees in him. He doesn't understand the way Eddie loves him.

Buck thinks relationships and love are meant to be fast paced; a wildfire that grows and burns until there's nothing but ashes. That’s what he’s had all his life. The rush. The adrenaline. The fire that burns him from inside out and consumes him until he can't breathe. The fast paced emotions and desires that burn hot and then burn out like what he does everyday at work. Something that’s meant to be short-lived with a flash of ecstasy. Something that gives him a thrill but then leaves him alone, feeling empty and hollow and used.

Buck is not used to the kind of love Eddie seems to give him sl freely, so naturally— as if Buck deserved it.

He doesn't.

Buck is hard to love— he's too loud sometimes, he can't shut the fuck up. He's selfish and annoying and—

People leave.

People always leave him.

So Buck is not used to that soft, tender kind of love that Eddie offers without even thinking about it. He's not used to being trusted so fully with the most precious of things (like Eddie's heart), he's not used to knowing looks and fond smiles that are reserved only for him. He's not used to the domesticity of hanging in the kitchen, cooking a meal for his family and laughing at stupid inside jokes while Chris does his homework and roasts them at the same time.

He's not used to late night talks with beers in their hands and longing in their eyes.

Buck doesn't think he'll ever fully get used to any of that— to something so precious and amazing.

He can barely believe he gets to have it on the best of days.

So asking for more? Reaching out and taking more?

That's just unimaginable.

But then it's one of those nights.

Christopher is asleep and they're in the kitchen. Buck has a cold beer in his hand, the droplets of condensation sliding down the bottle and into the back of his hand.

And Eddie is looking at him, just a few steps away and leaning against the kitchen counter. The light above them casts a golden orange glow that softens his features and Buck thinks he could look at him forever and never get tired.

He thinks Eddie is the most beautiful sight his eyes have ever seen (and he's seen a lot, alright. He's been through Peru and Argentina and Brazil, Chicago and San Francisco. He's been to Montana and he even briefly made a stop in Colorado. Yet— None of the most beautiful of spots in those places could ever compare to Eddie. To what Eddie makes him feel.)

Eddie is looking at him and Buck's heart clenches in his chest, because he knows he doesn't deserve that look.

He's hard to love on the best of days, a mess and someone not enough to stay for on the worst.

Somehow, Eddie doesn't seem to care about that. He loves Buck anyway.

And Buck doesn't, can't, won't—

He doesn't want Eddie to get caught up in the fire that is his life. He doesn't want Eddie to burn until he's nothing but ashes in Buck's hands.

But Eddie keeps looking at him and then he's stepping closer and closer until Buck can see every freckle in his nose and that beauty mark under his eye. He can see the honey gold sprinkles on Eddie's eyes, surrounded by the warmest of browns.

And he can see when those eyes flutter down to Buck's lips, his gaze feeling heavy and intense on them.

“It's getting late. I should—” Buck starts, trailing off when Eddie takes Buck's beer and leaves him on the counter before stepping closer until he's pinning Buck against the counter.

It digs uncomfortably against his lower back and his eyes go wide.

“Eddie,” Buck says, his breath catching on the word.

"Tell me I'm not reading this wrong, Buck." Eddie pleads. "Tell me— Tell me I'm not the only one feeling this." He whispers and his voice is low, quiet, but so full of hope and love and patience.

Buck doesn't deserve that.

"I'm— I don't—" He stutters and he can't help it when his eyes dart down to where Eddie is licking his lips.

So tempting. So inviting.

"Eddie, I'm scared."

Eddie's eyes are wide and open, vulnerable, as he searches for something in Buck's face. It reminds him of the look he gave him after the tsunami, or when he reveleaved that Buck was part of the will.

This time, he must find what he's looking for because he doesn't say anything else. Eddie just leans in, slowly, slow enough that Buck can still stop him if he wants to.

And he should, before they both get burned. Before Buck ruins them.

He doesn't.

From the first touch, it’s like kissing Buck is what Eddie was put on this planet to do. It's soft and exploring, it makes this fuzzy sirupy feeling pool inside his stomach.

And it's— warm, tender. A slow kind of fire spreading through his veins. Not burning or turning everything to ashes, but igniting a spark that Buck thought long gone.

Buck still doesn't get it. But he thinks he might not need to.

He has time to figure it out anyway.

He thinks he might have forever, by the way Eddie's kissing him so delicately but yet hungry like he wants to devour him.

Buck is alright with that.

#tumblr prompt #richard siken is a buddie warrior !! argue with the wall #renbuckleydiaz #april gets mail 💌 #april answers #april writes #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck x eddie #buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #911fic #my writing

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Promptober: Day Twenty Seven

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 850 words.

Steve can’t lie, it’s not what he expected for halloween that year. But he’d driven you and Robin to the store, watched as the two of you ran around the aisles with a cart, shoving sweets and snacks into it, grins on your faces that he couldn’t help but smile back at.

Nancy was in her basement, hanging up whatever Christmas lights she found in the attic, instructing Jonathan as he dragged a mattress or two down the stairs, cushions and blankets making a comfy pile amongst it all. The floor turned into one big bed in front of the old television set and when Eddie arrived with his VCR, he struggled with the wires until he managed to make it work, smiling triumphant. He even remembered to bring the stash of horror videos that Steve had left in his responsibility. 

So when Steve arrived at the Wheelers with you and Robin in tow, everything was set up. You were vibrating, ready for the kids to arrive. They had no idea, faces forlorn as Eddie and Steve had to lie about why they couldn’t take them to the arcade. But you’d insisted that they needed this, that they deserved this. God, you all did.

Max’s casts had finally been removed a week before and she’d become more comfortable using her glasses after Steve started wearing his, a silent act of solidarity that had made you cry after the first time you’d seen it.

Steve had sat next to Max during lunch one Saturday, gold rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. No one said anything, no one was supposed to. ‘Cause it was Max and that’s how she worked. So once the boy’s started yelling about Eddie’s new campaign and Jonathan helped Nancy clear the table, the redhead slipped her glasses out of her pocket, tried to seem unbothered as she pushed them over her eyes.

You’d cried a little on the way home, pushing fondly at Steve’s chest as he hugged you through laughter. 

El and Will had settled back into Hawkins, the town seeming like home again, like it was safe again. Will met Eddie, the younger boy marvelling over his storytelling skills, Eddie promising to help him write his own campaigns again. 

It’s why you got the expensive candy, why you convinced Steve (easily) that ordering ten pizzas wasn’t overkill. Neither were the tubs of ice cream. Or the popcorn. 

It was worth it when the kids arrived, all under the guise that Eddie needed to talk to them about the next campaign schedule. Their faces lit up as they piled into the basement, the lights making everything glow, the television screen already set up with The Gremlins title screen. 

Erica let out an excited gasp, showing off her age as the youngest, something that a lot of you sometimes forgot. Lucas high fived Steve as Mike gave out some hugs, a surprising display of affection from the boy. You watched them all fall onto the beds, laughter pushed into pillows as they toed off their sneakers and argued over blankets, Dustin grinning wide at you and Steve, as if he knew whose idea it had been.

Steve was gazing at you over their heads, grinning at the sound of genuine joy coming from his friends. He was all fond as he looked at you, brown eyes soft, a look that made you want to push yourself into his arms. And when the pizza arrived and disappeared into greedy hands, the sound of the movie and the soft crunch of popcorn filling the room, Steve opened his arms for you as you came back from the kitchen. You were already wearing his sweater but falling into the boy’s lap was so much better. 

Everyone was too wrapped up in the movie to care about the PDA, something you usually tried to keep to a respectable level around the others. But the lights were low, the little coloured bulbs casting pretty shadows across the room, across you and Steve. It made you curl into him, smiling so hard your cheeks ached, ‘cause his arms were strong around you and all your friends were happy and safe together. You hummed when Steve pulled you back against him, your back to his chest and his hands sought out the skin under his sweater, palms wide and warm over your tummy. 

It’s how you all fell asleep, the static of the television buzzing softly, all of you spread out across the room, forgotten M&M’s between cushions. The kids piled together, legs over legs, cheeks pressed to shoulders. You were growing heavy against Steve as he laughed and whispered with Eddie, and when he felt your head drop a little, your face pushed to his neck, he smiled and kissed your cheek.

You hummed in response, both of you ignoring Eddie’s little ‘aww’, as you held onto Steve a little tighter, your cold feet pushed under his thighs for warmth.

“Have a good night, babe?” he asked you softly.

He grinned when you nodded, nose bumping against his throat.

“S’perfect.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #upsidedownwithsteve's promptober

[chicgeekgirl89]

Rating: T Words: 6,934 Summary: In the hours after their wedding Carlos struggles to balance his joy with his grief. A/N: Please accept this in lieu of Seven Sentence Sunday! Thanks for the tags @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @kiwichaeng, @carlos-in-glasses, and @strandnreyes! Read on AO3

The reception has been in full swing for three hours.

Carlos smiles softly as he watches Ana swing his nephew around on the dance floor to Kanye West’s “Gold Digger;” a song that he’d definitely put on the no-play list and apparently T.K. had taken right back off again. 

In the end, the hours they spent agonizing over the playlist for the DJ, the color of the napkins, and the font for the invitations don’t even matter. They’re not what he’ll remember from tonight.

When he thinks of this night for the rest of his life he’ll remember the tears in T.K.’s eyes as he said his vows, the way it felt to hold him during their first dance, and the joy on their friends’ faces as they smeared cake all over each other. He’ll feel the ache in his heart over the way his mother’s eyes had gone glassy while she pinned on his boutonniere, the way Luisa had clung just a little tighter than normal to her husband’s hand, the way he kept looking for his father in the crowd only to remember that he’ll never see him again.

The joy and the grief are twined together in his soul in a way that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to separate. And he can only hope that one day they bloom into something that feels like peace.

The day hasn’t been perfect; he’s not sure anything is ever going to feel perfect again. But it has been good. Their family, their friends, their love, it’s all so, incredibly good.

What’s not good is that he hasn’t laid eyes on his husband in nearly thirty minutes. Having T.K. by his side is the only thing that has made today bearable, and now that he’s not here Carlos feels adrift and exhausted.

His eyes search the crowd, taking in Nancy and Mateo who are slow dancing and both more than a little tipsy, his mom talking with one of the caterers about what to do with the leftover cake, Owen chatting with his brother and their family. But T.K.’s sweet face still eludes him. 

He’s about to get up and go conduct a physical search of the premises, but then a hand, its weight familiar even if the gold band on the third finger is still slightly foreign, squeezes his shoulder and T.K. drops into the seat next to him, a plate in his hands. 

His jacket and tie are gone, the top few buttons of his shirt open so that Carlos can see his medallion gleaming in the soft lights that illuminate the dance floor. His hair is a wreck, sweaty and all over the place, and there’s this glow about him, like the joy of the day has lit up his body from the inside out. 

He’s never looked more beautiful. 

“How many pieces of cake have you had?” Carlos asks, a fond smile on his lips.

“Three? Four? No idea babe,” T.K. says spearing another forkful. “It’s our wedding day, the calories don’t count. Want a bite?”

He extends his hand, but Carlos shakes his head. “I’m good thanks.”

Instead of eating it T.K. sets the plate and fork on the table then leans forward and puts a hand on Carlos’ knee, studying his face. “You’re tired,” he says softly.

“I’m okay,” Carlos assures him. “I’m—I’m so happy T.K.”

“I know you are. But you’ve barely slept this week,” T.K. says. “It’s okay to be happy and want today to be over.”

Leave it to T.K. to put what he’s feeling into words. He doesn’t want this day to end; he wants to stay here and dance and laugh and feel the sparkling joy of forever with those he loves. But he also wants to curl up in bed with T.K., wrapped in the quiet softness of his arms, and be alone together. 

Sometimes his husband knows him better than he knows himself. 

He must stay quiet for too long, because T.K. squeezes his knee. “Let’s leave.”

“We can’t leave,” Carlos tells him, checking his watch. “We still have another hour of the reception.”

“Is there a rule that says we have to stay for the whole thing?”

“Well we paid for the whole thing, so we probably should.” He looks out at the crowd again. Paul and Marjan are yucking it up on the dance floor while Asha laughs, Judd and Grace cheering them on. His mom is bringing drinks to his sisters who are watching the kids play with a bunch of glow sticks the staff just provided. It’s beautiful and bright and there’s no way they can leave it behind.

“It’s our wedding,” T.K. says. “We can do whatever we want.”

Carlos hesitates. It’s so tempting. It’s what he really wants. But T.K. is here, eating cake, and clearly having the time of his life. He can’t pull his new husband away just because he’s tired. “I’m really okay,” he says again. “Go back out there and dance.”

T.K. stands, but he doesn’t head back toward their family and friends. Instead he holds out a hand. “Come on.”

Carlos takes it and T.K. pulls him to his feet and then toward the building, away from where the party is. “T.K. where are we going?” he asks.

“We’re leaving,” T.K. says. “And before you say anything,” he continues, cutting off Carlos’ protest, “this is what I want. This day has been…it has been everything I dreamed it would be and more Carlos. But our marriage isn’t about today, it’s about the rest of our lives. And taking care of you is the most important thing I’ll ever do. So we’re leaving. Okay?”

He gives Carlos’ hand a squeeze and tugs him along down the hallway toward the rooms where they’d gotten ready this morning. It takes only minutes for Carlos to pack up his things. Everything is neat and tidy, just the way he left it. T.K.’s room on the other hand is a bit of a wreck and Carlos would tease him about it if he wasn’t so ready to get out of here. 

Instead he helps T.K. hunt for a missing sneaker, fetches his toiletry kit from the bathroom, and waits patiently as T.K. stuffs the clothes he came in into a duffel bag. 

He’s zipping it closed when the door opens and Ana walks in. She immediately yelps and claps a hand over her eyes, then drops it just as suddenly. “Sorry, sorry! I saw you two and assumed I was walking in on reception sex, but you’re both fully clothed so, obviously not. Or you were about to have reception sex and I interrupted. In which case sorry again.” 

“Ana what are you doing down here?” Carlos asks.

“The kids and I are playing hide and seek. So far I’m winning,” she says. “Why are you fully clothed? And packing a duffel bag? Are you about to make an Irish exit from your own wedding?”

Carlos looks at T.K. then back at his sister. “Yes,” he says.

Her eyes go soft with understanding. “Good. I’ll cover for you with Mom, okay?”

He opens his arms and she walks into them. She’s his big sister, but he’s been taller than her for years and he easily envelopes her in a hug. “Love you,” he mumbles into her hair.

“Love you too Carlitos,” she says, her voice a little rough, like she’s holding back tears. “And you T.K.,” she says when they pull apart, going in to hug him too. “Now go. Get out of here. Go start your life together.”

The Camaro is still where he parked it twelve hours ago and just remembering how long the day has been has Carlos sagging a little with fatigue. “I’ll drive,” T.K. offers, and Carlos hands over the keys without resistance.

They’re married now, the Camaro is half his anyway.

Funny how he thinks of everything they own as half T.K.’s except for his heart. That’s belonged to him fully since day one.

“Are you hungry?” T.K. asks as he starts the car. “We can stop and pick something up.”

“Not really,” Carlos says. “We can always order room service at the hotel when we get there.”

Owen booked them a room at some swanky place in downtown Austin where they’re staying for a couple nights before they leave for their honeymoon. They have the honeymoon suite which boasts a jacuzzi, a balcony, a king size bed, access to the hotel’s spa, and a butler. It’s incredibly generous of his father-in-law, and if it were any other time, Carlos would be looking forward to all the things they’re about to do in that hotel room. But tonight? He’s just so. damn. tired.

He must fall asleep on the drive because the next thing he knows T.K. is squeezing his bicep gently and he’s blinking gritty eyes open. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the emotions of the day, but he doesn’t recognize where they are until he stumbles blearily out of the car. He turns and looks at T.K. in confusion over the Camaro’s hood.

“My dad called the hotel and asked them to push the reservation to tomorrow,” T.K. says. “After he explained, they were more than willing to accommodate us. I thought tonight—“ He looks up at the brick building in front of them, “—it felt like you might just want to be home.”

This is what finally breaks him.

It’s as if the center of his chest rips open and he caves inward, wrapping his arms around his ribs to try and hold himself together. How is it possible to feel so elated and so anguished at the same time?

T.K. is there, his hands coming up to cradle Carlos’ face. “It’s okay baby,” he says. “You’re okay.”

“Thank you,” Carlos manages, his voice cracking over the words. “T.K. I—“

“Shh,” T.K. soothes. He presses a kiss to Carlos’ forehead. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Carlos leans heavily against T.K. in the elevator. They’re halfway up before he realizes they didn’t bring in their bags and says as much to T.K. “We’ll get them tomorrow,” T.K. tells him gently. “There’s nothing in there that can’t wait until morning.”

Carlos clings to him like a child, tears still streaming freely as T.K. rubs his arm and murmurs sweet things into is curls while they wait for the elevator to reach their floor.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” T.K. suggests once they’re inside the loft. “I’ll make us some tea.”

It’s ridiculous, but the thought of being separated from T.K. for even as long as cleaning himself up feels impossible to bear. “Come with me?” Carlos asks. “Please?”

“Yeah, baby. Of course.” T.K. brings Carlos’ knuckles to his lips for a kiss and then guides him toward the bathroom.

Carlos doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until he starts trying to undo the buttons on his shirt. He only manages a few before T.K. takes over, strong, capable, and steady. When he finishes Carlos slides it off, letting it drop to the floor without caring that it’s not anywhere close to their laundry basket. His undershirt, pants, boxer briefs, and socks join it as T.K. turns on the spray of the shower. 

Carlos steps in, the water hitting him in the face, not fully warm yet. He closes his eyes and lets it pour down, holding his breath until his lungs feel like they might burst. He only releases it when he feels T.K. step in behind him, his husband’s hand finding the small of his back. Carlos leans into him as T.K. presses a soft kiss into the skin of his shoulder before reaching around Carlos for the shampoo. 

“I can do it,” Carlos tells him. 

“It’s okay,” T.K. says softly. “I got it.”

T.K.’s hands work through his curls first, soft and gentle, and then down the rest of his body. The water washes away the sweat and the tears, but not the ache that now lives permanently between Carlos’ ribs. It hurts more with every breath and he struggles to try and push past it. He doesn’t want to feel this. Not tonight. 

“Go dry off,” T.K. says when all the suds have been rinsed away. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Carlos towels off, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before sinking down on the edge of their bed. He should do something. It’s their wedding night. He should pour sparkling cider or sprinkle rose petals or find the leftover chocolate covered strawberries his sisters brought to their family dinner that are somewhere in the back of the fridge. But he can’t make himself move. All he can do is sit and try to remind himself how to breathe. In, out. In, out. In…

T.K. steps out of the bathroom in a clean pair of boxer briefs, the scent of their shower swirling around him. He’s gathered up their soiled clothes from the bathroom floor and Carlos watches as he sorts them out according to their laundry system. It’s this small act of love that causes tears to well and begin falling silently all over again. He’s married someone so good, so tender hearted. A man who takes the time to care for the pieces that Carlos can’t right now. 

“I love you,” Carlos says, the words somewhere between a croak and whisper. He wishes for all the world that there were better words. Love is not strong enough for the feeling that lives inside him because T.K. Strand is his. 

T.K. closes up the hamper and comes to him, his hands cupping Carlos’ face and wiping the tears away. “I love you too.” He looks into Carlos’ eyes, searching for something, though Carlos doesn’t know what. “Do you want tea?”

Carlos shakes his head and tilts his chin up. T.K. understands his wordless request and meets him, their lips coming together in a brief kiss. “Let’s go to bed,” T.K. says softly, brushing his thumb over Carlos’ cheek one more time before leaving him to slide beneath the covers on his own side of the bed.

Carlos joins him in the middle of the mattress, hands reaching to pull T.K.’s body into his. He’s desperate to close his eyes and succumb to the oblivion of sleep, but his husband deserves something more. Something better.

He kisses T.K. once, then again, trying to say without words what he’s feeling, like maybe if T.K. can feel it too he’ll be able to help Carlos make some sense of the tangled emotions knotting themselves around his heart. 

T.K. kisses him back, his hand coming up to rest on Carlos’ side, unusually still, just his thumb moving back and forth in a soothing motion. Carlos takes a breath and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss, the warmth of T.K.’s mouth a familiar comfort against his own. 

He finds the waistband of T.K.’s briefs and begins to slide them down his hip, but T.K. covers Carlos’ hand with his own breaking their kiss. “Baby no, not tonight,” he says quietly.

Carlos feels like he’s grasping at straws. There’s a script for how a wedding day is supposed to go, and T.K. has been nothing but gracious as they’ve improvised the whole thing instead. But there are expectations about how the night is supposed to end and Carlos can’t stand the thought of T.K. being disappointed if it doesn’t. “But it’s our wedding night. It should be special. You deserve to feel special.”

His voice breaks as he says it, the words coming out almost like a whimper.

“Oh Carlos. You are in the midst of unspeakable grief and you chose me anyway. That is,” T.K. swallows hard, his eyes growing bright with tears, “that is more than I could ever have asked for. I don’t need your body to make me feel special tonight.”

Carlos inhales a shaky, uncertain breath. “Are you sure?”

“You’re exhausted and grieving. This isn’t the moment. It will be. But not tonight. Tonight we both need to rest.” He gives Carlos a watery smile. “I’m not exactly in the right headspace either.”

Carlos’ heart squeezes in his chest. He’s spent the last few hours so overwhelmed with his own pain that he hasn’t thought of T.K.’s. “Your mom?” he asks.

T.K. nods, his mouth twisting a little, like he’s trying not to cry. “I miss her.”

“I miss her too,” Carlos tells him. “I wish she could see you. She’d be so proud.”

“I thinks she can,” T.K. says. “I hope she knows that I chose right. That you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I hope she knows how incredibly happy you make me.”

Carlos absorbs his words and feels them touch on a something he’s been feeling for the last week but hasn’t quite had the words for. “I’m sorry,” he says.

T.K. furrows his brow and brushes a hand through Carlos’ damp curls. “For what?”

“When your mom died, I thought…I thought I understood. I thought I knew how deep your pain was and that I could be a part of fixing it for you. I didn’t know,” he swallows down a sob that gets stuck in his chest where it aches and aches, “I didn’t know that it’s unfixable. I didn’t know how deeply losing someone breaks you. I wasn’t enough for you then. I didn’t do the right things or say the right things and I—“

“Carlos, Carlos stop,” T.K. soothes. “You were enough. You were everything I needed, even though you couldn’t understand.” He bites his lip, his soft gaze full of compassion and sorrow. “And I’m sorry that you do now.”

“It’s too much,” he says, his voice cracking. “I don’t know—god everything hurts. I don’t know how I can hurt so badly and feel so much love for you at the same time.”

“It’s okay,” T.K. tells him. “Don’t try to figure it out. It will ease.”

“It doesn’t feel like it will,” Carlos tells him, giving voice to the fear that’s eating inside him. He doesn’t want to be like this forever and he’s terrified that he’s just forced T.K. into marriage with a grief stricken monster.

“It will,” T.K. says. “You can trust me, it will.” He kisses Carlos’ knuckles. “Turn over. Let me rub your back.”

He’s too tired and sad to protest, so he does as his husband asks. T.K. moves his fingers slowly up and down Carlos’ spine. Carlos turns his head so he can see him, focusing on the feel of T.K.’s fingers against his skin and his eyes immediately begin to slide shut. “I love you,” T.K. tells him again and again and again, the only weapon he has to wield against Carlos’ exhausted grief. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Carlos says, his words slurring with sleep. “I love you.”

When Carlos wakes in the morning he feels rested for the first time in days. His head aches, his eyes feel gritty, and his face is stinging and raw from the salt of last night’s tears, but he doesn’t have that spinning, dizziness that comes with lack of sleep or the immediate feeling his gut that something is wrong. He remembers within seconds, he always does, that his father is gone. But it’s immediately followed by a second, much more welcome thought; he has a husband.

He shifts a little and reaches out blindly, his hand landing on T.K.’s thigh. When he manages to blink his eyes open he finds T.K. sitting up against the headboard, smiling fondly down at him. “Good morning husband,” he says softly, brushing his fingers through Carlos’ curls.

“Good morning,” Carlos says, smiling back. He rolls onto his back and captures T.K.’s hand, staring at the gold band encircling his finger. “You’re happy?” he asks, looking up to meet T.K.’s eyes.

“So happy,” T.K. assures him. “So, blissfully happy.”

“Me too,” Carlos says. He shifts a little, brow furrowing when he sees what’s in T.K.’s lap. “Are you reading my book?”

“I am,” T.K. says. 

Carlos furrows his brow. “You don’t read. And you definitely don’t read my smutty romance novels.”

“That’s true. But you’ve been asleep for a long time and I needed a way to entertain myself because you seemed very reluctant to let me go last night. I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

It’s crazy how T.K.’s words can light him up from the inside out. The level of care T.K. lavishes on him is unparalleled. “Thank you,” Carlos says softly. “What time is it?”

T.K. glances at the clock. “A little after eleven.”

“Eleven!” Carlos startles. “I slept for twelve hours?!”

“It’s good babe. You’ve barely gotten any sleep this week. You needed the rest.”

Carlos is still shocked. “How long have you been awake?”

“Since like eight.”

“You sat here with me for three hours?”

“I did get up and go to the bathroom,” T.K. admits. “But I was very quick. I wanted to get back and find out why Alex hates Henry so much.”

Carlos snorts. “He doesn’t hate him.”

“Oh I got that,” T.K. says. “The blatant horniness practically leaps off the page.”

“Don’t make fun of my book.”

“I’m not! I’m not!” T.K. chuckles. “It’s sweet the way they want each other.”

“That’s why I picked it,” Carlos says. “It felt like it might be fun to read before our wedding. Two young men falling desperately in love.”

“Just like us,” T.K. says, locking their fingers together. “I am desperately, desperately in love with you Carlos Reyes. Always have been. Always will be.”

“Soulmates,” Carlos says softly.

T.K. nods. “Soulmates.”

He pushes himself up so they can kiss, long and sweet. When he pulls back he grimaces. “Sorry. Morning breath. I didn’t brush my teeth last night.”

“Yeah I knew you were out of it because you skipped that and the seven step skincare routine,” T.K. teases lightly.

“Is this what marriage is going to be? You making fun of my books and my self care routine?”

“Absolutely,” T.K. says immediately. “It was a footnote in my vows. I vow to take care and nurture you heart for the rest of my life and also mock you mercilessly as is my right as your husband.”

“Damn,” Carlos snaps his fingers. “I knew I should have read the fine print.”

“Too late. You’re stuck with me,” T.K. says. 

“Stuck with someone who puts off our hotel reservation and stays with me in bed all morning. Not a bad way to be stuck,” Carlos says, partly to T.K. and partly to himself.

“How do you feel this morning?” T.K. asks.

Carlos considers this. “Better,” he says. “Lighter.”

“We don’t have to go to the hotel,” T.K. tells him. “We don’t even have to go on our honeymoon if you’re not feeling up to it. We can cancel the whole thing and just stay here.”

It feels overwhelming to try and make that decision. He feels okay now, in control of the grief instead of letting it consume him the way it had last night. But his hold on it feels tentative and he’s not sure what tomorrow or even the next few hours will bring.

T.K. seems to sense this. “One thing at a time,” he says. “Do you want to go to the hotel?”

“Yes.” Carlos is a little surprised by how quickly the answer comes, but the thought of spending time with T.K. in such an incredible space feels safe enough. They’ll be close to home, they can always come back if he falls apart. “Yes I want to.”

T.K. beams at him. “Me too. Let’s go.”

Their bags are still packed and in the car, they hadn’t planned on coming back home after the wedding at all, so they’re ready to go in a matter of hours.

Carlos drives this time, T.K.’s hand tucked into his most of the way. He keeps rubbing his fingers over the cool metal of T.K.’s wedding band. In so many ways it feels like they’ve been married since the day T.K. came home to the loft, but having this tangible, visible reminder of their love feels so incredibly special.

They pull up to the valet and Carlos brings T.K.’s hand up to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “All right, save it for the jacuzzi,” T.K. teases, making him smile. 

The joy he’d felt yesterday during the ceremony and the beginning of the reception feels like it’s rekindling in his chest. He’s married. For real this time. To a man who holds his heart and his body with care and love. It’s more than he ever could have dreamed of.

They check in and are immediately swept into five diamond luxury. Their bags are whisked away and they’re given fresh, fruit flavored water before being ushered upstairs by their personal butler Victor. It feels slightly ridiculous, they’re a paramedic and a police officer, not the Kardashians, and he catches T.K.’s eye more than once in the elevator, his husband looking like he’s about to burst into laughter at the poshness of it all. This absolutely feels like something Owen Strand would enjoy and is far too rich for the two of them.

“Mr. and Mr. Strand-Reyes,” Victor says as they reach the penthouse floor and Carlos bites back a laugh because of course Owen made sure the reservation went his way on the hyphenation, “welcome to your suite.”

The door slides open and they walk into a room so big the loft could fit in it three times over. There are floor to ceiling windows that highlight the downtown world of Austin, along with a king size bed covered in rose petals, a freaking chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a bottle of sparkling cider on ice, and a tray of handcrafted pastry treats. They can’t see the bathroom from where they’re standing, but Carlos has a feeling it’s equally as grand as the rest of the room.

Victor explains the call button to them and gives them a tour of the space (the bathroom is indeed huge and Carlos feels T.K. squeeze his hand when Vincenzo shows them how to work the jacuzzi), while a second hotel employee delivers their bags and begins to unpack for them.

It’s everything last night should have been and Carlos resolves to make up for ending their wedding night in tears. Tonight? Tonight things are going to be perfect.

“Well, your dad really outdid himself,” Carlos says when Victor takes his leave. “If Owen Strand was a hotel room, this is what he’d be.”

“My dad does enjoy going overboard,” T.K. says, hopping up onto the bed and bouncing a little. “How much do you think it’s going to cost if we break that chair over there?”

“More money than we’ll ever make in our lifetime,” Carlos says.

“That’s what I thought.” T.K. flops all the way down onto the comforter, rose petals fluttering around him. “Oh my god this bed is amazing. Babe, come here.”

He wiggles a hand and Carlos huffs a fond chuckle as he walks over to join him. They lie flat on their backs staring up at the crystals of the chandelier, sparkling with tiny rainbows as they catch the light of the late afternoon Austin sunlight. “We’re married,” T.K. says softly. He turns his head and looks at Carlos. “You kissed me in a honky tonk bathroom and then you married me.”

That night seems like a million years ago and yet Carlos can still feel every second of it in his bones. The instant he’d looked into those green eyes he should have known this was where they’d end up. It was inevitable. “This is a little nicer than that bathroom,” he says, his eyes dropping to T.K.’s lips. 

“It is,” T.K. agrees, leaning closer, that half lidded, wanting look on his face.

The kiss is soft, the perfume of the rose petals filling the air as they’re crushed beneath their bodies. Carlos doesn’t wait long before rolling so that he’s hovering over T.K. There’s an urgency thrumming through his veins, but he refuses to give into it. He doesn’t want to rush this moment. He wants it to be like that first night, so bright and sharp that it writes itself on his very soul so he can relive it over and over again in the years to come. 

“Let’s get this off,” Carlos murmurs, sitting back so that T.K. can push himself upward. They work together to remove his shirt and then he lays back down again while Carlos makes quick work of his sneakers and then undoes the button on his pants, slowly sliding them down his legs.

T.K. puts his hands behind his head, his eyes following Carlos’ every move. “Yours too,” he says when Carlos goes to rejoin him, still fully clothed.

Carlos shakes his head. “Let me take care of you first.”

But T.K. sits up again, his hands coming to rest on Carlos’ hips. “If you’re taking care of me, then you should give me what I want,” he says, tilting his head to the side and looking up at Carlos from underneath his lashes. When Carlos doesn’t move T.K. lifts the hem of his shirt with one hand and presses a kiss into the softness below his navel, causing the muscles in Carlos’ stomach to clench with want. He drops one hand into T.K.’s hair, tightening it when T.K.’s teeth scrape gently across his skin. “Okay,” he breathes. “You win.”

T.K. smirks up at him. “I usually do.”

Bastard. He always does. 

Carlos pulls off his shirt and throws it somewhere to be found later and then lets his pants join it. “Better,” T.K. says as he reclines once more, his eyes going dark as he drinks in the miles of bare skin Carlos has exposed. 

Carlos presses his knees into the mattress, straddling T.K.’s hips. He gazes down, memorizing the sight of him with a halo of rose petals scattered around his head. T.K.’s lips are already pink from their kisses, his cheeks flushed with desire even though they’ve barely started. He’s so achingly gorgeous that it takes Carlos’ breath away. 

T.K. reaches up to cradle his face. “You’re my husband,” he says. “We take care of each other.”

Husband. Carlos lowers his head and kisses T.K. once, then again. He breathes the word into his mouth, marks it into his skin with his teeth, paints it with his tongue into the lines of his stomach and hips until not a single part of him is unclaimed. Nothing about them has changed physically, but those two syllables make everything feel different. His mind knows and he ensures T.K.’s body does too. 

It’s soft and slow, the minutes melting into hours as they take their time finding their way through this new level of intimacy.

In between, when they’re catching their breath, they drink the sparkling cider and feed each other pastries in a tangle of bedsheets before falling back into each other’s arms again. By the time the sky turns pink with dusk Carlos feels boneless with pleasure. He never wants to leave this bed. He never wants to be separated from T.K. again. 

“I’m hungry,” T.K. says from where his head is pillowed on Carlos’ chest. He’s stroking his fingers slowly up and down in the space between Carlos’ hip and his ribs. “Let’s order room service.”

Carlos’ stomach rumbles in agreement, putting an end to his plans to stay in this bed forever. “Good idea,” he says, pressing a kiss to T.K.’s hair. “Go ahead and grab the menu.”

T.K. props himself up so he can look at Carlos. “Oh I have to be the one to leave the bed?”

“Well you’re on top right now,” Carlos reminds him. “And you did say you wanted to take care of me.”

“I believe I said we take care of each other,” T.K. reminds him, poking a finger into his stomach. 

“Well if you get up I promise I will take care of you any way you want when you get back,” Carlos says with a grin.

T.K. huffs but rolls off the bed, walking across the room without bothering to put any clothes on. Carlos sits up against the pillows, watching as his husband walks across the room and grabs the menu off the table. He smirks when he turns around and catches Carlos staring. “Like what you see?”

“Always,” Carlos says.

T.K. plops back onto the bed, turning the menu over and reading through it. “How do we feel about duck confit tacos? Or strawberry goat cheese crostini?” He looks up at Carlos. “Let’s get both. It is on my dad after all.”

“Whatever you want,” Carlos says and means it. God he would do anything for this man, his heart is so full he feels like he could burst.

T.K. orders half the menu in the end and insists on a glass of wine for Carlos even though he says he doesn’t need it. “We’re celebrating,” T.K. says firmly. “You should drink the fancy wine.”

“Okay,” Carlos agrees. “If it will make you happy I will drink the wine.”

“Good,” T.K. says. He sits back and looks at Carlos. “How are you feeling?”

Carlos’ heart twinges and he tries to push it away. He doesn’t want anything to poke at their little bubble of happiness. “I’m fine,” he says, smiling and settling back beneath the sheets. “I’m happy T.K. Really. I’m not…last night won’t happen again.”

“It would be okay,” T.K. says softly, “if it did.”

Carlos swallows hard. “I don’t want to feel like that anymore.”

“I know,” T.K. says, his face compassionate. He squeezes Carlos’ knee through the sheets. “I wish I could tell you that you won’t. That the worst of it is over.”

“I know you can’t,” Carlos says. “I know it’s…I know it’s going to take time.”

T.K. nods and then leans over and reaches into his suitcase. “I got you something.”

Carlos holds out his hand and T.K. drops a silver chain into it. It coils in his palm and Carlos looks up at him questioningly. “When I’m on shift,” T.K. says, “I’m going to wear my ring on the chain with my medallion. I thought you might want a way to keep our ring and your dad’s ring close too.”

Carlos looks down to where both rings rest on his fingers, one of them a blessing, the other a reminder of his loss. Tears clog his throat at the thoughtfulness of his husband. “Thank you,” he says. “God, I love you so much, you know that?”

Instead of answering T.K. leans forward and kisses him. “I know,” he murmurs against Carlos’ lips. “Always and forever I know.”

The warmth and weight of their bodies pressing together makes Carlos thrum with want all over again and he pulls back reluctantly. “We should wait,” he says. “Victor will be here soon and we don’t want to give him a show.”

“Are you sure?” T.K. asks, ever the bad influence in their relationship.

“Later,” Carlos says, giving him another firm peck on the lips to finish it. 

“Fine,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes as he slides off the bed. “I have to go to the bathroom. Don’t do anything fun without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Carlos says as he disappears behind the bathroom door.

His phone chirps and he picks it up, his heart immediately squeezing with a lightning flash of pain. It’s a reminder about their flights tomorrow. They’re supposed to be on a two fifteen flight to Mexico. And they still haven’t decided if they’re going.

A second reminder pings onto the screen about their hotel reservation. He taps it and watches as it opens up to the hotel’s home page. His eyes drink in the sight of blue water, white sand, gorgeous pools, and stunning sunsets. It’s beautiful. The stuff honeymoon dreams are made of. 

He hears the toilet flush and the water run in the sink before T.K. reappears, now dressed in a massively fluffy white robe with the hotel’s logo embroidered over his heart. “I’m never taking this off,” T.K. says, holding out his arms so Carlos can get the full effect. “This is the softest thing I’ve ever put on. I feel like a WASPy woman from New England.”

He catches sight of Carlos’ face and cocks his head. “You okay?”

“Will you be disappointed if we don’t go to Mexico?”

“No,” he says immediately. “We can do it another time. Or never. It doesn’t matter to me. All that I care about is you feeling safe. If that means staying home then that’s what we’ll do.”

“T.K. the entire last week has been about me and what I need,” Carlos says softly. “What do you need? What do you want?”

“I want to do what’s best for you.”

“T.K.”

T.K. shakes his head and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Sorry babe. It’s all about you this time.” He flashes a smile. “Don’t worry, it will be all about me again someday.”

Carlos snorts. “I’m sure it will.”

“But for now you have to make the call. And if you can’t, then I’ll just tell you, we’re not going. I’m not taking you out of the country when you’re uncertain about it. If you barely made it through a vacation with your family out of state, we’re definitely not going somewhere that requires a passport to get back.”

Carlos’ heart tears a little bit. Hearing T.K. talk about them not going hurts. They’ve both used up so much vacation time, there’s no chance they’ll be able to go again in the next calendar year. “I think we should go,” he says, testing the words out to see how they feel.

T.K. looks at him intently. “Are you sure?”

Carlos glances down at the pictures again. “So much about the last few months has been us trying to scramble and fix things. We had to rush to plan the wedding and then we barely made it to the altar at all. This is one thing we can do that fits the script of getting married. I think it might feel good to do something normal. We need a break. We need time and space. I think,” he swallows, “I think that’s what my dad would want for us.”

“I think so too,” T.K. says.

It feels right. “Then we’re going.”

T.K.’s face breaks into that sunshine filled, elated grin that took Carlos’ breath away on that honky tonk dance floor three years ago. “Baby! We’re going to Mexico!”

He launches himself at Carlos, tackling him into the mattress and kissing whatever part of him is closest to his mouth. Carlos laughs and pushes him off. “Stop! Victor’s going to be here any minute.” He looks around and winces. “Maybe we should clean up a little.”

The room looks like they’ve been having a sex marathon. Their clothes are everywhere, the sheets and duvet are practically on the floor, and somehow they’ve knocked over the fake potted plant in the corner. 

T.K. rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure Victor knows what people get up to in here. It’s fine.”

Carlos starts to get up. “I’m just going to move—“

T.K. grabs his hand and forces him to stay. “Do not get out of this bed. We only have so many hours left and we are not wasting time cleaning up.”

Carlos gives him a look. “Fine then. What do you want to do while we wait that doesn’t involve sex or cleaning?”

T.K. flops onto his side of the bed. “Read me some more of your smutty book.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes seriously. I want to know what happens on New Year’s Eve.”

Carlos laughs as he reaches down beside the bed and retrieves the book from his bag. “I’ll make a romance reader out of you yet,” he says as T.K. snuggles into his side.

“One book,” T.K. says. “I’m not committing to liking an entire genre. Don’t invite me to your book club.”

“That’s how it starts. One book and then another and then another…”

“Not happening babe.”

Carlos smiles fondly. “Good thing I have the rest of our lives to try and convince you.”

#Crowd Me With Love #Tarlos #Post Wedding Fic #Husband Era #Tarlos Husbands #Tarlos Wedding #911 Lone Star #911lsfic #911 Lone Star Fic #Tarlos Fic

[peach-colored-petals]

‼️NSFW MINORS DNI‼️

Pairings: Hanma Shuji x Afab reader!

CW: pet names such as, baby, angel girl, sweetheart, Hanma calls himself Daddy, finger fucking (reader receiving), finger sucking (Hanma receiving) slight fluff at the beginning!

Unedited, wrote this whole thing in one go💀

AN: head empty no thoughts, only Shuji's pretty fingers and hands. That's it, that's the post <3

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Just thinking about Hanma's pretty fingers:((

Hanma didn't really think much about his hands, or fingers at that. But once you accidentally voiced out how much you loved them, something inside of him clicked.

When you both are lounging around on the couch or bed he sneaks his hand up your shirt. The rough pads of his fingers gently skimming across your soft skin, not rough but just enough where you can feel all of his touches. 'Sin' resting against your hip, squeezing the soft flesh and 'Punishment' dancing across your skin.

He'll never voice it out, but pretty please play with his hands:( He watches you with a fond and soft look as your small hands mess around with his larger ones. It's moments like these where he can relax the most, his mind at peace knowing you're crazy about him just as he's crazy about you♡

When you guys are in public he's always holding your hand, gently squeezing it here and there just cause he loves the feeling of you. If he catches some guys staring at you, he'll stare right back at them, 'Sin' suddenly at your throat, making you look up at him and 'Punishment' finding comfort locked in your hair while pressing a rough and needy kiss to your lips. All while keeping eye contact with the bastards who couldn't take their eyes off of you.

Cheeky shit does this cause he knows it turns you on to an ungodly extent. He'll pull away, gently cupping your cheek with his 'Sin', a shit eating smile on that handsome face you love so much while the rough pad of his thumb gently caresses your bottom lip

"What's with the look angel girl? Just wanted to show those fuckers who you belong to ♡"

Somewhere tucked away in your wallet you have a Polaroid of Shuji. His pretty fingers adorned in gold rings, having a grip on your neck that he oh so kindly marked up with hickies and love bites. That night was something unforgettable to the both of you

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

"Sh-Shuji please! Your fingers.. Please.. I want them.." You whined, body twitching under him and ridden with over stimulation. The way his fingers skimmed across your soaked clit, occasionally dipping into your needy hole to fuck you with his ring clad fingers.

It was a lot to process for you, brain all hazy and fucked out, everything was so fuzzy. Except the feeling of his pretty hands and fingers.

'Sin' and 'Punishment' gleaming under the soft glow of the red LED lights in your room, the slick sheen of your saliva and cum coated the black ink on his hands. Shuji smiled at the gorgeous sight under him.

"Come on pretty baby, I know you can beg better than that yeah?" Shuji smiled, a predatory glint in his honey eyes, a tinge of excitement flashing behind them as he continued to watch you writhe and try and fuck yourself on his fingers. "Where do you want my fingers baby? In that pretty mouth? Or in that pretty cunt of mine hm?"

You let out a strangled cry as it was near impossible to form a coherent thought, hips desperately grinding down on his fingers so it would hit the right spot, but it was no use. You couldn't do it on your own, you would've hated Shuji for making you wait, but the pain of being on edge made that knot in your belly tighten so fucking good.

"Both.. Shuji I want your fingers in your mouth and your cunt" You had managed to choke out with tears, pretty doe eyes looking up at the beautiful man above you, lips nearly wobbling into a pout "Daddy please.. Please fuck me with your fingers.." A breathy, broken moan slipped past your lips, head too far gone to even care at how needy you were being. All you knew was Shuji. He was the air you breathe and the blood that flows through your body. And right now you needed him, so much you had thought about falling to your knees and worshipping the ground he walked on.

"My mouth and my cunt, huh angel girl?" Shuji would repeat back to you, his thumb gently rubbing your bottom lip. Blood immediately rushing down to his painfully throbbing cock but — he paid no mind to that — especially when you were giving your all to him. His smile went soft, hearts damn near floating in his eyes as he lovingly caressed your cheek. His heart that he didn't realize he had, until he met you, swelling so much within his chest he was sure it would explode.

"That's right my sweet baby.. All mine.. Now stop your pretty whining sweetheart cause daddy's gonna give you what you want" Shuji smiled brightly as his index finger and middle finger plunged right into your mouth to suck on, three fingers also plunging right into your puckering hole and fucking you good like you had asked for. Shamelessly moaning at the feeling of your tongue lapping and sucking on his fingers as you would with his cock, his pretty little cunt sucking him in so good.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, every ounce of self control had dissolved in your body. Pussy clenching and sucking him in, enjoying the feeling of his long and pretty fingers rubbing at that special spot that made you see stars. Finding comfort at sucking away at the fingers that were lodged in your mouth — it was pure heaven —. The man, the self proclaimed Reaper, was making you feel so heavenly you were certain your heart was gonna stop due to the pure pleasure he was giving you. Hips thrusting down in time to meet with his hands, that knot growing unbelievably tighter. Your legs began to shake as choked moans made it out of your mouth, spit running down the side while you clawed at the soaked sheets beneath you.

"Shuji.. S-Shuji Daddy I'm gonna cum..! Fuck fuck fuck fuck-!!" You managed to choke out while his fingers worked both of your holes, pleasure so good you were nearly seeing white.

"That's it baby, give it to me. Give it to daddy okay? You've been such a good sweet girl, you deserve to cum all over my fingers, all over your fingers, angel baby~" Shuji pressed a loving kiss on your forehead, eventually resting his against yours. His fingers began to move in and out of your soaked and clenching pussy faster and faster. Nothing but the slick squelching sounds of his fingers in your pussy, choked moans and grunts filled the room.

With your legs shaking, your hips arched up into his hands, eyes rolling as far back as they can go, you had finally reached your high. Mind going blank as your vision began to go white with stars exploding, body coming to a still while you squirted all over his pretty hands. His name coming out of your mouth like a mantra, not even realizing you were calling out for him.

Shuji smiled as he removed his fingers, looking down at your beautiful fucked out form and licking his fingers clean of your saliva and cum. Eyes slightly rolling back as he let out a deep groan at the taste of you.

The painful throbbing of his cock had died down, not even realizing he had came in his own boxers just from pleasuring you. Looking down, he saw that large wet spot in his dark grey boxers, then grinning like a maniac with a little giggle.

"Only you can make me go this crazy, pretty baby♥︎"

#hanma x reader #tokyo revengers hanma #tokyorev #hanma shuji #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers headcanons #shuji and his pretty hands:( #please lemme hold them:( #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev x reader

[fruitcoops]

Solstice Sweetheart

Happy Secret Santa, Elise! This was such a fun prompt to tackle, and I hope you find as much joy in the New Year as these three <3 O'Darwin belong to @lumosinlove and the Cold Brewed Enchantments/ witchy coffeeshop genderbend AU is credited to the server's lovely minds!

Nat inhaled.

Bottles on the table—mostly. Repurposed jars held most of their previous contents, and those had been scattered to kingdom come since the night began. As they should be, of course. He could think of nothing worse than a mediocre solstice party. Awkwardness was born and bred in the cliquey little huddles of a party gone wrong.

Nat exhaled.

None of that, now. The house was still standing. People had fun. Out-of-control spellwork had been kept to a dull roar, even after the firewhiskey made an appearance. He could feel, deep in his soul, that it had been a good night.

Glass chimed in the other room. Kasey, if Nat had to guess. That sound had the hallmarks of her careful handling all over it. Alex was somewhere on the stairs if the heavy footsteps were any indication. If she was untangling the streamers from the banister, Nat was going to…he didn’t even know, anymore. He had spent the better part of a year since Alex’s arrival in their little town trying to figure out what the hell was going on between his girlfriend and the gorgeous new girl, with naught but a spinning head to show for it.

They knew each other. Kasey had told him that much. The dulled gray-blue of her tone said more than words could.

Soft humming floated through the empty doorframe. The gentle rasp of Alex’s voice had such a lovely color to it, like fresh maple syrup or crystalline honey. It glowed against the jewel tones of the rest of her—rich, curling clues tucked in tight next to sparking reds.

Kasey’s braid caught the light when she turned, only just visible through the kitchen doorway. Nat had loved that about their house since the first day; so few doors to still the air. Something was always in motion, always making noise. He wished Kasey could see it—the brilliance of sound, the cool shades of her voice—but she just seemed to like it so much when he described it.

And maybe that was something just for him to cherish. Their life clung to the ceiling corners like cobwebs. Words and music and laughter. A snippet of Kasey singing ‘happy birthday’ had been lingering in the dining room window since the summer.

“Winter!”

An electric blue comet zipped from the stairs to the kitchen sink.

“What?” came the mossy wave of Kasey’s answer.

“Knutty promised pastries for us tomorrow! She’s trying new recipes. Needs extra mouths.”

Alex would need more hands if she was trying to text Leo and clean at the same time. Nat gathered an armful of empty bottles off the table and dumped them into the recycling bin before turning to the staircase, where one sneaker-clad foot was barely visible through the slats in the railing.

“New recipes?” he asked.

Alex’s face popped into view. Still freckled, even in the dead of winter. Nat felt his stomach perform a funny little flip-flop over itself at her bright smile. “Oh, hey!”

Orange and gold fireworks, crackling about her head. “Thanks for cleaning that up.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Alex’s vague wave sent a curlicue of taupe his way. His mouth tanged with citrus when it reached him. “Least I can do.”

“None of the other guests stayed to help,” Nat pointed out, bending to collect a few paper crowns.

“None of the other guests are as gracious as me.” Her smile was quick and mischievous, but genuine. How often had Nat thought the same of its owner? “Get up here, Music Man. Where’s your solstice sweetheart?”

“Downstairs, with the dishes.”

Alex pulled a face that made her pointed nose wrinkle. “I told her I’d handle those.”

“Clearly it worked,” Nat teased. “Don’t feel too bad. You know how she gets around the solstice.”

A test. Just a teeny-tiny-itty-bitty maybe of a test. Alex’s fond smile was far and away the best answer. “Yeah,” she said, darting a grin toward Nat. “You’re a lucky one, Darcy. It ain’t easy being a seasonal delight.”

“I think she’s pretty great all year.”

“Good answer.”

It was times like this when Nat wondered if Alex could see what he saw. Or at least, if she understood. Dark topaz eyes ticked along the path of pensive purple.

Alex had been speaking in purple a lot, lately. He knew why. Even without his gift, he’d be a fool to miss the way she reached, hesitated, ached for Kasey now that their distance could be measured in inches instead of borders. It pulled at them both, torn edges of the past snagging on the present. He knew what it felt like to match himself to Kasey’s steady keel and let her draw him through her oceans. Alex spoke like someone who had swum those waters before, unafraid that Kasey would ever close the ice around her.

Nat…wanted that. For himself, and a laughed morning, Music Man held in golden parentheses, but more than that, for Kasey. She deserved so much. He could give so much. But if Alex had ridden out the storm and found harbor in Kasey’s heart enough to linger after all these years, Nat would be worse than a fool to let that fall away for his own sake. He could love them both.

Did.

Would.

“Nathaniel.”

“Alexandra.”

“You’re thinking at me.”

“You’re in love with my girlfriend.”

Alex’s hands never stuttered on the loops of ribbon. “Yes.”

Butter yellow. A pastel, more tender than her heavy saturation, but unyielding. “You didn’t stay here just to be a good guest.”

“No.”

Dandelion cradled in blush pink. “You’re in love with me.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t whisper. He didn’t know why he thought she would. Alex never whispered. She was far too vibrant for it to do any good. It didn’t matter if she was banging on their door to drag them out for a taste of Leo’s kitchen witchery or falling asleep on their throw pillows in her fox form—wherever Alex was, the world grew brighter.

“You should tell her,” Nat said.

“I won’t get in the way of what you have.”

“You won’t,” he agreed. It had lacked the fuzzy edges of a question, but that didn’t matter. Anything, as long as she understood.

“It’s—” The maroon undercurrent of her voice curdled mauve. Her gaze fell on him with the weight of a feather alighting on the water. “It was before you. I let her go. It’s okay.”

“Alexandra.” An old joke between them, perhaps too flirty for simple friends. Nat propped his chin on the end of the railing and made sure she was looking, really looking, before he continued. “I’m in love with my girlfriend, and I’m more in love with you every time you come by, and I’m pretty sure our solstice sweetheart has been head over heels for you since the day you met.”

Alex’s lips pressed together, but the smile ticking at the corners betrayed her.

“It seems like a waste to sit here and be sad on the stairs when Kasey Winter is in the kitchen and waiting for you to say something,” he finished quietly.

His heart should be racing. His stomach should be in knots, all aflutter the way it had been when he first asked Kasey out. But with Alex looking at him like she could hardly believe the marvel of her ears, he found only calm waiting.

“Yes.”

Crimson bloomed around the word. Alex was so sure of herself—Nat thought he might love that most about her, from not-so-sneaky tips stuffed into her sister’s café jar to her utter confidence that whatever new drink she brought to their doorstep would be the most delicious thing they had ever tasted. She was unfailingly correct. His eyes flickered to her mouth.

“What are you waiting for?” she challenged.

“Kasey first.” She deserved so much.

Alex’s smile grew, and she pushed herself up with a “don’t have to tell me twice” that flashed peacock through the stairwell. Peacock, like Kasey’s laughter on the first day of winter when her magic was thick and strong in her veins. Nat was pretty sure some part of his heart beat just to hear that sound and watch it coat their home.

He was already reaching for the ribbon where she left off when Alex’s hand closed around his wrist and dragged him after her. He couldn’t help a laugh and didn’t particularly want to—turquoise shimmered ahead of them where Kasey was singing along to the record player under her breath. What a thing to have waiting.

“Winter.”

Kasey looked up, a casserole dish held in both hands under the warm water. Her eyes darted between them; a golden brow arched. “What did you…”

It took two steps for Alex to close the distance between them. She shut the faucet off and took Kasey’s hands from the sink, holding her wrists between them without a care for the water dripping on them both. “Please?” came the lilac-soft request.

Any other time of year, and Kasey might have questioned it.

The solstice lined her in threads of gold and blue. Her cheeks were round and flushed pink with power, and her hands were steady despite the anticipation that quickened her breath when she looked to Nat, then back to Alex, then to Nat once more. “You spoke?”

“Yeah.”

Kasey leaned in and kissed her without a moment’s hesitation.

Nat watched Alex’s ribs expand to accommodate a deep breath in—tiny crystals of ice began budding in the water droplets on Kasey’s skin as she cupped her hands around the back of Alex’s head and exhaled, long enough for steam to billow up between them. It was kind of the season to let everyone else see how much of a wonder she was.

“Mmm, wait wait wait,” Alex hummed when Kasey began pulling away. She closed her hands around Kasey’s forearms without a care for the chill and kissed the smile from her lips in a burst. “Storm girl,” she whispered with periwinkle fondness that made Kasey blush. Her thumb traced the peony-pink of her cheekbones and Nat steadied himself on the countertop. “Gods and fae, I missed you.”

Nat loved her when she was a chattering fox on their couch, and loved her when she was tall and kind and warm in every word. He loved her when her booming reds mingled with Kasey’s mellow blue in harmony so perfect it struck him silent, just to listen and watch for a second longer.

“Nathaniel!”

When Alex pulled away to launch herself into his arms with a laugh so bright and happy he could see it through closed eyes, he thought he might love her so much he’d burst with it. The solstice was the time of greatest and best change for them. He could think of no better way to start anew than with Alex beside them.

#natalie darcy #kasey winter #alex o'hara #o'darwin #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #coldbrewed enchanments #witchy genderbend au #secret santa 2023 #winter solstice