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ravenslvt · 2 months

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why does your best friend’s brother have to be so hot??

☆ suna rintarou x fem!reader (pt.2) ☆

cw: smut! shower sex, pet names, porn with feelings, oral m receiving, rough sex, tension.

pt.1 link pt.3 link pt.4 link

“hellooo? earth to ami?” you wave your hand in front of your friend’s face. she was laser focused on her switch, music blasting in her headphones as she plays the new zelda game. she gives you one glance “yeah?” she says, pausing the game and taking off one headphone.

“i’m gonna shower. where do you keep the towels?”

“hallway closet. if not, ask rintarou” she puts her earphone back in, zoning back into her game. you sigh, walking out of her room and into the hall. she took her video games seriously. you open the cabinet, eyes squinting for a towel to use. oh great, of course the best ones were on the top row. you huff.

“what’cha doin?” a low voice rumbles from behind you. you keep yourself from practically jumping out of your skin. “jesus, rintarou. stop sneaking up on me like that!” you smack his arm playfully. he just smiles. he loved your reactions to him.

he was shirtless, skin glistening in fresh sweat. it was clear he just got done with a workout. your eyes wander down his chest.

“where’s ami?” he asks, his voice a little quieter than usual. your eyes draw back to his, raising your brows. “playing games in her room… why?” you cross your arms over your chest, looking up at the taller man. he just reaches over you to grab a towel you were looking for. he smelled like a mix of his cologne and sweat, it was dizzying.

“i wanted the pink one…” you pout as he hands you the white towel. he shrugs, taking it for himself. “i’ll take this one then.” he grabs you the pink towel you wanted, a smile growing on your face. “and what do you mean by that?” you hug the fluffy towel to your chest, your eyes raking over his handsome features.

it had been three days since you and him had your moment in the kitchen. the marks on both of you almost completley faded by now. the only thing left of that night was the lingering memory of his touch.

he grabs your hand, leading you into the big hallway bathroom, shutting the door and locking it. you carefully place the pink towel down on the spacious counter, but rintarou had other ideas.

“c’mere” he grabs you by the waist, slamming his mouth into yours, leaning you against the sink. the bathroom echoed with your small noises of enjoyment.

“always so loud” he reluctantly pulls away, making you pout. he quickly turns on the shower to cover your noise. in a flash, his mouth is back on yours. your hands go to his bare chest, pressing against his hard muscles. he smiled at this.

the hot steam of the shower slowly filled the room, reminding you of what you even came in here to do. his hands reach for your top, you help him peel it off over your head. your own nervous hands reach at his workout shorts, pushing them down his hips to leave him in his boxers. fuck, he was hard already.

“don’t wanna make a mess again, c’mon.” you clench at the memory of him fucking you on the counter downstairs just a few nights ago. once you’re both stripped completely, he makes sure your towels are close to the shower as he steps into the hot pouring water. your arms cover your chest when you follow him in, a bit self conscious. he holds your elbow to help you get under the sprinkling water.

the water poured over his head, his hair slicked to his face. you admired how good he looked with the droplets falling down his face to his neck to his chest, all the way down to his hard cock and the trimmed brown hair surrounding it.

he held your face in his hands, studying you. it made your face flush.

“you’re so pretty” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, dragging it down before letting it go.

“you’re prettier” you reply, looking up at him blissfully. he just chuckles.

“not a chance” he leans in for another kiss, this time a little more slow and heartfelt. it made your insides feel hot when his hands move down your body. you gasp softly as his hands palm your ass, bringing you closer to him. he slowly grinded his arousal into your thigh, making you whine. you just wanted him inside already.

he groans when you take his hard cock in your hand, gently rubbing your thumb up and down the slit before stroking him, making him hiss.

“can i? please rin.” you give him pleading eyes, begging to let you suck him off in the shower. he groans.

“i don’t wanna hurt your pretty knees, baby.” his large hands comfortably rub your hips. you just roll your eyes.

“i don’t care. just want it in my mouth.” you give him a peck on his lips, then his neck, then his chest. going all the way down to the base of his cock. you lower yourself on your knees, ignoring the sting of the hard floor against your sensitive skin.

you give his head small kitten licks, focusing on the tip where you know he was most sensitive. you slowly take him into your mouth, bobbing your head back and forth before taking him almost all the way in. he was just so big! your eyes watered when he hit the back of your mouth, using your small hand to wrap around the rest that wouldn’t fit.

“fuckk.” the back of his head hits the shower wall with a small thump, but he was more caught up in the pleasure of your mouth sucking him off. his hands grip your hair, making you moan around him. he curses at the vibration of your throat around him. you notice, softly humming to keep the rumble around him.

he had to hold himself back from grabbing your face and fucking your mouth, not wanting to hurt you. his hips stuttered as your mouth moved up and down his shaft, trying to copy what you've seen in videos.

your free hand reached down, rubbing your clit. you couldn’t help it, the view of him losing himself in your mouth was just too much for you to handle. you’d imagined this so many times, the taste of him. everything. you hollow your cheeks, trying to get him as deep as you could without choking.

“s-stop or i’m g-gonna cum, fuck!” he practically whines, his eyes on you. you were so wet just from his sounds. you just take him deeper, ignoring the burning ache in your jaw. you could taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue, your fingers moving in rhythm on your clit.

it takes all of his willpower, but he pulls you off of him, groaning at the string of spit and precum dripping from your mouth. you frown. he just runs his hand through your wet hair, panting.

“i wanna finish with you, baby. i’ll let you taste me properly another time, yeah?” you nod as he pulls you back up on your feet, holding you so you don’t fall from your shakey knees.

he kisses you again. god, he could do this forever. his cock was still hard, red and raging from all the stimulation. it practically twitched at the thought of being inside you again when it brushes against your wet thigh.

he grabs your hips, slamming you against the cold shower wall with pure hunger on his mind. the sight of you touching yourself while sucking him off making him almost cum at the thought. he was utterly obsessed with you.

he starts to kiss down your jaw to your neck, starting to suck small marks into your skin.

“no marks!” you scold him. he just pouts, nuzzling his head into your neck. he understood why, but he just wished he could let everyone know you were his, though he’d never admit it.

he hesitently pulls back, hiking your leg to wrap around his hip. fuck. he couldn’t tell if you were more wet from the actual water from the shower or from his touch. it was mostly from him.

he lines himself up with your hole, his tip poking at your entrance. “you ready?” he asks, rubbing his cock between your folds, making you mewl.

“yes, please just put it- fuck!” you practically scream as he sinks himself into your needy pussy, holding back a loud groan himself. you felt even better than before. or maybe he just missed your cunt so much.

“shh. you’re almost louder than the shower…” he rasped out, holding onto your hips for dear life. he started moving, setting a mouth watering pace. the way his tip brushes your g spot with every deep thrust makes your head loll back onto the shower tile.

you couldn’t tell if it was the steam from the hot shower, or the way he was pounding into you that was making you so hazy. probably both.

you couldn’t control the little whimpers and moans coming from your mouth, thankful that the shower was loud enough to cover up your small sounds.

suddenly, there was a knock at the door and a call of your name.

“what is taking you so long?! i need to shower too girl!” ami yells from outside the door. your eyes widen, rintarou immediately covering his own mouth with his hand. he was still balls deep inside of you, trusts slowing down, but not stopping.

“s-sorry! just had to wait for the water to heat up!” you shout back, she just groans.

“whatever, i’ll just use the other shower.” you could hear her voice receding down the hall. you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding in.

“we really need to find better places to fuck.” he comments, his pace quickening again.

“you’re the one who- f-fuck- dragged me in here.” you pant, your tits bouncing at the way he fucked you against the cool tile.

“don’t act like you didn’t want this. pussys practically sucking me in.” he adds.

“fuck” he mumbles, looking down at where you two met. the way you could see the buldge of his cock through your belly everytime he entered you. he placed his hand over it.

he lowers his mouth to your tits, taking one in his mouth, gently biting and sucking, making you moan. he switches between them until he’s satisfied, making you squeeze around him.

“so fucking hot.” he growls, holding onto your leg to bring it higher so he can fuck you even deeper. he was close, his cock pulsing inside of you.

“m’ cuming!” you cried out, holding onto his shoulders for support, nails digging into his skin. you rut your hips to meet his own thrusts in absolute bliss, vision getting blurry with tears as you clench around him, his dick fitting so perfectly inside of you, making you feel so fucking good.

“right there with you, baby. w-where can i-“ he starts, his pace stuttering. his brows were furrowed in concentration.

“inside rinn, please please please!” you begged, locking your leg around his hip to bring him deeper. he moans, his hot seed filling you to the fucking brim. your eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of his cock pumping cum inside of you.

he kisses you through your orgasms, swallowing all your moans along with his own. you pull away, dizzy with lust, panting heavily.

he pulls his cock out of you with a groan, the mixes of your release dripping down and washing away almost instantly in the water.

he kisses your cheek, soothing you. “let’s wash up, pretty girl.”

a/n: i’m so overwhelmed with all the support on this series!! i already have plans for the next part with a little more plot since this one was mostly smut! i do plan on basically every chapter having smut so don't worry y'all <3

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exhaslo · 4 months

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Puzzle Pieces Ch10

(Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9

Warning: Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex, shower sex, praise

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You were trapped there again.

Afraid.

Your body was already shaking, just anticipating the heavy footsteps once that creaky door opened. Your breathing hitched as those thoughts became reality. The loud creak made you stumble as you hurried to the kitchen.

Swiftly, you tried to stop your hands from shaking as you prepped a plate. Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you heard a heavy bag hit the floor. Your heart was about to burst out of your chest. You couldn't focus and because of that...

CRASH.

"Fuck, woman." Eddie hissed.

You started sobbing and apologizing as you attempted to clean up your mess. His footsteps grew louder and harsher as they drew closer to you. Your breathing stopped as Eddie appeared in front of you. A harsh scowl on his face as he looked down at you.

"Tch, so useless. Clean this shit up and get my dinner ready. I got to head out again soon." Eddie spat as he gave you a swift kick to your stomach.

"S-Sorry....hn...I-I'm so s-sorry." You sobbed, holding your stomach in pain as you kept cleaning.

"Can't believe I got stuck with you."

---------

"I'm sorry!" You gasped, crying as you awoke.

It was hot. You felt sweat all over your body as you scooted off your bed. Another nightmare about him. This was the first one you had since you officially dated Miguel. Unable to stop shaking, you hurried to your living room and grabbed a puzzle.

It had been two weeks since Halloween night. You were happy with Miguel. Everything was going so smoothly, so why. Why were you having nightmares again?

"It's s-so l-late...I-I...d-don't...want...want to bother...." You sniffled lowly, shaking as you reached for your phone.

Miguel had told you to call him whenever you needed to calm down. He was so understanding. Shuddering as you felt your chest tighten, you hesitated to press on Miguel's name. It was almost midnight. What were the chances that he was awake?

-------

Miguel sat alone in a dark room. The only visible thing were his eyes that seemed to have a red glow to them. An echo of a tap was heard until the door creaked opened. Miguel exhaled softly as he watched Miles and his little crew enter.

"Still nothing?" Miguel's tone was more than annoyed.

"Our lead got us nowhere. The best we can do is just keep watching the supermarket." Peter stepped in. Miguel's eye twitched,

"Why is it so hard to find one man?"

"Well, to be fair, we're always fighting someone so our attention isn't that focused on this one dude," Gwen sighed and glanced at Miles, "Maybe we can draw-"

Miguel slammed his fist against the desk. His glare more prominent than normal. Everyone took this as a sign to leave. Not before apologizing to Miguel first. Once they were all gone, Miguel hissed lowly as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from under his desk.

Right as he poured the liquid into a glass, Miguel growled at the sound of his phone. It was late and Miguel was ready to go home, but of course, that new pest of a mafia group had to cause trouble. This new Venom group was going to be destroyed one way or another.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel whispered as he saw your name on his phone, "It's late, Conejita (bunny), why are you still up?" He lowered his voice for you.

"I...I had a n-nightmare," You whimpered.

Miguel's eyes soften as he leaned back in his seat. Your voice was scratchy and low. You've been crying. That and your stuttering was pretty bad. Oh, how he wished you were in his arms right now for him to comfort you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Miguel glanced at his watch, his own exhausted eyes drooping slightly,

"N-No...I...I just...j-just need to c-calm down. I-I like...h-hearing y-your voice." You whimpered softly. Miguel inhaled deeply as he found the energy to stand,

"I'll be there in a bit, amor (love). Don't worry."

"O-Okay,"

Miguel smiled softly as he heard the relief in your tone. He hung up, then immediately called his driver. Despite still having a lot of work to do, Miguel was going to call it a night. He can have his men and women do his dirty work for now.

Miguel needed his relief.

----------

You played with your sleeves as you fixed up your place. It helped you clear your mind a bit since Miguel was coming over. Hurrying to the bedroom, you doublechecked his spare clothes. Since you started dating, you bought Miguel some cozy clothes in case he ever decided to stay over again.

You were always the one to sleep over at his place.

Feeling your cheeks burn, you shook the thought away and hurried back to the living room. Miguel was going to come over any minute now. You needed to finish your puzzle.

'Pick up this shit! What are you a fucking child?'

Your breathing shuddered as the voice screamed from the back of your mind. You held the small piece in your palm, unable to stop shaking. Your sleeves slowly rolling down, revealing the scars you gave yourself as a means of escape.

'Do you have ANY FUCKING IDEA how fucked I'll be if you tried to fucking kill yourself? Don't be a stupid little bitch!'

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you sobbed once more. Why did his voice have to come back and haunt you? Why was he such a poison in your mind? Eddie was a venom. Eating away at your soul until you were nothing left.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel knocked against your door.

Quickly, you hurried to him. You tackled Miguel, wrapping your arms around him as you sobbed into his chest. With ease, Miguel picked you up and carried you into the bedroom. You didn't want to let him go.

"What's wrong, (Y/N)?" Miguel asked, sitting you on the bed. He noticed a pair of clothes set aside for him, "Hm?"

"I-I k-keep hearing...h-his...his voice. I-I can't..." You tighten your grip against his jacket, "I-I'm sorry. S-Sorry I'm a burden."

"But you're not," Miguel sighed softly and lifted your chin, kissing your tears away, "He is no longer in your life. Y estoy planeando matar al cabrón por ti, mi conejito. (And I'm planning on killing the fucker for you, my bunny)."

"Mhm, M-Miguel..." You whispered, only understanding the 'bunny' part, "Um...I, um...I got you some comfortable clothes...to s-sleep in. W-Would you like s-shower first?"

"Only if you join me,"

You bit your lower lip and slowly nodded. Honestly, just having Miguel here was calming you down. Following Miguel into the bathroom, you helped set the water and squeaked softly as Miguel already started to get undressed.

You followed suit, still hesitating with your clothes. Miguel approached you, his hands gently holding your waist. You closed your eyes, finally removing your shirt. Miguel responded with a hum and proceeded to kiss you,

"My beautiful girl," He whispered, slowly pulling you into the shower with him.

Your heart fluttered every time Miguel complemented you. Your shower was small, so your bodies were pressed against each other. Miguel had you in his embrace, his head resting against the crook of your neck as the warm water hit his skin.

"(Y/n), whenever you think of that asshole, I want you to remember that I'm taking care of you now," Miguel whispered in your ear as his hands stroked your sides, "That I cherish you for the wonderful woman you are."

"M-Miguel," You whispered, feeling your back pressed against the wall.

You whimpered softly as Miguel started to kiss and nibble at your neck and shoulder. You slowly wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders as Miguel lifted you up. You shuddered as Miguel started to grind his hips into yours, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

"Call out of work tomorrow, amor. Let me spoil you."

"B-But...mhm, I-I can't...c-call out again." You whimpered softly, resisting a moan as Miguel's dick slid against your folds, "M-My...b-b-bills"

"I'll take care of everything," Miguel hummed, making his marks on you, "You deserve a break. Let me take care of you."

"M-Miggy," You moaned as his tip poked your hole.

You arched your back against the wall, giving Miguel more space to mark you. He hummed in response, his fingers slowly rubbing circles against your clit. The heat of the shower was fogging your mind as you started to give into the pleasure.

"That's right, let me take care of you." Miguel hummed, stealing your lips in a kiss as he gently slid his dick inside you.

"Mhpm~"

Your legs tighten around Miguel's waist as he started to thrust into you. His gentle yet rough thrusts sending you to nirvana with each slap. Whimpers and moans were coming out loudly as you clenched around Miguel's cock.

Every time Miguel fucked you, it made you remember the difference between him and your past relationship. Miguel was far too good for you. Gasping, you fell victim to an orgasm with another simple rough thrust from Miguel.

"Gooooood girl. That's right, you're doing so good for me," Miguel groaned, his thrusts getting a little faster and harsher.

You flung your head back, crying out as Miguel kept hitting your sweet spot. Your hands were gripping his hair, your head resting against his shoulder.

"Miggy~"

-------

Miguel grunted as you kept clenching around his dick. Your blissed out expression gave him full to keep going. You were doing better giving yourself into him. Miguel just needed you to realize that you didn't have to work anymore.

That you could live with him.

Hearing loud knocking from against the shower wall, Miguel chuckled darkly. Seems like his shy bunny was being too loud for your neighbors. You didn't even notice as Miguel drew another orgasm out of you.

"Let's take this to the bed," Miguel chuckled.

Still holding onto you, Miguel turned the water off and brought a towel. He placed the towel on the bed before laying you on your back. His harsh and rough thrusts continued as he pressed you into mating position.

"I'll treat you like the princess you deserve to be," Miguel grunted as he unloaded inside of you.

"M-Mig..." You breathed out, "P-Please...K-Keep going,"

Miguel just chuckled as he kissed you deeply. Your cute fucked out expression just begging for more. Miguel flipped you on your stomach, pressing himself against you back. You whimpered and moaned as his rough thrusts continued.

"Ah, sabe tan bien. Eres mi dulce conejita en celo, ¿no? ¿Quieres que te dé una razón para ser mía? (Ah, taste so good. You are my sweet little bunny in heat aren't you? Want me to give you a reason to be mine?)" Miguel whispered, falling into his own lust.

Miguel pressed his hand against your back, watching you grip the bed sheets. Your moans filling his ears like music. Your sweet pussy dripping and sucking his dick, forming a white ring around his cock. Your moans were almost pornographic as Miguel finally let loose.

"I'm going to treat you so well tomorrow. I've had such a long day." Miguel whispered in your ear, "Going to make you forget all about what hurts you."

"Miguel~!" You cried out, collapsing after a harsh orgasm.

Miguel sighed softly as he finished. Another grunt and a moan, Miguel gave you one last load of his cum. A loud sigh escaping his throat as relief washed over him. As he pulled out, Miguel smiled at his work once more.

You were fast asleep, your body twitching softly with his marks all over you. Miguel put on the clothes you got him and proceeded to wipe you down. He found some new pajamas for you and got you dressed before finally climbing into your bed.

"Not the best way to comfort her, but this works too," Miguel told himself before falling asleep.

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"Took forever, but we finally had time to get here." Eddie huffed as he stood in front of the supermarket you worked at, "Now to take back what belongs to me."

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next chapter

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mokulule · 1 year

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The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 3

Part 1|Part 2

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

I'm not entirely happy with this, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Some things will probably be changed for the Ao3 version, this is very much first draft and I want to do a proper rewrite before then.

Jason parked his bike next to the Batmobile. There was a strange air in the Batcave or maybe it was just him being different. He couldn’t tell for sure. He stepped off the bike so he had his back towards Bruce, who sat by the Batcomputer with his cowl off. Jason could still feel his gaze when he looked up. He didn’t know what to feel. Where was he supposed to start?

“Little Wing!” Dick announced happily, suddenly slinging an arm across his shoulder from behind. It was only all his training that stopped him from jumping three feet into the air from the fright and he managed to just tense - but that was normal. Dick would consider that normal. Pull yourself together, Jason, he scolded himself. Normal, act normal, for one long moment he was grasping for what was normal. It definitely wasn’t the urge to lean into his big brother.

“Jay?” Dick asked quietly, worried, thankfully too quiet for anyone to hear. Panic grasped him and he elbowed Dick to get him off. Dick bent over with an oomph. At least elbowing Dick was a normal response, even if it was for the wrong reason.

Ignoring the strange urge to check on Dick, he squared his shoulders, firmly didn’t look back and walked forward towards the Batcomputer, where now that he had arrived the rest of this night’s patrol team gathered. Damian already out of his suit with damp hair and a towel slung around his neck glanced surreptitiously at Jason out the corner of his eyes even as he pretended to look towards Bruce - brat was still worried. Tim was curled up in an office chair doing who knew what with his laptop in a way that did not seem conducive to the healing of the broken ribs he’d been benched for. Bruce himself, paused what he was doing and spun around in his chair. Even sitting he managed to draw everyone’s attention, Tim even closed his laptop.

Jason purposefully crossed his arms and widened his stance. That’s what they expected of him, probably? How did he usually stand? He usually always felt one wrong comment away from a fight when he was here, he should stand like he expected it, right? Defensive.

This was exhausting.

At last Dick walked up to them completing their loose circle. He was rubbing his side and Jason felt a stab of worry and guilt. Had he aggravated an existing wound? Shit. Fuck. What was wrong with him? Why was he so worried?

“Oracle,” Bruce spoke, “please start.”

“Thanks to Hood, we now have a better headshot of the thief,” Oracle announced from the computer speakers“The Ghost,” Dick interjected in a sing song voice, “after what happened tonight you can’t disagree.”“Nightwing,” Barbara replied flatly, she didn’t even need to say she thought it was a stupid name. “The thief,” she reiterated in a way that left no room for any other arguments and Dick wisely held his silence. At least Dick knew Barbara well enough when to stop. Finally she pulled two photos up on the large screen. The one on the right was an older/early photo with the green glassed goggles obstructing much of the upper half of the face, a grin was a sharp line of white on the lower half of the face in the blurry photo, the quality was terrible and caught in movement.

The newer photo on the left showed a young man, maybe even late teens, eyes were wide, bright green, not quite glowing and his face beet red in embarrassment, mouth slightly open - this was taken just after he’d pushed away from Jason. His goggles sat at the edge of his messy black hair, just high enough to see the way he was beginning to swell on his forehead where Jason had clocked him.

Jason looked from one picture to the other, something was off to him. The grin was an obvious difference, but these where snapped in very different moments, and he shouldn’t let different emotions cloud his judgment.

“He’s lost weight.” The realization hit him with the certainty of a sledgehammer.

There’s dubious mumbling around him, about the blurriness of the first picture. But Jason is unmoved, there’s a hollowness to the guy’s cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“We can’t really judge that sort of thing with the quality of the first image,” Barbara cut through the murmurs. Jason knows he right, but he doesn’t feel like arguing.

He doesn’t feel like arguing, it’s another realization that leaves him wrong footed and he’s not listening for a minute. Checking back into the conversation he only caught the tail end of the conversation that was apparently about the Meta’s skills.“-we can now add phase shifting powers-““Like a Ghost.”

Tim groaned and Barbara outright growled - Jason reevaluated his earlier thought that Dick knew Barbara’s limits. Damian had already accepted the logic and Bruce had long since become immune to this sort of Dick antic.

“Back on topic,” was all he said. “Tim.”

Tim opened his laptop back up.

“Yes, so the items the thief-” There was a small beat as everyone waited for Dick to interrupt, Tim was side-eyeing him but continued; “-is stealing are still painting a very alarming picture, and there is a multitude of very dangerous uses, not to mention what kind of world ending horror they could be built into. Luckily he didn’t get the prototype spectral calibrator tonight, and we’ll be keeping it here for the time being and set the project on an indefinite hold at Wayne Enterprise.”Tim looked up at Bruce. “We’ll be needing to monitor Star Labs as they have a similar project, but so far the Ghost has not operated outside of Gotham to our knowledge.”

Bruce nodded, “I’ll arrange something.”

It was a signal for Tim to continue, “we’re still no closer to a way to capture him and the phase shifting is a whole other added concern. We’ll need to figure out if there’s something he can’t phase through, some denser materials perhaps. I just finished looking through tonight’s footage and from what I’m seeing at least the new filter program is holding up; both the audio and visuals have very few glitches now. But we still don’t know how he’s sending out the electromagnetic interference.”

“Ghoooost,” Dick said quietly under his breath.Tim’s left eye twitched dangerously. Jason couldn’t help smiling, it was very good he was wearing the helmet. Bruce once more ignored Dick looking to Damian.The kid straightened imperceptibly at the attention, it really was adorable, but his voice was as haughty as ever. “Blood sample is already being analyzed of course, tt.” Blood sample? Oh, that’s what Bruce had been doing on the roof, when Jason was distracted. A sick feeling rose in his stomach thinking of the blood, was Ghost even alive? He could be bleeding inside the head for all they knew.

“Hood,” Bruce asked quietly, “do you know why the Ghost reacted to you like that?”Jason stiffened. Fear grabbing cold onto his heart. There was no way he could tell them he thought it had to do with the pits. They’d think Jason was being influenced by the Ghost and bench him. He couldn’t let that happen, he needed answers. He didn’t need to fight his family.

“No damn clue,” he scoffed, hoping he sounded nonchalant and none of his panic shone through, “some weird trauma response? He’d just hit his head real good.”

Bruce looked at him dubiously, but he was clearly unwilling to risk pushing. Their truce was a tentative one after all, one they’d come to after many false starts and stops. Jason had never before been so glad for their tattered relationship.

“So to conclude,” Dick drew everyone’s attention off Jason, “the Ghost is still a mystery, we don’t know if he’s just a thief or a supervillain biding his time.”

“He’s not a supervillain.” Jason could have cursed himself, he’d just gotten their attention off him. Now he was forced to elaborate. “He’s not wearing any sort of body armor, just that hoodie.”

And he’d definitely broken some of his ribs landing on him, Jason thought with a pang of guilt.

“Not all villains wear body armor though,” Tim pointed out carefully, and now Tim was worried too, Jason had no clue what had given him away.

“The ones who engage in close combat with us usually do though,” Dick returned, and Jason could have hugged him for bailing him out again (if that had been normal, which it was NOT).

“He could just not be a very good villain?”

“Or he’s just banking on the fact that he’s very good at dodging,” Barbara interjected with annoyance before the discussion got out of hand, “or did you all just forget you’ve been chasing this guy for weeks without landing a substantial hit on him?” She could always be counted on to be the voice of reason.

Dick scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Tim looked down at his computer. Damian scoffed, trying to look unaffected but that was definitely almost a pout.

Bruce’s eyes twinkled in amusement as he stood up and was that almost a smile? How was this happening? It felt… His fingers dug into his arms. It felt like all the things Jason had convinced himself had never really been there. And there was Bruce’s hand landing on Damian’s shoulder; a silent comfort-encouragement, because Bruce was terrible with words but his touches always spoke volumes. And as the small smile bloomed on Damian’s face and he quickly looked away to hide it, Jason remembered exactly how that felt. Shit.

“Oracle, that’s all for tonight, we’re not getting anywhere without more information.”

“You got it, B, Oracle out.”

Jason spun and stalked towards his bike, before he did something, he didn’t know what exactly.

“Jay?”

Bruce’s voice stopped him in place. He glanced over his shoulder to see them all watching him. Don’t give anything away, he scolded himself.

“What is it, old man?” Jason asked trying to interject as much annoyance into his voice as he could, but it was so hard dredging up any of that when they looked at him worried like that, and his chest ached and he just sounded tired.

“It’s late,” Bruce said with a small unconscious wave of his hand as if anyone could tell the time of day from within the cave, “you could stay the night?”

After a beat he added, “Alfred would love to see you.”

Jason’s jaw clenched. Alfred would, but that’s not what Bruce was really saying, he was saying he would love to have him stay, but didn’t think Jason would be receptive to that and so he brought out the Alfred card. It was plain as day and how had Jason never seen that? Seen the longing on his dad’s face? His chest ached, he knew why. He was always so busy reading everything Bruce did as him trying to control him, every interaction tinted in green. His chest ached. Every inch of his body wanted to stay, to take a step back, see where this could lead, but he couldn’t.

He had to act normal. Normal Jason would never. Normal Jason could be back tomorrow for all he knew. He couldn’t do that to any of them, to himself.

With great difficulty he tore his gaze away from his family and walked the last steps over to his bike.

“Tell Alfred I’ll be coming over for tea on Tuesday,” he said loudly over the noise of his bike, not looking, because he didn’t want to see any of their reactions, then he tore out of there.

This was better for everyone.

Poor Jay really is having the time of it, maybe next part he'll get to actually enjoy not being angry.

next Masterpost for subscription link

#dead on main #poor Jason has no idea how to act #when he's not perpetually angry #also he just really wants a hug from his dad #but that would be WEIRD #bruce is a good dad #Missed connections #Jason is catnip to Danny #thought sadly no Danny this snippet #probably next time though

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1800titz · 11 months

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Hi! I write this fic on Wattpad, but figured I would put it up on tumblr, too!

WARNINGS: THIS IS A BDSM FIC

WATTPAD ALTERNATIVE | TRAILER | ALPHABET PROMPT | tdiag things

DESC:

"My name is Eros," the masked male cocks his head a smidge at her, and, if only slightly through the shadow cast between the parted zipper, Isla catches sight of a smile tugging at his lips on the latter fragment of his statement, "But you already know that. I'd hope, anyways. We've had a chat. Or two."

His lips - his mouth. Isla ogles the latex through the peepholes of her own and wonders what shape the rest of his features take, what carves and forges his face, how his nose slopes, the assemblage of it all.

"Although we are acquainted," Eros smooths his fingertips over the arm of the chair, a lavish facade of plastic masquerading, "You will address me as Master."

Isla swallows. Despite her prior train of thought looping so intently on the tracks to decipher what she believes he'd look like beneath his mask, it's entirely derailed by the serious note in his previously light cadence. She wonders how a mere introduction manages to send such a thrilling rush rolling down her spine. Eros leans forward, forearms braced to his splayed thighs, almost as if to bend to her level.

"Or Sir. Master, Sir, it's all the same to me. Your preference."

CHAPTER 1

The one with Masks & First Meetings, Mr. Executioner (or Mr. Friendly??), and a scene feat. a blindfold and an unexpected participant

CHAPTER 2

The one with negotiations in a room that draws memoirs of therapy appointments (fancy chairs — comfy chairs), Harry: “Crying = enjoying... Got it,” testing the limits, face-fucking, and a glint of teeth

CHAPTER 3

The one with shoplifting grapes, drafting a contract feat. a debate on honorifics, creampies — according to Harry, generally too sweet, floggers, fear-factor-except-it's-kinky, and four too many orgasms

CHAPTER 4

The one with a manacle and a mean man who lends a helpful hand in a house hunt, the same mean man being nice .63737382 seconds later, sloppy cunnilingus, and a Series of Mysterious Knots

CHAPTER 5

The one with a Series of Mysterious Knots Part 2, sleeves caught in car doors and impromptu rope swing climbing, a pair of dress shoes, and sixteen minutes too many

CHAPTER 6

The one with the birth of the infamous yada yada, Isla “what happens at three?” Cleery, the glove (singular!) comes off, a very jittery ottoman, a cane, and some (unwholesome) late night talking

CHAPTER 7

The one with another house tour, a …vivid imagination, the rise of the green-eyed monster, Harry “your actions have consequences” Styles, the importance of taking breaks, and emotions brewing and bubbling to the surface

CHAPTER 8

The one where (more) emotions brew, a ham and cheese croissant, an oat milk latte, and a book about pain-slut-ism, the discovery of villain origins, even more emotional brewing, and an exploration of boundaries

CHAPTER 9

The one with a sprinkle of consensual violence, the cane, feelings-ish (that Harry buries in pussy), and the D word

#dom harry styles #harry styles #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles edit #harry styles edits #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles wattpad #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #domharry #dom!harry #TDIAG #1800tits #1-800-tits

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maple-the-awesome · 10 months

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When Another Finds Out About His Crush Part 1/3

Part 2 || Part 3

Pairings: Four, Hyrule, Legend x GN Reader

Overview: What happens when someone else in the Chain finds out about his feelings towards you?

Zelda Masterlist 💙 Fandom Masterlist

How is it that today has been so peaceful? Seriously, when was the last time the group got a chance to breathe for a second, let alone actually take a moment to enjoy themselves like normal Hylians who don't have to constantly deal with the weight of the world upon their shoulders?

Maybe it's because of the last battle which left most of them pretty battered - too battered to dive head first back into another hoard of monsters right away. Perhaps the Old Man finally got tired of their constant whining and bickering which had grown in volume over the course of the last few days, leading him to pacify them with a quick break. It's probably a combination of those two things, but whatever the true reasoning for this blessing, Four plans to enjoy it - at least he's trying his best to.

He won't complain. It's nice getting to sit here in the sun, enjoying its warm beams that pair sweetly with the cool breeze that carries itself up from the spring where the majority of his traveling partners currently splash around, their joyful cheers making all sound right with the world. Of course, this scene of an early summer would be so much better if not broken every few seconds by Four's sneezing.

His nose is probably red and eyes possibly a bit puffy, but he tries not to care. He's too focused - too distracted with the many thoughts running through his head to begin fussing over some mild allergies.

'Loop over that...Now tie here...'

'Maybe we should've chosen different flowers -'

'- No. We can't admit defeat to a stupid flower. We're seeing this through, damn it!'

'I wasn't suggesting that we give up. Only that we reevaluate our clearly flawed plan. This field is filled with flowers. We can take our pick.'

'Ooo, I like the poppies over there! Let's use those!'

'No! Poppies aren't good enough. Must I remind you why we're using daisies in the first place?!'

Four sighs heavily, his hands collapsing to his lap. The tangled flowers resting in his touch are a pathetic excuse for a 'craft'. If anything, they look no different from flowers that have been tugged from the ground then tossed around in a bag for a few shakes. It's rather shameful considering how long the minish took to teach him the careful art of weaving flower stems together. Are some watching him now, shaking their heads in confusion as to how someone can be struggling to this extent? Of course, it would be easier if he switched to practically any flower other than daisies, but he's committed to seeing this through as is, no changes.

Four's harsh thoughts only break away temporarily when noticing the wolf that saunters through the meadow towards him, likely chased away from the cold shadows that have begun casting over his former resting place closer to the spring. Over here in the sun it’s much warmer, so there’s no surprise when the wolf invites himself to sit next to Four, giving a curious look to the flowers on his lap that asks the question without words being needed.

"I'm trying to make a crown," Four answers, lifting the string of stems up with one finger to let the wolf get a closer look which he does by leaning forward and taking a sniff. To him, the craft is impressive, looking far more detailed and put together compared to the flower crowns he's personally made with the children of his village, although it's clear that the Smith is having trouble accepting his own talent by the way he leans his cheek against the palm of his hand with a huff.

"Normally I can make them pretty quickly with fewer mistakes or tears in the stems and petals, but today I just can't get it right. No matter how many times I attempt one, it never looks good enough," Four explains further, his words drawing Wolfie's eyes to the several drafted flower crowns abandoned off to the hero's side. Then suddenly, the wolf's attention is drawn back to Four with a start when he sneezes loudly.

Sniffing, he gives the slightly startled animal a pitiful look, "...Oh, and it doesn't help that I'm allergic to daisies..."

Wolfie tilts his head to the patch of poppies growing no more than two feet away from them.

"No, I can't...Daisies are easiest to make flower crowns with. They, um, have longer stems."

Woflie tilts his head further, showing doubt over Four's claim, yet in this form, it's not like he can truly call him out. All he can do is make himself comfortable, lying down among the tall grass where he can bare witness to the poor smith's torture as he goes back to weaving flowers into a circle, the only interruption to the silence between them being his repetitive sneezes and eventually a pair of footsteps approaching from the spring.

"Hey, we're missing you down at the water! Whatcha doing all the way up here by your lonesome?" It's no surprise that you're wearing a smile - Alright, it might've been a surprise a few hours ago when all you did was scowl or pout about your aching feet, but ever since Time allowed the group a break, you've been nothing but smiles and rainbows, a look Four prefers on you due to how contagious your enjoy never fails to be.

Immediately upon looking up, a smile pulls at his own lips and all of his muddled thoughts wash away into one. Even his voice is light as a feather without giving you any hint to his prior irritation; a complete contrast to how he had been seconds ago when Wolfie first joined him, "I'm not the biggest swimmer and even if I were, that scream Sky gave when jumping in was enough to convince me of my decision to stay up here."

"Yeah, it's ice water, but hey, anything beats sore feet at this point," You place your hands on your hips with a chuckle, sparing a quick glance back at the rest of the boys before your attention returns to Four, "Making flower crowns, I see?"

He nods, fiddling with the one in his hand which he seems to stare at for some time (truly it was only a few seconds for anyone except himself) before he holds the craft up towards you, "...I thought you'd like one."

"Really? For me?" The bashful smile he wears is easily missed as you awe over the flowers, delicately running your fingers over each petal. Like Wolfie, you see none of the flaws Four concerns himself with. Instead, you see a beautiful collection of near perfect daisies (only a few petals missing here and there) all weaved together in a strong pattern that keeps them from falling apart, "Oh, this is incredible…Wow, you truly are a talent to behold, aren’t you Smithy?"

He officially blushes, rubbing the back of his head with a wide smile he tries to maintain, "I can't take all the credit. I learned from the minish."

"You're too modest," You shake your head in mock annoyance, although the delight in your eyes never fades as you look over the flowers some more, "You know, daisies are actually my favorite, too."

"You don't say," Four picks at the petals on his lap, trying to act as casual as possible, "What a coincidence..."

You open your mouth to say something else, however you don't get the chance when a shout is suddenly heard from the spring followed by a loud splash. Four would've been curious to see what the commotion was, but he's currently in too much of a daze to follow where Wolfie and you look. Surely it's not that important judging on your calm sigh anyways.

"Aaand I'm pretty sure that's the sound of Vet drowning the Captain. Seeing as I would like Time to keep giving us breaks in the future, I should probably go handle everything before he comes back," As disappointed as Four is to hear you’ll be leaving him so soon, he forgets all about that feeling when you place your flower crown on top of his head, your hands hovering there as you give him a gentle smile. He could’ve sworn he even felt your breath blow against his face given your close proximity, but maybe that was just the optimistic side of him, "Keep this safe for me, please? I’d hate for your hard work to get ruined."

"Uhhh...Y-Yeah. Yeah, I'll protect it with my life."

"Thanks. Now if you two will excuse me…" After patting Wolfie’s head goodbye and winking to them both, you race back down to the spring, shouting something to the other boys with a fierce tone that is the exact opposite to how sweetly you always speak to Four. He might've had a little nerve to either fear you or admire your anger (which can be kinda hot), although he merely sighs lovingly in distracted thought he only leaves when happening to catch that knowing stare Wolfie is giving him in the corner of his eyes. Now, wolf or not, Four can once again understand exactly what that type of smug look means without words.

Pushing Wolfie away halfheartedly, he huffs, "Don't say anything and we'll be even."

"Do you think you could teach me how to cook this dish?"

Pour Four nearly chokes on his own spit when the question meets his ears. Teach Hyrule to cook? Now he knows all of his fellow heroes come equipped with many talents, but surely there's a line to be drawn!

Of course, Wild has a much milder reaction to this 'challenge', in fact, he's actually happy to be granted something to do seeing as he's been grounded to camp after his latest 'stunt', as Twilight referred to it. So, raising his attention up from the supplies he’s been taking inventory of, he glances over the wobbly handwriting on the paper that Hyrule holds out towards him, the Traveler trying not to look either too hopeful or too nervous.

"...I mean, I'm willing to teach you to cook, but are you sure you want this recipe? It’s not intended for beginners...Not to mention we might not have all the ingredients..." Taking the paper into his own hands and whispering to himself in thought distracts him from Hyrule's gulp, "We might be better off trying something else -"

"- No!" Hyrule bites his lip when Four and Wild's gazes jump to him, clearly surprised by his tone. Shifting on his feet, Hyrule tries to clear his throat as a poor attempt at acting 'natural', "I, uh, would really like to try this recipe. It sounded pretty good when the baker explained it, plus we've been traveling for so long and it's not everyday that we get to try something like it - Oh! And I already have all the ingredients. 'bought them in the last town we went to."

Hyrule hopes he isn’t coming off as too pushy or, in the worst case scenario, desperate. This plan is nerve wracking as it is, thus the last thing he needs is anyone asking questions, after all, he already had a close call when you caught him leaving that bakery during your stay in town.

When you saw him leave without buying anything, you assumed he was being rupee-cautious and offered to buy him something sweet if that was what his heart desired. You’re kind like that, always keeping an eye on him and doing your best to hype him up as being just as worthy of the hero’s title as everyone else. That’s why he couldn’t possibly have told you then that you’re what his heart desires most. No, that would’ve been too weird and cliche, even he knows that. You deserve a better confession (whenever he finds the courage for that), but in the meantime, he can at least show you his gratitude through gifts which is why he currently stands here mentally praying for Wild’s help; he’s his only hope at this point!

The Champion looks inside the pouch Hyrule had quite literally tossed at him, the Smith also sneaking a peek from over his shoulder. Comparing the written ingredients to those in the pouch, they confirm that everything is there (surprisingly no weird foods that Hyrule somehow manages to find).

"...Well, the Traveler's right about one thing: we don't usually get a chance to eat sweets on the road, not to mention everyone's been a bit stressed since our last battle. Maybe a treat would be a good way to lift spirits," Four suggests, although the words feel as if they must be pushed through his teeth. Already, his stomach tosses and turns in memory of the last 'dish' Hyrule made which resulted in seven of the ten heroes getting food poisoning and Hyrule receiving a permanent ban from the kitchen ever since.

Wild hums in thought then, to Hyrule's joy, nods and hands him back the recipe, "Alright. Let's get started."

Thinking back to it now, the request seemed so easy to him. Unlike the others who usually see their lives flash before their eyes at the thought of Hyrule's cooking, Wild has actually enjoyed most of his meals including the one that made nearly everyone sick, his only complaint being the need for less salt (a critique that was drowned by out Wind's over the top gagging). With that said, he saw no issue with helping the Traveler complete the desired recipe, however it's always possible for someone to come around to reason, it just took a lot of smoke and heaving, but come around nevertheless.

One minute everything was cooking as it should with a wonderful aroma filling the camp. All Wild did was turn his back. It was only seconds - that's it, seconds - before the cooking pot exploded into a puff of smoke and sparks. Since then, it's been utter havoc which is normally the word everyone else uses whenever Wild and Hyrule get paired, but today, Wild's admitting it himself. Is this usually how stressed Twilight feels?! If so, then he's sorry! He doesn't have time to actually apologize and will most likely forget by the time he sees his mentor again, but dear Hylia, he's sorry!

It's by the grace of the goddesses that no one comes running back to camp to find the scene that would await them if they did: Wild and Hyrule working together to frantically stomp out the flames before they reach any supplies or burn down the entire forest. Even then, evidence of their crimes remains in the form of charred grass and the coat of soot that covers Hyrule's face, stretching his bangs to the sky as his eyes carry a certain daze to them. Maybe now that he's literally had his work blow in his face, he can finally admit that his cooking might not be the best in the group's.

"What did you do?!"

"I didn't do anything!" Hyrule meets Wild's shout, however he soon falters and pokes his fingers together innocently with a mumble, "...I thought you said that monster parts can give dishes effects..."

“Yeah, some…” Wild's face drops, his eyes wide with realization yet he still finds himself asking with a hint of fear to his voice, "What did you add?"

"..."

"Please don't tell me..."

"...Red chuchu jelly..."

"Dear Hylia!"

"I was curious to see what effect it would have!"

“It blows up! That’s the effect it has!”

"Do I even want to know what's going on here?"

Oh Goddesses, please kill him now...Hyrule had hoped if anyone, it would be the Old Man or maybe even the Captain who came running back to scold them, but you? Oh, you’re the last person he wanted to see this!

To be fair, you still aren't as bad as one of the stricter adults who would’ve immediately accessed the situation and started handing out punishments. Instead, you plan to let them plead their case. Actually, you don't even look that angry, mainly confused and tired as you stand at the edge of camp, arms crossed with an expression that's anything except amused (probably because you had the unfortunate fate of being one of the seven who got food poisoning from Hyrule's last ‘cooking’ attempt).

Before either boy can begin explaining themselves, you sniff the air and immediately scrunch your nose as a reaction to the awful smell that burns it. Hyrule swears you even gag, although it's hard to tell because of how fast you shoot a hand up to cover the whole lower part of your face.

"What in Hylia's name were you trying to make? It smells like bokoblin guts!"

Hyrule shrinks even further into his embarrassment, "...It was supposed to be a fruit cake..."

"A fruit cake?"

"Hyrule wanted to learn how to cook and had the recipe for one. It just...didn't go as planned," Wild rubs the back of his neck, sparing a pitiful glance at the smoldering gunk that sticks to the cooking pot. It'll be a pain to clean later, that's for sure.

"Obviously,” You roll your eyes followed by a frown as you look to the cooking pot yourself with more sympathy than pity, "...But it’s a shame. I love fruit cake."

Wild blinks, his eyes shifting from you to Hyrule as the gears inside his head begin to turn. Meanwhile Hyrule tries to clear away the soot from his face with a quick drag of his sleeve, however he only makes matters worse by smearing it, "I'm sorry. I really wanted it to turn out right for you, but…I guess I should’ve just bought a cake at that bakery, huh? …I’m not cut out for cooking myself…”

Your frown remains as does that look of sympathy. Stepping forward, you take your canteen from your hip and dump a little water over the very edge of your cloak. By the time it's properly soaked, you're standing in front of Hyrule and using the cloth to wipe away the scoot from his face. Your attempts are far more successful than his, getting most of the gray off at the cost of your clock taking on the shade itself, not that you show any care.

"I'm sure you'll get the hang of it some day, 'rule. It's something that requires practice and patience. After all, I'm sure Wild wasn't as good of a cook from the start as he is now.”

"Umm -"

"- Shush."

And with that, Wild immediately puts his hand down with a pout.

"Start out with some simple dishes first, then whenever you get the basic skills of cooking down, I'll teach you how to properly make fruit cake. How about that?"

Hyrule's eyes nearly sparkle at the offer. Sure, Wild is his partner in crime when it comes to getting into unnecessary trouble, however he'd much rather have you as his cooking partner (and maybe his partner in everything else, too, if he can one day get that far). That's likely why he nods too quickly, his bangs still being stuck upright which prevents them from bobbing with the movement for once.

You chuckle at his excitement and go to leave camp to return to whatever you had been doing before, although you do stop to ruffle his hair, reminding him to wash it when he gets a chance (words he doesn't hear because he’s too busy obsessing over the feeling of your hand running through his hair).

"You know -" Hyrule jolts out of his trance, cheeks red at the realization that he had forgotten all about Wild who stands with most his wait shifted to the side, arms crossed and a smirk pulling at his lips, "- Usually when you like someone, the best thing to do is to try not poisoning them."

"I-I wasn't - That's not what I -"

"- We still have some ingredients left over. Let's start from the top," Wild merely shakes off Hyrule’s rambling, something the Traveler is thankful for as he begins to trail after his friend back to the cooking pot, however he stops dead in his tracks when Wild suddenly spins around to point a wooden spoon at him, "BUT, no more adding anything that isn't in the recipe when I turn my back or else I'm warning (Y/n) that they'll have to be doing all the cooking in your relationship…Hylia knows I can’t afford getting in trouble again with Twilight...”

Hyrule gulps and nods more timidly than he had with you, "W-Will do."

This was a mistake and the worst part is that Legend knew it before he even committed to the decision. He knew it would be a bad idea to 'invite' nine others into his home, even if it was to be a temporary trip, yet he opened the doors to mayhem anyway.

He blames his own tiredness, if anything. He didn't really feel like presenting a good argument as to why everyone should remain outside, which would've been especially difficult to pull off given the blazing sun above. No one wanted to just ‘wait outside’, not when their curiosity was overflowing at the thought of all the cool things the Vet must be hiding inside his home. So ever so foolishly, he let them in, underestimating the exact extent of annoyance he'd be instantly cursing himself with.

"Don't touch that!"

"Get away from there!"

"Hey, those are delicate! Put them down!"

"No, I am not playing any music! I'm just here to switch out my weapons. Just - STOP SHIFTING THROUGH MY STUFF! HAVEN’T YOU EVER HEARD OF SOMETHING CALLED ‘PRIVACY’?!"

"...You can borrow that if you want."

Surely some of the heroes snapped their necks by how quickly they turned towards Legend, surprised to hear him speak in a tone not laced with vexation nor raised in a shout. Actually, his words are rather soft - soft for him, at least.

Even you're surprised, although it's not for the same reason as the others. Hearing the Vet's voice behind you, you practically leaped out of your skin and prepared yourself for the same harsh scolding as everyone else has received, so it takes you a second to process what he had really said instead.

You blink once then twice (the rest of the group does, too) before glancing down at the ring you have pinched between your fingers. There's a small chest filled with them in front of you, each somehow different from the other whether that's because of the color of the band or the types of gems decorating them. Of course, you only planned on looking over them with your eyes, not wanting to disrespect Legend's privacy (and not wanting to be shouted at either), but that was before one ring in particular caught your eye. Your interest couldn't be tamed at that point, leading you to pick up the piece of jewelry for closer inspection which lands you in your current situation.

Turning to face Legend, who only boredly glances at the ring in your hand before going back to his own business, you open your mouth to say something - perhaps ask if he's serious because you most definitely misheard, right? He's going to let you borrow something of his? After getting so peeved about everyone else simply touching his stuff? You aim to be safe and confirm permission, yet the question doesn't have a chance to leave your lips before someone else beats you to it:

"What?! How come they get to take something? I wanna ring!" It's Wind and his objection makes sense seeing as he had just been looking over the same jewelry box moments ago only for Legend to swat his hands away. He isn't the only one to see the hypocrisy either.

"Can I borrow this?" Wild asks, holding up a boomerang with a hopeful smile that nearly distracts from the glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"No, you can't!" Legend hisses, quick to rip his tornado rod out of Warrior's hands while he's at it much to the Captain's offense.

"Oh come on! What makes (Y/n) so special, eh?!"

"They're responsible," Legend dismisses stubbornly with a wave of his hand as he turns his back to them again. The others merely roll their eyes in annoyance, Warrior mumbling something under his breath that sounded a lot like 'simp' much to Legend's frustration, but before he can bite back, he mostly forgets all about them when you finally get a chance to speak up for yourself.

"You're sure it's no trouble?"

Legends fears he might have stared at you a bit too long - not that you would've noticed seeing as you keep your eyes focused on the ring you fiddle with. Despite how much you try to act neutral as to not get your hopes up, there's a giddy joy to your eyes at the thought of getting to keep this ring even if just for a little while, after all, it's so beautifully crafted and the red rubies attached to the golden band remind you of Legend in a way you'd prefer not to explain in front of everyone else, let alone with him present.

"...Yeah, it's no problem," He looks away quickly, blowing some air which fixes his bangs out of his view. If anyone were to spend more time studying his behavior (Hylia forbid it), they might notice how awfully red his face has suddenly gotten, "...Just don't lose it."

Truthfully, he doesn't care. If it were just the two of you, he'd actually tell you to keep it since he has plenty of rings anyways, not to mention it would give him some peace of mind for you to always have a protection ring handy, but he can't risk saying that here. The others are already questioning him too much and the last thing he needs is either Wild or Warrior picking up on the hint. Maybe he’ll just wait for when you try to return the ring so that he can play it off better by simply pushing it back towards you and giving some excuse like ‘I didn’t even miss it’ or ‘I actually don’t need any more junk now that I think about it’. You wouldn’t suspect a thing then nor would anyone who overhears.

"Thank you! I promise to take really good care of it!" At last, you take no shame in letting your delight show and waste no more time sliding the ring over your finger.

Legend just nods, burning through all of his willpower to not keep stealing glances your way. Fortunately, it doesn't take him much longer to locate the weapons of his desire, allowing him to finally herd everyone out of his house while continuing to deny their requests to borrow some items for themselves. Hyrule is the last straggler, something Legend originally wouldn't have thought much of since the Traveler isn't one to usually cause him trouble, although there's a first time for everything as it would seem.

"Congrats on the engagement," It's such a smug comment to come from someone who looks nothing but innocent as he saunters by, in fact it takes Legend's brain several seconds of spinning before he understands the implication and with it, his confusion instantly melts into a mix of fury and embarrassment (which one is at the head could be anyone's guess).

"T-They asked and I have plenty of rings, so there was no point in me turning them down! It's not an 'engagement'!"

Hyrule merely chuckles in the face of Legend's anger, "Don't worry. I won't say anything."

Legend huffs, taking it upon himself to push Hyrule towards the exit so that he can sooner leave this mess behind, however before he can begin to feel too comfortable, the Traveler speaks up again while casually picking up a gauntlet off the nearby table Legend leads them by, "This is cool.”

Legend glares; a deadly look Hyrule once again meets with too much innocence - mocked innocence, the Vet is now convinced - nothing but an act!

"You know, it would be a shame if someone like Warrior or Wild realized why you only do nice things for (Y/n). If they connect the dots for themselves -"

"- You can borrow it," Legend cuts Hyrule off in a hurry, pushing the gauntlet into his hands while shoving him out the door, "But I want it back in one week, you hear? That's all the time you've bought yourself with, you rat!"

#linked universe #link x reader #linked universe x reader #lu four x reader #lu hyrule x reader #lu legend x reader #legend of zelda #reader insert #x reader

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blacktacmopsi · 8 days

Text

Hanging Fire: Part 1.

----------------------------------------------------------

| Hesh X Female! Reader X Keegan | Smut (MDNI) | CW: Oral Sex, DP, General Smut |

The first installment of what is turning out to be a rather long fic about being stuck in a Federation outpost waiting to get extracted. This first part doesn't contain smut, but it's definitely leading up to it. Overall, this work is porn with little plot.

Note: I did not proof read this & sorry this one is kind of long that I had to break it into pieces.

Shout out to the lovely @xoxunhinged for helping me with some ideas on how to transition from stuck to smut. Luv ya!

Hanging Fire: Part 2 >

Another night with the soft pitter-patter of rain hitting the broken windowpane. Another night of uncomfortable humidity drenching your skin in slick sweat. Another night, stuck in the abandoned outpost amid the Amazon’s verdant embrace, in the center of Federation territory. The mission with you, Hesh, and Keegan was successful...except for one tiny factor. You three were being hunted down. The Federation didn't take too kindly to you bunch sabotaging another LOKI facility, setting back their chance of creating their own orbital defense system from the salvaged parts of ODIN. Scrambling forces, they were hot on your escape which had delayed extraction by a few days, forcing you three to lay low until the heat died down.

"Man, we really kicked the hive on this one," Hesh sighed as he stood with his rifle looking out the broken, rain spattered, window into the blackness of the Amazon that surrounded them. You sat on a rickety cot across the small room while Keegan leaned against an old desk with broken radio coms. This was definitely a communication outpost for the Federation that looked forgotten in time. It was dank, dark, dingy, and dirty.

"Any word from Kick on extraction?" You ask as you lean back, rolling your shoulders to try and ease the tension.

"Merrick and the rest are waiting for a good window to open up. They're hoping for the next day or so," Keegan speaks flatly, almost like he's experienced this kind of thing too many times to count or care.

You had been with the Ghosts for a while now and had a great working relationship with the guys. However, there was something about the relationship you had with Hesh and Keegan that was different from the others. There was a flirtation in their behavior with you that wasn't unwelcome. You did like both men quite a lot and did find them to be rather easy on the eyes- Hesh with his broad and fit frame & Keegan with those penetrating blue eyes and arousing voice. In fact, that was the silver lining to this entire shit situation. At least you were stuck with them in this tiny outpost. It could have been way worse.

But still, the tension showed. Even being stuck with these two men couldn’t fully expunge the sheer risk and danger that mounted with every passing second you were not extracted safely. It was the unspoken specter that loomed over you three. Sure, you were all safe, for now… but how long would that last?

"I think we'll be clear for another night. It’s looking quiet out there," Hesh speaks lowly. He lowers his rifle and walks over to where you and Keegan are, sitting on the dirt dusted floor.

“Another night of waiting it out,” Keegan speaks as he stretches, drawing himself to full height. You can’t help but look at the two men before you and wonder how they can be so calm. Yes, you had been in some high-risk situations and usually had a level head with these things, but waiting this long was beginning to take its toll on you. Being confined to the little outpost shack was causing you to get pent up in more ways than one and this was something that didn’t escape the observant gaze of both Hesh & Keegan. They noticed you biting your fingernails more and the way you fiddled with your hands. It was only when you began bouncing your leg, that Hesh spoke up.

“Hey, you hangin' in there?” He speaks with that concerned voice you’ve heard him use before. “I know a nervous tic when I see one.”

You look up at him, his face painted with eye black in that characteristic skull resembling pattern he always does. “Barely…” you mutter.

“It’s going to be alright. Merrick and the rest are on their way. Besides, if Feds were coming, they would already be here by now.” Hesh was always good at reassuring people and was definitely a cool-headed man in these situations. His resolve was truly impressive. Yet, the anxiety he felt was palpable. You could see it in the way he always kept his rifle near him and how he barely let himself merely rest, ever constantly alert.

“Though this is stressful, we’ve all been in worse,” Keegan speaks up.

You can’t help but crack a small smile. Thank god it was these two that you were stuck with!

“How do you all do it? Not let the tension get to you? I genuinely want to know.”

The two men take a moment to consider your question. How did they stay so calm in dire situations? Were they even sure themselves?

“You know… I’m not sure. I just do,” Keegan chuckles shifting his stance. “You’ve been doing good though, kid. Holding your own.”

“Keegan’s right. Others would have cracked under this pressure.”

You sit up a little, popping your back getting a little bit of physical relief.

“What do you both do to get rid of the tension? Like, after a stressful mission, how do you both unwind? Because I don’t believe for a second you two are running on pure adrenaline 24/7. There’s no way.”

Hesh chuckles, leaning back. “Well, nothing beats a good, long, relaxing shower. That’s the first thing I’m doing when getting back. Some ‘self-love’ if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah, a ‘self-loving’ shower always hits the spot,” Keegan chimes in with a hint of amusement in his voice. “And you?”

You debate if you want to admit to the guys what you really do to kick the stress. On one hand, you don’t want to admit to having some time with your ‘friendly fingers’ but on the other, what’s the worst that can happen? You’re stuck with these two guys you admittedly had a thing for. Besides, you’ve built a deep camaraderie with them and in this situation, why not? Plus, they already, technically, admitted the same to you.

“Same,” you answer.

Hesh cocks an eyebrow and an incredulously bemused looks spreads across his face. “I didn’t think you’d admit that out loud.”

“Well, she has needs too, so…” Keegan mentions as he sighs, crossing his arms.

“Yeah…needs…hmmm,” Hesh speaks softly keeping eye contact on you. You can’t help but stare back at him noticing the verdant allure of his eyes. There is definitely a longing behind them you can’t ignore. But it wasn’t just Hesh’s eyes on you. Keegan’s were as well. The three of you fell into silence. Now there was a different tension being generated in the little outpost shack. Your eyes dart between the two men as the realization hits you- They were surely pent up and just confessed to rubbing one out in the showers. On top of that, you also fessed up that you took care of yourself. The solution presented itself as obvious. The unspoken awareness of this information was now on all of your minds: Why wait for the showers and the comfort of your hands when you three were all in need of a certain kind of relief? One that could, really, be given by each other. Hesh was the first to break the silence that bloomed as this epiphany dawned upon you all.

“Well…I think we’re all on the same page here...and can help one another ease this pressure we’re all feeling.” His voice is low and tinted with a sensuality you have never heard before. You begin to feel your pulse pick up as the implications of what he said hit you like a brick in the face.

“Right now? No. Are you crazy?” You can’t believe he seriously is suggesting this. Yet, your reasoning had no bearing on Hesh. He rose up from the floor to sit beside you on the rickety cot, inching very close.

“Think about it. We’re all stressed. We’re all pent up. We have an opportunity here. It can just stay between us three.” He turns to look at Keegan who has his thick dark eyebrows raised. Almost as if he’s considering the proposition.

“Hesh does have a point. A little relief and comfort could help us stay sane here.” Hesh turns back to face you with a soft smile on his face.

“What do you say?”

#call of duty ghosts #cod ghosts #call of duty #keegan p russ #cod keegan #keegan cod ghosts #keegan cod #keegan smut #BlackTacMopsi Writes Garbage #hesh smut #cod hesh #david hesh walker #hesh walker

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lara-cairncross · 29 days

Note

I'm gonna dub myself babbling anon because I know I probably babble a lot. Anyway;

I was thinking about you AU and then I saw a picture of Draxum and thought about him being the pixie dust alchemist or a garden fairy, and then, when I thought about the pixie dust, I thought about the moon stone, which I'm getting off track about. Here are my questions! And sorry again.

1. Do you think any of the brothers would be selected in taking care of the Moonstone?

2. Has any of them been curious about the frost fairies? I'm sure Raph and Donnie has been part of the crews helping the animals cross and making the baskets respectively before.

3. Isn't it common for fairies to use mice to pull their wagons? Wouldn't it be awkward for Splinter to be just a rat?

4. Do you think April would be intrested in Pixue dust alchemy? In the series, she wanted to learn magic in witch town.

That's all my questions, so sorry for the new pile of them. But I also wanna tell you about things I thought about with characters like how Meat Sweats can be a baking fairy, i think that's what they are, and Mikey would drop by the baker fairies' workplace sometimes to watch (imagine Meat Sweats in tiny freaking wings that shouldn't hold him up but it does, haha) but I think I'm being too overwhelming and I should probably not be bothering about this but anyway, babbling again. Thank you for taking your time on this and sorry for wasting it too, haha.

First of all-- I LOVE the idea of Draxum as some kind of Pixie Dust alchemist!! I don't know if I'll ever get around to drawing that, but it's an excellent idea :DD Originally I was trying to figure out if I wanted Draxum or Big Mama to step into Queen Clarion's shoes, but now I'm leaning towards Big Mama as the Queen and Draxum as some kind of fairy alchemist on the lam!

I'm not sure if any of them would be selected, honestly? I mean, the only one who would really be chosen to create the scepter is Donnie-- and although he's talented, he and the rest of the boys are infamous in Pixie Hollow for being, like, SUPER reckless and adventurous! I don't think anyone would trust the four of them around a priceless artifact lmao

Raph definitely takes an interest in the frost fairies/the Winter Woods! He loves helping the animals cross over and seeing their pelts change color, but he does have to be careful-- not only because his wings can get damaged by the cold, but also because it's really easy for him to switch into brumation mode if he accidentally crosses the border. That'd be a disaster all around. Donnie doesn't really care about the frost fairies or the Winter Woods-- he has too much work to do back on his side of the border-- and Mikey doesn't like it over there at ALL, since it's much colder and cloudier!! He thrives off of warm temperatures and sunny skies :DD Leo would probably be pretty indifferent to the Winter Woods, but I can see him challenging himself to fly across the border and get back before his wings get damaged, just to test out how fast he can fly.

Man, I need to figure something out for Splinter. I honestly have no idea where he fits in here! Maybe he could take over Lord Milori's role in the Winter Woods? That could be a fun dynamic to play with when it comes between him, Big Mama, and the turtles :D

April would defffffffinitely be interested in all things related to magic/pixie dust/fairies in general. The turtles tell her all kinds of stories about Pixie Hollow and show off their magic to her, but I imagine that she'd always be sort of disappointed that she can't experience Neverland for herself-- not yet, at least.

Thanks for the questions, dearest babbling anon! They were fun to answer 😚🧡🧡

#rottmnt fairy au #fairy au

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heartcereql · 8 months

Text

tommy shelby x finn's teacher!reader pt.3 || pt.2 , pt.1

you smoothed your dress for what felt like the millionth time that evening, running your fingers through the orange and golden fabric.

you stood outside the garrison, noise and light filtering from the inside. if one listened closely, a few tipsy men could be heard faintly singing to some even faintier orchestra music. but you were too lost on your thoughts to pay any mind to it. tommy's words reverberated in your head. wednesday evening. it appeared he was throwing quite a party inside the pub. weird, considering it was wednesday, but who were you to judge.

though the sky was darkening and the streetlights emitted very dim light, you glistened against the night. gold jewellery adorned your ears, neck, arms and fingers. you looked radiant. nevertheless, the fact that you were going to be seen only increased the bundle of nerves in your gut.

you tried to remind yourslef that this was just an invitation to a party at tommy shelby's pub, strictly that. it was by no means exclusive. but you knew better than to believe that. though it might come off as insignificant, it incapsulated something more. with thomas shelby it always did. even the most ordinary actions turned intimate and compelling.

after what felt like an eternity to you, you finally gathered the courage to walk the few steps that separated you from the pub and get in at once. a wave of heat washed over you as the temperature rose from inside. the music was louder, delicate and harmonical, with chattering everywhere.

you found yourself contemplating the beautiful ornaments of the garrison that fascinated you so much. the interior lights brought a glimmer to every corner. and then a particular glint caught your attention.

an ocean-colored depth, captured in a pair of piercing eyes, already familiar to you by now. but they didn't fail to draw you in every single time.

he was leaning against the bar, and he didn't even wait for a second to make his way towards you once he saw you.

"y/n" thomas called out as he approached you.

"hey" you greeted, cheeks rosy from the chilly weather. "how've you been? how's everything?"

"not bad, not bad. how 'bout you, things alright?" he replied, cautiously eyeing the way you glittered- beyond your accessories, there was a certain glow in your skin, silkness in your hair. and that dress fitted your figure perfectly.

"everything in order" you smiled, not missing the chance to take a good look at the man who had been plaguing your mind for the past few days. he had always felt like a mystery to you, but now you were looking forward to explore said mystery. "it's quite a party you've got in here"

"thought you'd like it" he said. he rather meant something along the lines of 'i wanted a desperate excuse to see you again', but he kept that to himself.

"i absolutely do. thank you for inviting me, the party looks lovely" you smiled his way, heart fluttering in your chest.

"it was all polly's doing" tommy admitted.

"polly?"

"my aunt" he replied, gesturing with his head to a more private room near the door.

he put his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly as a welcome, but guiding you to the secluded room where his family and some of the peaky blinders were in.

he held the door open for you. inside sat two men who you recognized vaguely, arthur and john shelby. there were also a woman, a few men and-

"finn? hi!" you acknowledged your student, sitting at a corner, trying not to frown once you saw the beer in his hand.

the boy's eyes widened, his face flushing lightly.

"miss y/n, hello" he mumbled, too shy to look at you.

"isaiah, take the boys to the cut or somewhere, will ya?" arthur muttered to one of the men, who gave him a nod and took finn away to gather the rest of the younger boys.

"everyone, y/n y/l/n" tommy introduced, hand still on you as he guided you to a seat. "these gentlemen are my brothers, john and arthur; and my aunt, polly gray"

ah, polly gray. you took a careful glance at the elegant, classy lady, who exuded charm. yes, the party seemed proper of her.

"care for a dance?" tommy asked, leaning slightly towards you.

the two of you had exited the room a while ago, mingling with other people and enjoying some drinks.

you gaped at him for a moment, suddenly breathless and at a loss of words. you knew everybody would be watching, but your concerns went further than that. wasn't all this going too quickly? but also, weren't you enjoying every last bit of this?

"oh, i'm not sure, tommy, i-" you stuttered, trying to excuse your way out of it. though you had done your best to hide it, you had no clue on how to dance. "i don't dance..."

" 's okay" he reassured, a smile on his lips. "follow my lead, eh? you'll be alright."

you tried to refuse again, but tommy had already grasped your hand, gentle but firm, and was dragging you to where the people were mingling, dancing and enjoying themselves.

he didn't let go of your hand, placing it on his shoulder instead and putting his hand on your lower back, bringing you closer. his other hand clasped yours and rose it, as a slower piece began to play.

"just back and forth. easy, eh?" he guided your every step carefully, making sure you got how it went before falling into a rhythm.

you occupied your mind with keeping up with his steps, focusing on the music, avoiding instead thinking about the softness of his hand on the small of your back, about how you were so close you could see the freckles on his skin.

you soon got enhanced by the man dancing with you. the expensive cologne, the way he smiled down at you as encouragement, his finger rubbing circles faintly over the back of your hand. it all wrapped around you dreamily.

as the music came to an end, you met his gaze. maybe you shouldn't have, because you weren't able to look away. because, reflected on the captivating blue, were mirrored the same feelings your eyes spoke for you. and he realized that too.

without wasting any further second, he dragged you away from the people, exiting through the back door of the pub, taking you to another room, this one empty of people, poorly decorated.

you immediatly found yourself in tommy's arms again, fingers travelling his body as he leaned even closer.

you stayed like that for some instants, a silent allure settling down over you. his hands on your waist, yor hand on his cheek. taking in the other's presence, as if you were going to disappear at any second.

your mind was racing with worries. how even had you ended up in this situation?

"tommy, i-" you bit your lip, trying to find the words. "should we-"

suddenly his face was inches away from yours, noses brushing, breath fanning over the other's lips. the sudden closeness- even more than it had been before- left you wordless, and any doubt you still carried dissipated.

he said your name in no more than a whisper, as if asking for permission. you corresponded with an impatient nod, your hand upon his cheek caressing it slightly.

tommy's lips captured yours in a gentle and lasting kiss. the contact was delicate, his mouth careful on yours in a way you'd have never exoected of him. his grip on your waist tightened, drawing you closer as the kiss deepened, slow but steady, as if you were savouring every moment.

his silky touch surprised tommy himself; he felt like he wanted to treasure you, keep you with him, too scared to let go. as the kiss fell into a more passionate pattern, he became aware of how fast his heart was beating, hammering in his chest at the scent of your hair, the sound of your erratic breathing. x

your hands found the collar of his shirt and grasped it adamantly, needily almost. your lips danced now to a perfect symphony. he tasted like whisky and cigarettes, and right now it felt like a banquet to you.

tommy broke the kiss for a mere second, face still close, just to admire how the dim lights traced your features, how your lipstick was faintly smeared, how your eyes fluttered open, how your breathing became needful in his abscence.

not being able to hold back longer, you pulled him into a kiss again, a much more heated one, and he complied, more than satisfied with the sight.

taglist: @budugu ☆ @tatumrileyslover ☆ @stayaways-world ☆ @amberpanda99

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #heartcereql

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ladykailitha · 4 months

Text

The Magic of Christmas Part 4/8

Hello! How are you guys enjoying so far?

In this Steve realizes his feelings, Dustin and Robin decide Steve needs to live forever, and Steve gets roped into something he swore he'd never do.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

***

August was fucking miserable. Like the worst month of the year. After February. And January. And September...

That’s besides the point. The point was that AC had kicked the bucket in the middle of the biggest heatwave.

He was going to cry. The wizard piece turned out really well. Steve had loved all the little details that he had put in it.

But the rogue was giving him trouble. It was horrific. Because rogues were silent and mysterious, but the way Steve talked about Will, he was quiet kid, a bitchy teen, and a wild adult. Trying to figure his place in the world he kinda went punk. Dyed his hair bright green. Piercings and tattoos. Ripped clothes and combat boots.

Eddie slowly sat up. Well that’s a thought. He blinked for a moment. That could actually work.

Suddenly his phone rang. He frowned at the device. No one called anymore. It was all texts and DMs and Face Time. The name that came up because there was one, another surprising thing, was Steve.

He dived for the phone and managed to answer it before it went to voicemail.

“‘Ello?” he breathed.

“Hi, Eds,” Steve greeted cheerfully.

Eds.

Fuck.

The things that little nickname did to the butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey, Stevie!” he said back. “What can I do you for?”

“That article Nancy did is making some serious headway,” Steve explained. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet me for lunch to go over the details.”

Eddie laughed. “I was about to text you, darlin’. I have an idea for the rogue I wanted to float by you. So where to, my liege?”

“Monte Cruz, the Mexican place on 7th?” Steve asked.

It was a bit pricey, but it had the best fajitas Eddie had ever had. “Sure thing. 1pm okay?”

“Let me check,” Steve replied.

Eddie could hear him call Robin and while he couldn’t hear her response, Steve’s warm ‘thank you’ meant he was free.

“That’s perfect,” Steve said. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.”

They hung up and Eddie laid on the floor staring up at the ceiling, holding his phone over his chest.

Fuck!

He got up and dashed to the bathroom to shower. He felt like he was covered in slime.

Steve was waiting for him on the terrace, a nice cool breeze rustling his hair. And Eddie couldn’t help but fall a little bit more.

Eddie waved and was far too pleased to get Steve’s little finger wave in return.

He sat down and grinned at Steve. “How is it cooler outside then in my loft?”

“Heat rises?” Steve suggested. cocking his head to the side.

Eddie laughed. “Well it’s the only thing that rising at this point. It’s so fucking hot.”

“I thought you’re loft had air conditioning,” Steve said with a frown.

“Apparently we worked it to extinction,” Eddie said mournfully.

Steve pulled out his phone. “Are you renting or paying a mortgage? I don’t remember what all we’re paying for.”

“Sadly, we own it,” Eddie said with a heavy sigh. “Otherwise I would have harassed a landlord to get it fixed.”

Steve hummed. “All right, I’ve messaged Robin. She’ll call around and get a technician come over tomorrow. It’ll go on my card if can be fixed or if it needs to be replaced.”

Eddie leaned back in his chair. “You don’t have to do that, man.”

Steve smiled at him. “Will the excess heat hurt your paintings?”

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a couple times before he threw his arms in the air. “Yes! Of course it will.”

“Then it’s a business expense and I’ll cover it.”

“I hate you,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You really, really don’t,” Steve murmured. “Now show me your idea for Will’s rogue.”

Eddie pulled out his drawing pad and flipped to the right page. He slid it over to Steve for him to see.

“Oh Eds,” Steve breathed. “It’s beautiful. He’ll love it.”

Eddie tried not to preen, but he couldn’t help it. “So I can go ahead and start painting?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Though maybe wait until after your cooler is fixed.”

Eddie threw his head back laughed. “I think you’re probably right.” He gently took the pad from Steve’s grip. “So what’s going on with the charity?”

Steve lit up. He started explaining about all the people interested opening would basically be franchises but that Eddie would still have full control of each branch.

“This is amazing, Stevie,” Eddie breathed. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m happy to help,” Steve said with a grin. “It means that I get drive Dustin absolutely nuts with this whole charity thing. He’s been begging me forever to meet you.”

“I mean, you can invite him to one of our reeducation of Steve Harrington movie nights,” Eddie said, shoving his hair in his face bashfully. “If you wanted to.”

Steve smiled fondly. “That’s sweet of you. But I was thinking something that would absolutely flip their collective shit even more than a movie night. A Halloween one-shot.”

Eddie’s lips formed an O. His eyes sparkled and he grinned. “I know just the thing. It’s something my friends and I used to do in high school. You have these little half–not even half character sheets that have just the most basic of stats. The point is to die in the most epic way possible. There are rewards for stupidest death, most epic death, TPK. It’s lots of fun.”

“That sounds amazing!” Steve said. “Would you be willing to do it?”

Eddie leaned forward on the table. “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

“You join us,” he said with a grin. “You read the stats, you roll the dice, you die like a bitch, just like everyone else. You’d be on equal footing with the rest of the Party.”

“Can I think about it?” Steve asked shyly, ducking his head.

“Sure thing, big boy,” Eddie replied. “But let’s order lunch. I’m starving!”

Steve laughed. “Of course.”

Robin poked her head into his office and held up a leather folio. “Do you want to tell me what the hell this is?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, “I’m not Spider-man. I don’t have x-ray vision.”

“That’s Superman,” Robin replied with a huff, “and you’re dodging the question. You know full well what I’m talking about.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I really, really don’t. I haven’t done any even remotely outrageous in months.”

She walked up to his desk and slammed the folio on the desk. “Steven Kevin Harrington...”

“Not my middle name,” he sneered. “You know what it is. You have seen my birth certificate way more times than I have.”

Robin laughed. “But it’s so lame, so I make up ones that sound better.”

“Whatever, Robs,” he said with a huff of his own. “What has got you so twisted this time?”

She opened the folio and turned it around to face him. “You booked the Newfield for New Year’s eve.”

Steve smiled widely at her. “I told you I was going to. It’s hardly my fault you were making goo-goo eyes at Eddie’s agent at the time.”

Robin gasped. “I was not!” He raised a single eyebrow and she folded. “Yeah, all right, maybe.”

Steve sat up in his chair and scooted closer to her. “Look, before you start throwing accusations around about feelings and thinking with my dick, it’s for the charity. You know, the one we’re working on right now.”

Robin glared at him. “So it has nothing to do with him making goo-goo eyes at you?”

“He’s not!” he protested. “There’s no way. He can have anyone he wants, he’s not going to go for a stuffed shirt like me.”

Robin raised both her eyebrows. “You can’t actually believe that.”

“You saw his most recent video right?” Steve snapped. “The one where he ranted about how greedy businessmen destroying the environment?”

“Uh...” she said, “you mean the one where he especially called out billionaire businessmen and how smaller companies can change the face of the industry and then went on to list ten things that CEOs can do to change the world and all of them were things you did with Starcourt Ltd. That one?”

Steve blushed. “I guess I didn’t realize.”

“Look,” Robin said sitting down in one of the chairs, “I was wrong about a lot of things when you first hired Eddie for this job. About him, about you and your motives. So I get why you can’t take my advice on this, but he likes you. And more than just a friend.”

He ducked his head as the blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears down the column of the throat. “Don’t go there, please.”

Robin held her hands up in surrender. “I won’t if you don’t want me to. All I’m saying is that if you think you’re falling for him, too…just know he probably feels the same.”

Steve licked his lips. “Yeah, okay.” Then he suddenly buried his head in his hands. “Fuck, I have to make a phone call.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He lifted his head and sighed heavily. “Looks like I’m going to be playing D&D after all.”

She laughed and laughed as Steve buried his head again.

The kids were never going to let him live this down.

“You’re sending my off for my last year as undergrad,” Dustin whined, “and you’re making me come back for fall break? Why?”

Steve was getting tired of this question. The only people who knew about Eddie DMing for them was Steve, Robin, and Eddie. And probably Chrissy. Oh and Claudia Henderson, Dustin’s mom. Which meant that all the other moms knew too.

All right, the conspiracy was bigger than Steve thought.

“Because it is your last year,” he said with a sigh. “You’ll be heading off to MIT next year and it’ll be harder for you to come home for the holidays.”

Dustin deflated. “Yeah, okay. So everyone will be home for Halloween?”

Steve brightened up. “Yep! I’m throwing a costume party with pizza and if you guys aren’t shitheads about it, I might even front for a wet bar.”

Dustin frowned. “What the fuck is a wet bar?”

Robin who had just come home, smacked him on the back of his head, knocking off his hat. “It means there will be booze, doofus.”

Dustin who had been about to yell at her for knocking off his hat, turned to Steve instead. “Seriously?”

“Yup! I’ve okay’ed it with all the parental units,” he said, “and I keep an eye on your intake to make sure you don’t get sick, they’re fine with it.”

Dustin launched himself at him and hugged him tight. “You’re the best, Steve!”

“There won’t be beer,” Steve warned. “It’s not the best drink to get started drinking on and bottles tend to hide how much you’ve been drinking.”

“Are they going to be spooky themed drinks?” Dustin asked.

Steve laughed. “Hell yeah, they are.” He ruffled Dustin’s hair. “Now go finish packing. I’m not going to let your mom do it for you this year. You’re an adult. Act like it.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “God, you’re more mom like then my actual mom.”

Steve laughed. “If I got insulted every time one of you called me mom, I would’ve died of a heart attack years ago.”

Dustin hit him on the arm. “No talks of dying. You aren’t allowed. You have to live forever.”

Robin laughed. “Sure, just got to find that elixir of life somewhere.”

“Or the fountain of youth,” Dustin helpfully supplied.

“You could always invent something,” Steve suggested.

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea!” He dashed off excitedly.

“Pack first!”

Robin laughed.

***

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

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#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #christmas #artist eddie #businessman steve #autistic steve harrington

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 10 months

Text

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 6: Fury

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, everyone! I know, I know - yeeting these out, aren’t I? A small change of plans, in that this one is the OG Chapter 4 split in half; I’m THIS close to having Chapter 7 done, too, and after that, it’s minor edits to the existing work. I’ve done the major reworking for this instalment, so yaaaaay! Only gotta rephrase/add slight things to upcoming chapters to make it all round out cohesively. As always, thanks to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reassuring me that this makes sense! YAY!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, violence, age gap, dubious consent.

Luring you in is easier said than done.

He finds you when and where he can, your seemingly untraceable movements easily resolved through quick conversation with Harrold Westerling, none other than the Lord Commander himself. A stolid, serious man, he’d taken little issue to his Prince’s request, providing Cole’s whereabouts with an ease that speaks to the Kingsguard’s acclimatisation to your routine. He does not particularly enjoy searching you out by means of the Stormlander knight, but needs must.

Daemon does it all, too. He spends what time he is able in your company, taking care not to press his suit too forcefully and scare you off; he regales you with tales of his nobler deeds and escorts you to meals with your family; he unearths his old stockpiles of accrued riches and selects the few among them he thinks you might like; he plies you with adulation and declares you to be the fairest maiden in all the known world, the envy of every creature fortunate enough to lay eyes upon you. He gives this endeavour all the effort he possesses, more so than any past conquest, for you are infinitely more valuable than some cheap fuck, and he is so sure that you will receive his attentions with a sweet smile and a ready spirit, all too willing to take the hand he is silently offering with every look and every word, urging you to accept him and—

And nothing. It drives him mad. So distracted is he that he begins to draw further and further away from his old associates, declining their entreaties wherever he might. The most recent occasion had left a rather sour taste in his mouth.

“Come on, man! Where is your head tonight?” Dargood asks, leaning across one of his many acquaintances to yell at him over the din. “You’ve not said a word all evening!”

Daemon lifts the tankard and takes a lengthy draught. “Ah—perhaps you bore me, then.” A wan smile curves as their gathered companions roar with laughter.

Truthfully, he’s been avoiding the lot of them; they desire little else than to drink and fight and fuck. While his taste for such pastimes hasn’t exactly waned, his enthusiasm has taken a great blow. He can only presume it has something to do with you, blasted tempting girl you are. Each time he resigns himself to one of these outings—each time he must playact at interest in the whores Dargood parades before him in yet another reputed establishment—all he sees in his mind’s eye is your face, wounded disappointment clouding your beauty and transforming it into something haunted and sorrowful.

Kettleblack snorts. “Of course he’s bored, what with his Delight waiting for him in the Keep! Probably wishing he was back in her right now!”

“Or is it his Delight in that shithole that he’s craving?” Hollard asks. The reminder of the whore—of that embarrassingly public affair in which he’d shouted your name in a fucking brothel, of all places—churns in Daemon’s gut.

He looks suspiciously towards Dargood, who shrugs innocently. Dargood had been the only one to pay attention as the whore had led him away and up the stairs; and, when he’d lurched from that shabby chamber after spilling himself like a green boy, he’d come across the other man loitering in the hall outside, expression alight as though he’d just learned some great secret.

He’d have to impress the importance of silence upon his longtime comrade a little more forcefully, it seems.

“Whatever will he do—two silver-haired lasses ready to spread their legs for him?” One of the men whose name he cannot recall grins, revealing his missing front teeth in all their hideous glory. Eyes glittering meanly, he adds, “Who has the time?”

Daemon dislikes the turn in conversation. “Now, now, lads,” he says with a conceited sneer, though his heart isn’t in it. “It’s poor form to tell tales of the royal bedchamber. Or one’s exploits in them.”

“Lucky bastard!”

He levels a look at this unknown. “I assure you; my mother and father were wed.” The manner in which he emphasises it, with a raise of the brow to accentuate, leaves no man unaware of his intent.

“Oi!” he exclaims, indignant even as the others guffaw. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Nothing at all. Only; they say bastards have a certain”—here, Daemon pauses and lets his gaze travel assessingly over his form, settling back with a smirk after completing his observation—“ look about them.”

Uproarious mirth follows his pronouncement, though it did not nearly warrant the volume with which the varied cackles and chortles now ring in his ears.

Hollard slaps his back, guffawing all the while. “Stop terrorising him, my Prince! He’s wroth enough as it is, what with you getting to tumble two Valyrian whores!”

“One cost me a single silver.” Daemon waves him off drolly. “You’re welcome to her. The other”—he thinks of Rhaenyra’s penchant for glittering jewels with a snide sort of affection—“well, you can’t afford her.”

“Tell you who I’d like to have a go with, eh,” Kettleblack slurs, having been in his cups for far longer than the gathering had taken place. “Our People’s Princess.” Daemon’s chest tightens at the mention of you. “Reckon she’d be a first-rate fuck, don’t you?”

“Mm.” Dargood smacks his lips after slamming his tankard back on the table, an unreadable stare trained upon his Prince. “She’s a shy little thing, isn’t she? Thought the confident ones were your type.”

“If it has a cunt between its legs, it’s my type.” This ignites a wave of jeers and more than one crass comment about whether or not he’s taken up horse-fucking as of late. “Oh, fuck off!” Kettleblack says irritably. “Not what I meant. Besides, she’s a looker. None of you would refuse, surely! Can you imagine it? The sound of her—”

He’s speaking before he even realises. “That’s enough.”

The harshness in his voice spurs them all to an abrupt silence.

Daemon had left not long after, unable to stomach spending longer than he had to their presence. Their ribald banter was by no means the most vulgar it had ever been—in fact, it was positively tame in comparison to some of the sentiments expressed in past encounters—but hearing them discuss you so crudely made him uncomfortably aware of how tasteless many of his own thoughts of you had been.

After this disturbing epiphany, he seeks distraction by throwing himself ever more into the task of winning you over, only to be thwarted at every turn.

His flattery is for naught; your lips curve up shyly when you look at him, but so too does this occur when any other compliments you. You absorb yourself in his stories, probing where you will and exclaiming in pretty ahs of girlish fascination, but so too does this happen when your half-sister natters on about her own day to your keen ear. You accept his gifts with earnest solemnity, clutching them to you as a child with a prized doll, but so too do you hold tight the flowers young Jacaerys presents to you after a morn spent in the sun.

Ever agreeable, ever kind, ever polite you are to his overtures—but you do not warm to him in the way he expected you to. The way he wishes you would. In truth, he isn’t entirely sure you are even aware of his motives, for you do not regard him with the same hesitance you do the Tyrell lord or Lannister or your idiot brother. Is that a terrible thing? he wonders. It is not as though you particularly like any of them. Nonetheless, he remains, frustratingly, your uncle and nothing more.

This is partly his own fault, he knows. The court had once had its pleasure in the scandal wrought by Daemon’s calculated seduction of Rhaenyra, obvious to all but the King himself—and what had resulted? His banishment, her ruination, his years in exile and her marriage free of passion. No such occurrence is to be the conclusion of this attempt; thus, he is resigned to stepping out from the shadows, conducting his business in the safe light of day. Never once does he dare to hint at anything less than what is proper in the presence of others—and never once does he dare meet with you alone. There can be no errors this time.

As such, his suit remains overlooked. He can do nothing else but persist, waiting for you to finally realise his intentions.

How tedious it is to lower himself to such a competition with no real opponent! He is the only one worthy of your pedigree, a man of high enough birth that you would not be ridiculed by wedding below your station. A man who could ensure you kept your familiar life in King’s Landing with your family, who could garb you in the finest velvets and silks and jewels this side of the Narrow Sea, who could give you trueborn Targaryen children worthy of your royal womb.

And yet, strangely, wooing you excites him. For all his many pursuits and passions, he had never once played the role of valiant suitor; and the sight of your pleased face as he offers you presents or walks you around your garden in amiable conversation tugs at a long-buried part of his soul. He wants to be your hero, wants you to worship him. In the bedchamber, yes, but also on his arm for all to see, to know that he has won your affections as assuredly as he has won your hand.

It is this that goads him to seek you out today.

You had welcomed his presence in the dank library, the scent of stale leather and rotting parchment permeating the echoing space. It’s fucking cold, too, in a tower so high up in the Red Keep he can swear the air feels thinner. You’d pulled out your winter furs, draping them over your shoulders to stave off the chill, and he’d noted with amusement that you’d done the same to your guard. Ser Crispin was fetchingly shrouded in flaxen hide, complementing his armour rather stunningly. His attempts to get a rise from the man at this had failed, with the cunt obstinately refusing to acknowledge his existence.

“Finne laz anha ezat sewafikh,” you say, grinning at the dubious twist of his lips. He has come to find that, for all your solemnity, it is easy to amuse you. “Go on, kepus—try.”

“Finne… laz anha—ezat swafeek.” He grimaces at the words as they leave his mouth. The flavour feels distinctly wrong.

“Seh—wa—fikh.” You correct him gently, nodding at him to try again.

Your Ser Lysan Marios is in the corner of the room, chin to chest as he snores in the only comfortable chair in the room. He truly is an old man. With dark skin and white hair, Daemon has never seen a person with so many lines on their face, looking more like the craggy hills of his dead bronze bitch’s prized Runestone than actual human flesh. A man of acuity and hilarity, it is no wonder you enjoy his company.

“It is best to let him rest,” you had said as the man’s lids had drooped and his head had lowered forward, slumping in his seat. “He has been unwell lately—I worry for him.”

You had since obliged with his entreaties to teach him some phrases in Dothraki. It is a hard-won process. His jaw and tongue are unused to situating themselves for throaty dialogue, being far too used to the lyrical fullness of his ancestral native speech, but it is entirely worth it to watch your sweet face light up.

“Sewafikh,” he says.

You gasp excitedly, wiggling in your seat. “The whole thing!”

“Finne laz anha ezat sewafikh,” he says, smirking at you when you clap. He can’t help but find you endearing in your joy, eyes shining and smiling bright. “Now, little girl—what have you just made me say?”

“I thought you would find this phrase most useful.” You grin impishly. He narrows his eyes at you.

“And this useful phrase is?” His brow quirks.

You’re already giggling. “You can now ask ‘where can I find the wine?’ should you discover yourself surrounded by a khalasar.”

A startled guffaw bursts from him at your cheek. You are a surprisingly witty little thing, and he has found himself more and more charmed with each hour he spends in your presence. A consummate royal youth, you are exceedingly well-versed in the politics of social niceties, navigating your exchanges so expediently that he has learned he must actively work to keep up.

“Impudent brat.” He chuckles, eyeing you as you catch your breath and making a list of all the parts of you he intends to get his hands on when you are his.

Curls of silver bundled into a braided coiffure, strands threatening to escape—and he finds this more and more apt a metaphor for your character, a timid little bird just waiting to be set forth from its cage. The damnable temptation of your throat thankfully encircled with the abundance of precious stones forming the Valyrian steel necklace he had gifted you some days prior, a welcome respite from being besieged by the involuntary seduction of pale skin. Voluptuous waist and widened hips in perfect shape for his hands to span. Rounded cheeks and pouty pucker and dewy-eyed gaze…

You are a maiden strumpet waiting for her first lesson in the art of carnality. He is determined to be your instructor in this. Your only instructor.

“Here,” Daemon murmurs, withdrawing the reason for his visit from under his chair. He leans forward and places the item upon the desk before you.

You had paid little attention to the wooden case tucked under his right arm as he sauntered in, instead keeping your eyes fixed upon his as you uttered a courteous greeting, mildly perplexed as you always are when he seeks you out. He watches you as you open the chest now and lift out the carving inside, the same size as the little book before you. Your small hands turn the object curiously as you ogle the fine details of the gift, a soft little gasp of wonder escaping bow-lips.

You glance back at him.

“Is this Caraxes and Athfiezar?” you ask softly. He nods.

It had not taken long to realise your partiality lay less along the lines of ostentation and more meaningful simplicity; he’d only need to recall your lacklustre enthusiasm for Jason Lannister’s lion pendant to form such a notion. (Though, it may very well be that the gift had come from Lannister that had inspired such indifference, he thinks amusedly.) He had solicited the services of a common toymaker entirely by accident, having taken notice of the man’s goods during a nightly stroll through the city.

Daemon had been absent-mindedly making his way back from that eve of tension with Dargood and his crooked companions, only to find that his feet had taken him entirely past the route to the Keep. Instead, he’d moved north along the Kingsroad to Cobbler’s Square, idly observing the shopkeepers flog their wares along the street. One look at the stall upon which were arranged brightly-coloured carvings—an array of lions and horses and dragons, of knights and ladies and Kings in an assortment of sizes, shapes and poses—and he had known that the skill of the man would be something you’d enjoy, honest and artful. The peasant had been overawed when met with a request from the Prince of the City, eagerly accepting the task of producing a miniature replica of your dragons.

The man really had spared no detail, he muses as he surveys your inspection of the sculpture. It is truly a fine piece, carefully depicting his crimson mount snarling and wound around the central figure of your own reptilian steed. They are posed as though they are about to take flight. From the whittled minutiae to the meticulously applied paints, it is a worthy representation of the pair. He would have to make further commissions of him.

“It is beautiful, Uncle,” you breathe, running the tips of your fingers over the hewn surface in concealed awe. You are careful not to disturb the layers of colour affixed to the wood. “I love it. But you should not have bought me anything”—you look back up at him with a frown as your hand lightly reaches up to touch his previous gift fastened at your nape—“for you have already given me something very valuable.”

(“I will treasure it,” you had said, stunned wonder muted by the veil of decorum. He has yet to see you without it; he likes to view it as almost a brand marking you as his.)

Cole is glaring at him from the entry to the library. Daemon sneers, lip twitching in smug enjoyment as the man looks away.

“Why ever not? I was thinking of you,” he asks gently, reprovingly. If I push too hard, she will withdraw. “I enjoy giving you things. Allow your old uncle to indulge, sweet girl.”

You smile unbidden, a flush blooming on the tip of your nose.

“You are not old, kepus,” you whisper, refusing to look at him, and a thrill tingles at the top of his spine at your receptiveness.

He is about to respond when there is a knock upon the door. It reverberates through the room, the bare stone floors serving to propel the noise around. Cole opens it to reveal the mousy form of a servant girl, the plain red linen of her dress and the cream caul adorning her head denoting her as one of the royal staff members. She colours as she notices his presence, quickly glancing away.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” she says, bobbing a curtsey to you and lowering her head, “but the Lord Tyrell is awaiting your presence.”

He seethes internally as you resignedly stow away his gift, giving it a final caress before latching the box closed. Fucking Denys. He’ll be damned if you dare entertain the notion of wedding that flowery cunt, all too eager to bend over for the Hightowers as he is.

“I’ll escort you, niece,” he chooses to say, solicitously stowing the chest under his arm once more as he heads off your weak protestations. He walks around the desk to offer his arm to you.

“I think you’ll find that I will be escorting her, my Prince,” Cole says stiffly, striding forward several paces. The knight stops when you turn to face him.

“Actually, Ser Criston—could you ensure that Ser Lysan makes it safely back to his chambers?” You beseech him quietly, and from the look on the Kingsguard’s face he has no doubt you are gazing up at him with wide, imploring eyes. It is entirely too winsome an expression on you, and he deliberates whether there is a man alive or otherwise who could resist the power of your pleading. “I would hate to awaken him, and my uncle can surely manage to escort me to my sister’s solar to meet with Lord Denys.”

The fastidious man insisted on meeting you for tea, of all things. Fucking ridiculous. Loath to leave you to face the obnoxiousness of his presence alone, Rhaenyra had insisted on playing host to the courting. Needless to say, the food and drink was to be the best part of the event each time he paid a visit to you.

Cole nods yieldingly as you thank him, sighing a defeat as he steps back and allows you to pass with Daemon.

Your hand is firmly wrapped underneath his arm, grip tight. The journey is quiet, and he notes that you have retreated into yourself once more. Though hates to see you unhappy, he cannot deny how well it bodes for him that you are.

“Chin up, sweetling,” he whispers conspiratorially to you as you approach the Princess of Dragonstone’s solar—the room adjoining the chambers of the royal heir to the right—and stop.

You smile weakly at his attempt to cheer you, though it does not reach your eyes, as he knocks on the door for you. Rhaenyra appears in the opening, her countenance morphing into perplexity at the sight of you and Daemon. It is clear she had been expecting Cole instead.

“Uncle,” she says, a wrinkle of confusion on her visage. “I didn’t think—why are you here?”

Her gaze shifts between you and him, noting the grip of your hand upon his arm and the manner in which he is angled toward you.

“Cole’s been tasked with an obligation by our Princess,” he replies, and it is a breath of fresh air to be able to look her in the eye and feel nothing but affection and the throb of old guilt and hurt. The desire has finally worn itself out, though the memory of it still lingers. He supposes you may have had something to do with that. “I felt it best to accompany her to your rooms myself.”

Rhaenyra nods, brow raised and mouth pressed in a thin line as she opens the door wide to let you both in. You whisper a small thank-you to him as you slip away from him, politely moving forward for the visitor to make his introductions to you.

Denys Tyrell is surely the most repulsive man to grace Westeros, Daemon thinks disfavourably.

The man stands aimlessly in the centre of the room, appearing to be idly examining the tapestries depicting the Targaryen Conquest adorning the walls. A stout, rotund lad, he is encased in a garish, ill-fitting doublet of pale sky brocade with gold flowers, straining mightily at the buttons. His features are diminutive among ruddy flesh, save for the huge, meticulously groomed moustache decorating his upper lip. The son of the late Lord Matthos, he is probably one of the few suitors close enough in age to you to bond with over the delight of being young.

And yet, he is still not good enough for you.

“Your Highness.” He bows dramatically, a ridiculous flourish of the hand punctuating the finish.

Daemon has to restrain the urge to scoff at the fawning grandiosity of the gesture. He observes with half-hearted intrigue as the lad’s eyes flick to him and his lip curls in an abortive sneer before quickly returning to you. Another one of his ‘supporters’, he expects.

You politely tip your head and engage in small talk, asking after the quality of his lodgings and the welfare of his family in a manner that suggests you have gotten this routine perfected over the course of these meetings. He wants to roll his eyes as the man brightens, loudly beginning to chatter his poor niece’s ear off.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra hisses from next to him.

Glancing over at her, he sees she has a forbidding look upon her face as she jerks her head towards the open door. Bemused, he follows her out of the room, casting a brief look back at you as you engage in conversation with your suitor. Flowery cunt.

Rhaenyra shuts the door quietly before rounding on him in the middle of the hallway.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing, Daemon?” she asks, looking around quickly for any loiterers. The corridor is silent.

“Can I not walk with my own niece now, Rhaenyra? You really must apprise me of the new laws. I wasn’t aware that it was now a crime to chaperone my own blood—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” She scoffs, waving her hand toward the closed door. “Finding her all over the Keep? Staring at her constantly? The gifts? The flattery?” She steps forward threateningly, though her womanly disposition and her lack of height serve to diminish the effect. “She’s told me all about it—I know what this is.”

He smirks down at her, arms crossing. “And what do you think this is, then?”

Her hand clenches into a fist. He wonders, entertained, if she would dare to hit him. “Don’t play the fool, Uncle; it doesn’t suit you. I won’t let you spoil my sister the way you did me.”

He scoffs. “As I recall, Princess, I took no part in your spoiling.” He is callously satisfied by the flush spreading across her visage at the imputation of his words.

Oh, yes. I know about Cole.

He continues, timbre colouring with aggravation. “And I have no intention of ruining her.” Well, not yet—not until the wedding night. “Why does everyone in this fucking city always assume the worst of me?”

“Because that’s what you do!”

She has escalated to a near yell now, whipping around in her frustration, the end of her braid lashing across his chest with a thump as she moves away. When she turns around, her eyes are bright with the gradual swell of moisture.

“You pick a target, lay them thick with pretty words and affection, and then cast them away when you’ve grown bored. You do it with father; with your lickspittles and your precious City Watch; with your whores and your women; you did it to me, and now you’re going after my sister—”

It infuriates him to hear her slander his character so thoroughly, for all that it is true. Perhaps it is this fact that upsets him more.

“Is that jealousy I hear?” he asks cruelly, turning the attack upon her. He presses forward, allowing the fury to infuse his step, his words, his countenance. “Such a bitter shrew you’ve become. It’s no wonder I’ve moved on to more enjoyable pastimes. After all, your sweet sister really is exquisite—she’ll make a fine little bride for me.”

He watches with vicious gratification at the unmitigated outrage that overtakes her.

“How dare you—”

Suddenly, the door opens. Lord Tyrell steps into the doorway, lip curled and face red.

“I believe this meeting is at an end, Princess.”

The man sneers, shoving past him as he exits. Behind him, Daemon can see your distress clearly. You are still in the middle of the solar, wringing your hands and biting your lip, refusing to look at anything other than the floor before you.

Rhaenyra tries to gather herself in affecting a disposition of regal indifference, though the cracks in her façade are clear to see. “You are leaving so soon, my Lord? I am sure my sister would so enjoy—”

“I think I understand what the Princess… enjoys, Your Highness.” He scrutinises you, then turns to Daemon and looks him over disdainfully. The insinuation is obvious. It is clear that he and Rhaenyra had been quarrelling louder than intended. “And who she enjoys it with. I’ll suffer no harlot as my wife, royal or otherwise.”

How dare he. How fucking…

It is a flagrant offence to one so pure as you. Of all the women in the city, you deserve such affront least of all.

At the sight of tears welling in your eyes—brows drawn, lilac blurred by the tear-sheen collecting on your lashes, “will I ever see you again?”—the familiar, burning fire of rage overtakes him completely, the dam bursting and breaking as he swings his fist directly into the foppish lord’s face.

“How dare you insult the Princess’s honour!”

The bestial part of his nature revels in the satisfaction of feeling the man’s flesh tear under the force of his knuckles as he drags him to the floor, of feeling the grinding frisson of pain in his bones as they collide with the insipid cunt’s face. The blood spills hot and wet over that ridiculous outfit, over his fists and clothes, spraying over the floor. The lord can only cry out as Daemon rains down punches upon him, seeking to erase the image of the man who’d dared to malign you so. The Rogue Prince thinks he can hear voices, but the sound is muted, muffled, like listening to a scream underwater.

“You stupid piece of shit, how dare you—”

He aims for Denys’s nose, hoping to smash it in entirely, when he is abruptly dragged off the man and forcefully shoved away. He presses forward wildly, attempting to finish his mission, straining against the hold of Breakbones—and by the gods, the Strong boy really lived up to his name, did he not?—until he takes in the sight before him.

He slows as he views the scene. The Tyrell attendants have run in to kneel next to their lord with rags already mopping at the blood oozing from his face, Ser Willas Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard stand with hands on pommels, and several servants are looking on with curiosity and fear at the sight before them.

And you. You are enfolded in the arms of Rhaenyra, a look of abject horror on your sweet face. His heart clenches.

—the horror in your expression feels like the edge of a blade carving to his very soul. “But… you promised”—

This is not what he wanted. He had made you fear him, he can see it; he knows you are afraid. How could he? How could he?

“The Prince attacked me—this is the gravest of abuses, Ser—” cries Lord Denys in response to Ser Rickard’s quiet inquiries, clutching a cloth to his swelling and bloodied eye.

He has to get out of here, he thinks rashly, pulling out of the City Watch Commander’s hold and spinning away, stalking out of the hall—

“Your Highness, you cannot leave while—”

“Daemon, stop—”

“Kepus—”

He runs.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/121060219

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

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f0xgl0v3 · 3 days

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How does one Elias Bouchard hold his Pipe/The overall murder scene

Tw this like entire post is about the proper way to hold a pipe if you wanna effectively hit someone with it several times repeatedly :3 also spoilers for MAG 80

Guys I am simply a writer and this is just for writing and thought experiment purposes, none of this shall or should be applied to real life and it’s just for the haha extended sounds of brutal pipe murder-

What has come to my life-? I’m talking about Elias Bouchard and how he holds the Pipe to murder people- I, there will be actual Percy Jackson stuff soon. Maybe talking about Camp Jupiter and armor and gear and stuff or something however,

Everyone draws Elias with really weird hand positions on the pipe-? That’s a weird thing to say and the art is fantastic but if your beating someone with a Pipe then there seems to be a way I always thought in my head-

Let’s, for the sake that I’m halfway through season 4 consider the only Pipe murder I am currently aware of would be Jurgen Leitner’s, we can work with this. Elias is standing over him at the other side of a desk while Jurgen is seated I believe-? There are a couple ways we can go about this,

1) Elias hits him while they both are in the neutral position at the desk

2) Elias walks over to Jurgen’s side during the conversation and hits him then

3) Jurgen stands up from his chair and then Elias hits him.

I have had to listen to the sound clip so many times for this- I- okay. So, the beginning of the murder still is Jurgen talking, I think audibly a bit worried. I’d like to make the assumption that while Elias is like “bird stuff always a risk about death” that is when the pipe is revealed, Jurgen is taking the moment to try and reason with him and I think 2 and 3 are the most viable due to the sound they use. In 1’s scenario Elias wouldn’t get enough strength in that first swing (due to the desk being in the way, and Elias most likely having to lean over the desk to try and get a strong strike.

Then, the sound- I believe Elias initially hits Jurgen from the side of the head, think like the same ‘row’ that your temples are on, that vague side of the head. Jurgen is heard with a grunt by the first hit; we don’t hear him fall or anything (which makes me suspect it could be a situation of Elias walking over to the other side of the table) and it doesn’t really sound like Elias moves where he hits very much- continuing to strike that original spot; otherwise we’d likely hear the crunch of bone. Am I making the assumption that the sound design would include the crunch and that I would know what hitting a skull with a metal pipe is, oh yeah totally.

Now, that settles how I think this entire thing played out, Elias revealing the pipe as he walks over to the side, Jurgen looks up in old sad man still seated and is trying to reason with Elias, maybe he even attempts to get up and that is when Elias strikes in the right side of his head (just what makes sense to me, it could be the left either it wouldn’t matter much) and repeatedly hits there 11 times (yes I counted the strikes we hear, no I don’t have anything better to do with my time because I’m putting off writing a script) before like dipping or whatever.

Now, the pipe posture if you will. I see so many drawings of Elias’s hands like this,

Raised, and for all intents and purposes from an art sense it’s rad. It’s a dynamic pose and stuff, and of course this is not a critique on artists (who are way better than me) and how they want to draw this fictional man hold his pipe. However this is my brainrot talking on the ‘hey I think this is how he’d get the most effective swing’ because I’ve listened to two seasons back to back and I no longer have a brain.

But; Elias Bouchard wants the most bang for his buck so to speak. I think holding the Pipe like the tried and true baseball bat would provide this. Elias holding it like in my very bad diagram is good if he’d want to poke or stab someone with the pipe, but it’s really effective if you can get that swing in. So yeah, baseball style; hands together near the end of the pipe and over a shoulder or even over his head if you want to be silly with his posing.

Uh, haha okay. I’m sorry but the rot is all consuming and I’ve been thinking about him a lot, also like Peter Lukas and a bunch of the other sillies but this kinda- forced itself out while I was looking at art of the scene. I, uh, :3 that’s all. I like thinking about the mapping and layout and planning of scenes like these and how the visuals might’ve looked if there were visuals. I promise I probably won’t make any more posts like this for a solid while (however, talking about Bryce Lawerence and my thing in SoN are-imagining that he was the one to kill Gwen… maybe.)

#hehe :3 #idk how to tag this #the magnus archives #tmagp spoilers #tma podcast #tmagp theory #this is really stupid #ridiculous even #I’m sorry if you just want to see the funny pjo stuff I post-#elias bouchard #love that sick little rat man #sorry #okay bye

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it-was-funeral-grey · 1 year

Text

Over your head (Al Haitham x F!Reader)

Prequel Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: knock knock! who's there? matra. matra who? you're under arrest, anything you say will be held against you. what.

Warnings: Vulgarities, getting arrested, doctors, boat travel

Word count:<2.6k words

Inspired by:-

Author's note: i hope this is ok! i was also able to visit my grandma the day after i posted the last part :)

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

If you had a Mora for every time a random dude cried himself to sleep on your couch, you'd have one Mora. Which isn't a lot, but it's strange that it happened once.

Oh, but if you had a Mora for every time the Matra arrested you for kidnapping, you'd have another Mora. Two Mora isn't a lot, but it could help you get a new bottle of Harra spice. Archon knows that prices have gone up recently.

"Secure the house," a man wearing the Matra's iconic teal and bronze uniform barks as three of his colleagues surround you. "And call a doctor!"

It happens so fast. Chains are fastened around your hands, and you feel a hand push against your back, forcing you forward.

All around, your neighbours peek out of their houses, watching as the three Matras lead you out of the village. You can hear them gossiping amongst themselves, casting curious glances as you pass them.

"Kidnapping? Her? Who would have thought…"

"She has always been so kind…I can't believe it."

Where to? You don't know. If you were courageous enough, you would've protested- ask what is happening. But words fail you. Your tongue feels like a brick, refusing to let you plead your case.

You've been told stories about the Matra. Village elders would spook kids with tales of the 'all-knowing, scary, and will eat you if you misbehave!' Matra. You've never thought of them as scary before, though. But now, you're beginning to think that the village elders weren't exaggerating.

Their presence alone was enough to render the bustling village silent on this beautiful, sunny afternoon. You've never heard the village go this quiet, not even during the dead of night. The only sound you hear now is the pounding of your heart, together with the remaining Matra stomping into your home, throwing things around in their search for evidence.

But evidence for what? Kidnapping? Who did you even kidnap?! The Green dude? You were only helping him, for archon's sake!

"The nerve! Kidnapping the Acting Grand Sage!" a neighbour rages to another. "Sumeru is relying on him to lead us out of this mess, and she dares to harm him! Oh, may Lesser Lord Kusanali punish her!"

Wait. Hold on.

Acting. Grand. Sage?

Mr Green man is the Acting Grand Sage?!

Kaveh is going to kill Al Haitham.

It's one thing to take his keys and only let him in after 5.05 pm.

It's a whole other thing to take his keys and not come home. Leaving him outside. In the rain. For the entire night. And it's the peak monsoon season in Sumeru, so he can't even dry his drawings that had been drenched the night before.

"Seriously! He's gone from bad to worse," Kaveh laments to the shorter man. "He didn't even tell me he wasn't coming home!"

"Well, have you seen him since yesterday?" the shorter man asks, taking a seat in his office and letting out a tired sigh as he sinks into his chair. He had just come back from tracking a scholar in the desert. He really doesn't want to listen to his friend's rant right now, but he doesn't have the heart to drive him away.

"No! He left that morning at 8:55, as usual. I tried to get him to drink a cup of coffee, but he ignored me! That arrogant fungus! I swear, I'm going to-"

There's a hasty pound on the door, interrupting Kaveh's rant. But before Cyno could invite them in, the door burst open, revealing a frantic Panah.

"General Mahamatra, Mr Kaveh," he greets, panting as he leans over, hands on his knees. He must have run from the Grand Sage's office. "Have you seen Acting Grand Sage Al Haitham?"

Well, that makes two people who have asked about his whereabouts today. Usually, this wouldn't be strange. As the scribe, Al Haitham had the habit of never being where you expected him to be. Even Cyno wouldn't be able to locate him if he seriously didn't want to be found.

But he's the Acting Grand Sage now. And for the last couple of months, he has always been findable- in his office or somewhere speaking to personnel. Cyno stiffens in his seat. Something doesn't feel right.

"No, we haven't seen him," Kaveh answers. But then he frowns. "Wait- what do you mean, 'Have you seen Al Haitham'? Did he not report for work today?"

Now, that's a concerning thought.

"Yes," Panah takes another deep breath, composing himself. "He hasn't come into his office yet. I know it's only ten minutes past 9, but-"

"Al Haitham isn't one for tardiness," Cyno interrupts, standing up. "Kaveh, are you certain he isn't home?"

"Well, yes," Kaveh replies, furrowed brows giving away his concern about his roommate. "He has this annoying habit of using the shower at full blast in the morning. It's unbelievably loud. I would have heard that if he were home since the front door is close to the bathroom."

"Panah, would you happen to know Al Haitham's last know location?"

"He was heading to Port Osmos. He was going to speak with someone in the Wikala Funduq."

Damn, Cyno curses. Port Osmos is at least a good three hours away by boat. Grabbing a loose sheet of paper from his desk, Cyno scribbles a note before sealing it and passing it to Panah.

"Pass this along to the dusk bird handlers. Tell them to send it to the Matra stationed in Port Osmos as soon as possible."

"On it!" Panah grabs the note, dashing out of the office.

"As for me, I'll be heading to Port Ormos now," Cyno states, grabbing his polearm. "Don't worry. I'll bring him back."

"Who says I'm worried? I just want to get into the house- hold on, I'm coming with you!"

Al Haitham is going to kill Kaveh.

It's one thing to wake up to the sound of him hammering away on another one of his projects.

It's a whole other thing to wake up to him screeching about- "Oh archons, if he dies, what am I going to do?"

First off, he's not going to die. He's not ill. Just tired, you fickle fungus.

Second of all, where in Teyvat is he?

There's a faint rocking sensation, and he can hear the faint sound of water sloshing nearby.

A boat, Al Haitham figures. Why is he on a boat?

Opening his eyes, he is immediately greeted by the sight (and sound) of Kaveh panicking at a lady in a white gown. A doctor, Al Haitham realises.

"Sir, the Acting Grand Sage isn't going to pass on," the doctor sighs. "He's just exhausted. He must have fainted from exhaustion- please tell him that he must get sufficient rest to recover!"

Before Kaveh can respond, Al Haitham sits up, fighting the dizziness that came with it. Nope. He doesn't want to hear Kaveh's annoying, panicky voice. Not now, when he can feel a headache coming.

"Al Haitham!"

"Keep your voice down, you-"

"Are you alright?" Kaveh interrupts, concern lacing his tone. But he doesn't give him time to answer before he continues. "Honestly. To think that you'd be kidnapped! You, of all people! Who could even stand having you as a prisoner?"

Huh?

But before he could ask Kaveh what he meant by 'kidnapped', the door to the room opens. Through the door, Al Haitham can see the deck of a ship. So he was right. He is on a boat.

"You're awake," Cyno says. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Al Haitham groans, massaging his temple. "What's going on?"

So Cyno is here as well. Something big must have occurred.

Still a little groggy, Al Haitham rubs his eyes as he tries to recall what happened.

Ok, Al Haitham takes a breath. Let's think this through.

He was at Port Ormos around one in the afternoon to speak to the trade supervisors of Wikala Funduq. He wanted to talk to them about restoring the port for business- but the letters he sent there from the Akademiya were never answered. So, he had to make a trip down there himself, much to his annoyance.

That sounds about right. What happened next?

When he reached the port, he was greeted with silence. There was not a soul on the streets. The same could be said for the Wikala Funduq building, the place deserted and collecting dust, save for a lone cleaner working in a corner.

"Oh, you're looking for Mr Dilawar and Mrs Gauhar? They're not here. No one has been here for a while. There's no work here! Nothing to do!"

"Where can I find them?"

"Well...Mr Dilawar lives in Vimara village. I'm not too sure about Mrs Gauhar."

So that's how he ended up travelling to Vimara Village. He had to walk four hours to get to the village entrance since there weren't any boats that could take him there- the captain of the one that brought him to the port from Sumeru city had declined, saying that he had a personal vendetta against the village or something. Al Haitham didn't bother listening.

Yeah, he remembers that part. What happened then?

A soothing voice. A homemade meal. A gentle hand on his back. A comforting presence that made him feel so safe- something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

Wait.

Oh, no.

Before Cyno could answer his question, Al Haitham had already figured out the answer.

"You didn't happen to arrest a villager for kidnapping me, did you?"

"Oh, so you do know what happened," Kaveh answers on Cyno's behalf. "Yeah-"

"That wasn't what happened," Al Haitham interrupts, stumbling off the uncomfortable bed. "Where is she?"

"Hold on, what do you mean-"

"I mean what I said," Al Haitham snaps back, heading towards the door. The headache is now hitting with full force, and he hides a wince. "Cyno. Where is she?"

If you weren't in your current predicament, you'd probably be running around the deck, admiring the way the water below reflected the stars above. You've never been on a boat this big before- it wasn't as large as cargo vessels or cruise boats that carried rich Snezhnayans, but it's larger than anything you've ever boarded.

You also would have been really excited about going to Sumeru city- home of the rich, the smart and the accomplished. You've never travelled beyond Vimara village, apart from heading to Port Ormos every once in a while.

It's a quiet night. Apart from the occasional jingling of your chains secured to the railings on the deck, the two Matra who watch over you don't make a sound apart from occasional sighs. Curling yourself into a tiny ball, you hug your legs, burying your head on your knees. It's getting cold. Goosebumps have risen all over your limbs, and you try to rub your arms to get rid of them but to no avail.

Slam!

The loud sound shocks you back into reality. Lifting your head, you see that the door to the boat's accommodation has been flung open, the light in the room spilling out onto the dark deck.

A tall figure exits the room- although your eyes have already adjusted to the dark, you can't really tell who it is, but the two Matra seem to know. They immediately stiffen in place, standing at attention as the silhouette approaches the group.

As the figure comes closer, you see a faint green glow on its shoulder.

It's him. The Acting Grand Sage. The green man- ok, you gotta stop calling him that.

The Acting Grand Sage stops just a step away from you. You raise your head to glance at him, and he meets your gaze with an emotion you can't quite name.

"Ok, hold on!" there's the sound of hasty footsteps. A man with a feather in his hair runs up to the Acting Grand Sage. "What do you mean, 'that wasn't what happened'?"

"I'll have to ask you the same," there's calmer voice, this one belonging to a shorter man. "We can't release her if you don't tell us what happened."

The Acting Grand Sage sighs, facing the two that have just joined him. There's a tension in the air.

"I wasn't kidnapped," he starts. "I spent the night at her house. That is all."

Woah, that sounds suspicious.

The man with the feather looks like he's about to have a stroke. His jaw has dropped. Meanwhile, the shorter man looks like he has been frozen in place, eyes nearly budging out of their sockets.

"You- huh?!" exclaimed the feathered man, head whipping in your direction, intense eyes burning into yours. "You, let HIM spend the night? HIM?"

You jolt back in surprise, not quite expecting to be talked to, hitting your head on the railing with a loud 'ping'. You grimace in pain, bound hands raising to massage the area, chains jingling as you moved.

"Get your head out of the gutter," The Acting Grand Sage snarls, standing between you and the feather man. "She cared for me when I passed out. I slept on the couch."

"Passed…out?" the feathered man frowned, voice now soft.

"Well, the doctor did say he was exhausted." the shorter man added.

"That's not the time for this," the Acting Grand Sage changes the topic. He faces the shorter man. "Will you release her?"

The shorter man ponders for a moment.

"I can remove her chains," he answers. "But she'll still have to come to the Akademiya to give a statement. A report still has to be submitted, so I'll need your statement as well, Al Haitham. I'll go to get the keys."

With that, the shorter man leaves. The feathered man looks shaken up but quickly follows after the other.

"Are…you alright?" the Acting Grand Sage asks once the two are out of earshot.

"I…I'm fine," your voice wobbles. You haven't spoken since the Matra arrested you because you were afraid that your words would have been used against you later on. Well, that and the fact that you were scared shitless. You feel pressure build behind your nose. "I'm just-"

Your sniffle cuts your sentence short. Your eyes begin to water.

Behind, you hear the two Matra shift uncomfortably. Gosh, are you really gonna cry in front of everyone? How embarrassing. You're even making the Matra feel awkward. You avoid his gaze, trying to blink away tears.

The Acting Grand Sage seems to have picked up on your discomfort as he waves the Matra away. He tried to be subtle about it, but you don't miss the considerate gesture, even with your tear-filled vision.

"There's goosebumps all over your arms," there's a faint rustling of fabric. "It's not surprising. The wind is picking up. It'll probably start raining soon."

He walks behind you, and you feel something drape over your head, blocking your sight.

It must be his cape. It's warm.

You hear him lean onto the railings, letting out a sigh. A silence fills the air between you two.

It's nice. Relaxing. Comforting.

No one will see if I cry now, right?

So, you do.

But you weren't crying out of fear. No, these are tears of relief.

And through it all- the sniffling, the sobbing, the snivelling, the man behind you never said a word. But he didn't need to.

His presence was enough. Enough for what? You don't know.

All you know is that everything is going to be alright.

You're safe here. With him.

Join the Taglist!

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham genshin impact #alhaitham #genshin impact #genshin x reader #hereandnow #al haitam x reader #al haitham

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bonefall · 7 months

Note

How many Nightheart fans r former gifted kids and/or kids with mental disorders? I'm one, apparently you're one too, I think he's just nd coded

My Conspiracy Theory (tm) is that the writers didn't want to ACTUALLY portray a character who was trans/ND because they are cowards and fiends, but peppered in a bunch of lines of dialogue associated with it to draw in a certain crowd (me)

Like Nightheart fawning over Nightcloud, the constant self-doubt, "I see you, Nightheart."

But also, that assumes waaay more competence than they seem capable of. They can't even get details right between books in the same arc. Just a weird hunch I have-- and I'm keeping my eye out for an authorial statement that retroactively leans into it.

(which, if they have any brains at all, they will NOT do. The only thing worse than baiting is bait you're proud of.)

Anyway yeah, I think with Adamant Nightheart Likers... you kinda have two camps;

Contrarians: Unfortunately they do exist. They will hear any criticism of the books and double down on how it's actually divine inspiration. These people will write screeds on how Bumble had to die and are probably reading a different book that I've never heard of

"I Like The Concept" (the camp I'm in): Something's relatable about his anger issues. It's nice to see a character not just grappling with the legacy of Firestar, but actively rejecting it. We like him BECAUSE he's unreasonable. We LIKE the idea of a furious cringefail idiot who is the source of his own problems, people who snap back at him and then he believes he's the victim, and the thought that he'd either get worse or get better. There's a cool idea here.

Unfortunately, we're on book 3 as I write and it's obvious they aren't going in the direction books 1 and 2 seemed to be. Nightheart's arc with his mother, Sparkpelt, seems to have ended without meaningful self-reflection on Nightheart's part.

The wider narrative (as of book 3; there's still time to turn around) seems to be leaning towards the conclusion that Nightheart just needed to realize "his family loves him" and Sparkpelt has to be sorry for "not seeing him." They don't seem to see him as the problem in his relationships, which is disappointing

(Moonkitti's video, Not Orange, is a very fair critique)

But that said, like I went over, there's a lot that's really relatable about him as someone who had anger issues as a kid lmao. I REALLY love the idea of his sister who's every bit as awesome as he is cringe and that burning him a new one. I feel super bad for Sparkpelt and I love the angst potential of seeing her husband when she looks at him.

I love Squilf, I love Lilyheart. I love the way the only person Nightheart trusts is the only person who's never said no to him, and how Bramblestar can take advantage of that.

I wish his relationship with Sunbeam exploded and he brought out her worst qualities. I wish he had to grapple with the idea that he can't just "run away" from his problems in ThunderClan, because HE is the source of them. His situation is not like Dovewing's. He is the tar pit.

IDK MAN I just really like the stinky little nasty man. I like watching him get tangled up in his own web of self-pity, raising a superiority complex AND an inferiority complex at the same time. I want him to get better. I want him to be worse. I like to see what he does.

#Nightheart #warrior cats analysis #I'm excited to get to him when ASC ends and I start rewriting it #I'm going to enjoy writing him. I really like characters like this.#(guy who enjoys bojack) its like that one scene in bojack--#The tar pit thing <3

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 ao3

Joyce drops off Will, El and Mike with more homemade food after they’ve had dinner, which makes Steve smile.

“Tell your mom I’m not gonna have enough space to put all of this in the fridge.”

“You can just eat some of it and then you will have space,” El says, matter-of-fact, “like what Eddie is doing.”

Eddie pauses in his eating of Koogle chocolate spread straight out the jar.

Steve laughs loudly.

Eddie sighs, leans into the melodrama of it. “Damn, right for the jugular. Haven’t I suffered enough?”

El makes a show of thinking in response. Eddie watches her with infinitely growing fondness, how she fights to keep a straight face, unable to stop her smile from breaking through. “No.”

Eddie slumps against the counter like he’s just received a fatal blow.

“Hey, person without a cast,” Steve says dryly, “help put some stuff away, this isn’t a hotel.”

“I dunno, Harrington, you seem like the type to have monogrammed dressing gowns and shit.”

The tips of Steve’s ears turn a damning red.

Eddie pounces on the sight with a delighted grin. “Oh dear god.”

“Eddie—”

“Holy shit,” Eddie whispers, like he’s found the Holy Grail. “I was just talking out my ass man, but. You do.”

“Only ‘cause Robin—it was one joke Christmas present, all right?”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

They all make short work of putting the food away, but the kids linger in the kitchen, like they don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

It’s funny, Eddie has distant memories of Hawkins characterising Will Byers as a quiet little kid when he went ‘missing’, but there’s hardly any of that shyness now. The only slight hint of uneasiness Eddie can discern is that every so often, Will’s hand will rise up as if to scratch the back of his neck, like he’s hardly aware that he’s doing it; he spots El catching his hand in hers once, gently pulling it back down—does it in such a way that it never draws attention.

If anything, Mike is the quiet one, which is tripping Eddie up; he’s so used to his vocal commentary at Hellfire. He can’t tell if it’s just general post-nearly end of the world exhaustion or—something else. He doesn’t know what.

From the way Mike is standing, shoulders occasionally hiking up to his ears, Eddie gets the feeling that he doesn’t want to be asked about it.

Will does the majority of the talking, spends most of the time making references to what went down in California that Eddie can barely follow, revels in teasing Dustin about Suzie—

“Wait, Henderson’s girlfriend is real?” Eddie says.

Dustin glares at him. “Hey!”

Steve nods seriously. “I know.”

Dustin spins around, pokes Steve in the side. “Hey.”

Bizarrely, this prompts Will into an enthusiastic rendition of NeverEnding Story, which makes Dustin groan as if he’s been plagued with it for centuries. But there’s a celebratory sound to all of it, to the way Will sings cheekily, even the way Dustin is rolling his eyes—like they can’t believe they can afford the time to just be silly.

Under the cover of the kids’ laughter, Steve leans forward in his seat, catching Eddie by the wrist.

“Hey, later could you—would you mind helping me up the stairs? I wanna…” He pushes back his hair, grimacing. “Got, like, a sink wash in hospital, but it wasn’t that great.”

There’s a self-conscious air to how he speaks, how he keeps fiddling with flyaway strands of hair.

“Yeah, man, no problem,” Eddie says, matching Steve’s lowered volume. Still look good to me.

They wait until they’re alone—Dustin leaves in Joyce’s car, too, with a firm, “I’ll be back,” flung over his shoulder; Steve snorts, “Sure thing, Arnie.”

Once they conquer the stairs, Eddie’s shoulder aching from Steve needing to lean on it, Eddie optimistically believes that the rest will be plain sailing from here.

Steve’s set up on a stool, and Eddie’s standing in the bathtub, about to see how far the shower-head can stretch.

Steve is in the middle of saying, “Oh, just watch out, don’t think I changed the temperature from when I last—”

Eddie’s elbow catches on the dial. He shrieks as he’s immediately hit with a blast of cold water.

“Jesus Christ,” he wheezes, finally managing to switch the shower off. His hair is sopping wet. “How am I the freak? What kind of monster takes a cold shower willingly?”

And Steve laughs so hard that he nearly falls off the stool, as if the light-heartedness of the kids earlier has lifted his spirits, made him giddy.

“You look,” he says, through a raucous fit of giggles, “like a drowned rat.”

“Excuse me? Oh, tread very, very carefully, Harrington,” Eddie says, raising the shower-head in warning.

Steve raises an eyebrow coolly. “You’re bluffing.”

Eddie is, in fact, not bluffing.

“Oh wow.” Eddie makes a low whistle, like he’s just discovered a rare antique. “Why isn’t this behind glass? This shit is history; it should be preserved.”

Steve blinks, gives him a sardonic look from where he’s lying on the bed, leg propped up with pillows. “Pretty sure I’m not the only person to own a Hawkins Phys. Ed T-shirt.”

Eddie scoffs, shaking out the shirt with a pointless flourish before putting it back in the closet. “Yeah, but you, like, wore it.”

“Oh, sorry, I misunderstood you, man. So I’m the only person ever to wear a Hawkins Phys. Ed T-shirt.”

“You know what I mean, asshole.”

Before Steve got round to actually washing his hair, they had spent a lot of time just goofing around, trying to soak the other. While attempting to ensure that it was a fair fight, that Steve didn’t overbalance on the stool, Eddie ended up nearly braining himself on the tub’s faucets—but maybe he really did suffer a head injury, he reasons, otherwise there’s no excuse for what he says next.

“You made it part of your whole thing, you know? Like, yeah, people wear clothes, but you wore outfits.”

Steve laughs, rolling his eyes. “Shut up. You’re making me sound like a sitcom character.”

“Oh, but you were,” Eddie says, grinning with the knowledge that he’s about to be very annoying. “Did you see yourself in the school corridors? You walked like you had your own theme music, man.”

“Says you,” Steve retorts. “I think a laugh track would��ve helped your cafeteria sermons.” And before Eddie can attempt a theatrical gasp of offence, Steve points at a baggy sweater in the closet. “Hey, gimme that one, it’ll do.”

Eddie actually puts some effort into properly aiming the shirt when he throws it, but Steve almost drops it. Eddie turns, ready to tease him, because Steve Harrington is hardly known for fumbling a catch, but stops when he sees the stricken look on Steve’s face.

“What is it?”

“I just—I just remembered,” Steve stutters out, eyes wide. “Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry. Your vest.”

Eddie stares, uncomprehending. “Come again?”

“Your vest. Damn it, I didn’t even think to ask for… they must’ve cut it off me or—”

“Oh, Jesus,” Eddie says, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He shakes his head to try and clear it of the awful image they must’ve cut it off me conjures up then says, with fervour, “Steve. Don’t worry about it. Like, honestly, truly? Do not worry about it. I really can’t stress how much I don’t give a shit.”

Steve frowns, clearly still unhappy about it.

“I’ll just steal one of your polos and call it even.”

Steve smiles weakly; Eddie still counts it as a win. “Mm, I have it on good authority that the Phys. Ed T-shirt is highly sought after.”

“Damn, what idiot said that?”

Eddie turns while shutting the closet, glancing over at Steve as he does so. That’s when he sees it, sees Steve’s bare skin as he takes his shirt off, about to change into the sweater—

There’s no bandages wrapped around his middle anymore. They have healed faster than any normal wounds should, but that fact doesn’t diminish the way Eddie’s stomach lurches at the sight: the gouges in the skin from the bats, and several deep, ragged claw marks. There’s a sudden ringing in his ears; the wetness of Steve’s blood on his fingers…

He feels his knee slam against the bed frame distantly, like it’s happening to someone else. Then Steve’s hand is wrapped around his wrist, and he’s thrown back into his body, and he tilts—

“Hey, hey, you’re all right,” Steve says, and he pulls Eddie down to sit on the bed.

Eddie sways, tries to stand up again—but that just makes the sudden faintness worse.

“Woah, take it easy,” Steve murmurs, and Eddie blinks and blinks until his face swims into view, eyebrows drawn in concern. “God, you feeling okay? You went white.”

“You were bleeding,” Eddie says stupidly. He squeezes his eyes shut, tips his head down and just breathes.

And then he feels Steve gently guide his hand to rest over the wounds. Places it there, puts his own hand on top.

“Not anymore,” Steve says simply.

Eddie traces the marks. They don’t feel overly cold which helps. His hand rises and falls with every breath Steve takes.

Steve keeps his eyes on him, doesn’t let go of his hand until Eddie can stand again.

Steve has already drifted off to sleep on the couch when the phone rings.

Eddie picks it up with a quiet, “Hello?”

“E-Eddie?”

At first, Eddie doesn’t recognise the voice on the other end. It’s only when his name is repeated that the realisation hits.

It’s Mike.

Eddie has never heard him sound so uncertain, not even when he was first invited to sit at Hellfire’s lunch table.

“Hey, Mike,” he says, can’t stop a note of anxiety bleeding through. “What’s up?”

“It’s… it’s Nancy,” Mike says. He starts off almost reluctant, as if he’s worried about breaking some sort of sibling code by mentioning her, but the sound of his true fear quickly overrides that. “She—she left, and she told me she was gonna, um, call you, or something? I don’t know, but she… she’s not back yet and I… I don’t think she did. Call you.”

“She didn’t,” Eddie confirms, grabs a piece of his hair and pulls.

Mike’s voice pitches a little higher; he sounds very young. “I don’t know where she’s gone. Eddie, she didn’t even take her car.”

“Okay, okay.” Eddie’s eyes dart about the room, land on Steve’s car keys. “Hey, Mike? It’ll be okay, man. I’m gonna go get her.”

He heads for the door in a mad dash, one arm through his leather jacket. Before he goes, he takes the time to write Steve a note—if he wakes up, Eddie figures that there’s no point in him just sitting there alone, worrying, so he settles for something that will hopefully make him laugh instead.

Back soon. Totally not stealing your car. Cross my heart. On an unrelated note, I took your car keys. -E

He finds her at the trailer park, of course. Sitting right by his and Wayne’s place, in the spot where…

She’s hugging her knees, pressing the side of one cheek into them. Her boots are muddy again.

Eddie gets out of the car with more noise than is strictly necessary, so she’s not startled by his approach.

“This wasn’t the deal, Wheeler,” he says mildly, sitting down beside her.

She’s shivering.

Eddie tries very hard not to look at the trailer; it’s just a shell now, it’s just…

“Sorry,” Nancy says, too quiet. “I was… gonna call but. Lost track of time.” She sniffs, mumbles into her jeans, “Had enough of driving.”

“Why?” Eddie asks carefully.

“Because.” Nancy sniffs again. “I had to drive Jason Carver around town.”

For a moment, Eddie forgets how to breathe.

“What? Why the fuck would you even—? He could’ve—”

He stops talking abruptly as Nancy shakes her head, looking scarily calm about the whole thing.

“No. He would’ve killed you immediately. Not me; he’d have to think about it before he… It was… a calculated risk, I guess.”

Eddie barks out a sharp, fearful laugh—remembers Steve saying that him and Nancy were too similar and thinks yeah, no fucking kidding.

“Wheeler,” he breathes, “that was a stupid move.” It feels inadequate for what he actually means, which is some panicked stream of We’ve come too close to losing people, but the terror cuts down his words, makes them small. Stupid.

“He had a gun,” Nancy says, voice flat. She hovers a hand over her side, and Eddie doesn’t need to see it to know that there’ll be a mark there, from where the gun was pressed into her skin.

“Jesus Christ. Are you—”

“I’m fine. He didn’t…” Nancy sighs. “He didn’t do anything, really. I did most of the talking. Just… drove around. Stopped in a parking lot, right where one of the cracks… It’s still visible, only a little bit. Then I just. I asked him.”

“Asked him what?” Eddie says hoarsely.

Nancy’s smile is grim. “If he believed it,” she says. Her voice is as cold as steel. “If he could honestly sit there and think that a boy, that you could have done all this. And I could tell from his eyes that he didn’t, but that he was in too deep. Too cowardly to…” She seethes, spits out the next words: “I told him he could go rot.”

“Wheeler,” Eddie whispers. “God, please tell me he didn’t hurt you.”

She reaches for his hand. Squeezes. “No. I promise. He’s… everything’s being dealt with. It’s bigger than you,” she says, not unkindly. “Plus there’s—we’ve got some, um.” A tiny smile, a proper one. “Unique resources. It’s getting buried, Eddie, I swear, everything to do with you. I’m—we’re working on it. We just. The idea is to, um, replace one paranoia with another, that’s how we sell the—not a full lie, just…” She sets her jaw. “I don’t want you to be looking over your shoulder, ever again.”

Eddie has countless replies on his tongue, namely, What the fuck does all that even mean?

Is this why he’s hardly been given a second glance in the street?

Out loud, he says, “That… sounds like a helluva lot of work. You—you don’t have to—”

“I needed to.” Nancy smiles weakly. “That was the whole plan, right? Find Vecna, kill him. Clear your name.” Her smile falls. “I don’t like… I don’t like things being left… unfinished.” She sighs, repeats, voice small, “I needed to.”

It sounds different this time. Like if she didn’t have that objective, she’d fall apart.

It throws Eddie. How can he be that important? But he looks in her eyes and can tell she means it with all her heart.

“Eddie, I…” She looks down at the ground. Briefly presses the back of her hand to her mouth. “I need to apologise to Steve. To you.”

Eddie stares at her. “No, I’m… kinda confident that you don’t.”

“No, you.” Her hand starts to shake in his. “You don’t understand.” She looks at him, eyes filled with tears. “I saw it. I saw everything. When he—when Henry showed me… there was so much of it, and it was so fast, and I. I just convinced myself that I was wrong. But then, when I saw you driving. And Steve. There was… this look on his face. And I knew—I knew he was going to die, because Henry… he showed me what he was going to do.”

Eddie can feel himself pale. Nancy withdraws her hand, turns away from him.

“I’m sorry. I thought I could stop it, if I just kept it in my head, it wouldn’t… oh, God.”

“Wheeler. Wheeler, look at me.” Eddie waits until she does, her face wet. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it.”

She moves forward, trembles in his arms. “God, Eddie,” she says, distraught, “it was awful. The whole thing.”

“Yeah.” Eddie leans his head against hers, shuts his eyes. “Fucking sucked.”

“You wouldn’t stop screaming,” Nancy whispers. She jerks her head over to where Eddie parked Steve’s car. “You fell there, and I—I was so scared you wouldn’t get up again. I told you that you had to let h-him go, and it. It was like you couldn’t hear me, and a-all I could think was I’m going to lose them both.”

Eddie inhales. Exhales. She’d gotten him out. Time for him to return the favour.

“Nancy. Come on.” He gently guides her to stand up. “Time to go home, ‘kay?”

Mike’s waiting outside when Eddie drives up to the house; the headlights illuminate him, his too short dressing gown, his gangly teenaged vulnerability.

Nancy fumbles with the car door handle. Sighs through a sob. “Oh, Mike.”

Eddie watches them embrace, how they cling to one another. He sees Mike raise his hand while still holding onto his sister, sees him mouth Thank you.

Eddie doesn’t pull away until they’re both safely inside.

The fact that he’s driving Steve’s car helps him keep it together for the rest of the drive: the thought that he cannot be seen in public having a breakdown in it.

And then he’s back at Steve’s, and Steve is still asleep, thank God, and there’s an uncontrollable tremor to his hands when he sets Steve’s car keys on the table.

Shit, is he going to throw up? He might.

Oh no you don’t. You’re not waking Steve by upchucking onto the rug, get it together.

“You’re fine,” Eddie says, tugging harshly on his hair. “You’re fine, you’re fucking fine.”

He forces himself to breathe in and out as the wave of everything crashes over him, until he no longer sees the trailer park flash across his vision, like a ghostly afterimage.

When the worst of it is over, he perches on the arm of the couch, then carefully hovers his hand near Steve’s face, just so he can feel him breathing.

See? He’s right here, you’re not… not back there. Not anymore.

Steve stirs very slightly at the movement.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, still catching his breath through the remnants of panic.

Steve makes a soft, questioning noise. And then Eddie feels a finger, tracing letters on the back of his hand.

OK?

Eddie smiles tremulously. “Yeah, I-I’m… I am now.”

Eddie stays up all night.

It’s not so bad, not when he gets to see Steve wake up for his early morning meds, taken so he can have breakfast with the upcoming dose in a few hours.

“Huh? You’re never…” Steve yawns. His hair is soft from being air dried last night, falling into his eyes. “Never up this early. Not normally.”

“First time for everything,” Eddie says, which is easier than my heart was beating too fast to sleep.

Steve doesn’t call him out on the obvious dodge, still drowsy, growing even more so after he takes the pills.

“You bored? Can put something on if you want, but Dustin might’ve left a… a tape in the, um…”

Oh, there you go, Eddie thinks fondly, and watches as Steve falls asleep mid-sentence.

Some time later, he’s not sure when, the sun starts to poke through the curtains. It’s a dull kind of brightness, but still bright enough to make his eyes blink a little more… and more…

He’s been moved to lie on the inside of the couch. Eddie turns his head, feels the warmth of someone next to him. Steve.

“Hi,” Steve says, looking down at him with a smile. “You want some breakfast? Dustin dropped off doughnuts.”

There’s sugar at the corner of Steve’s mouth, like glitter.

Eddie hums, low and lethargic. “Maybe later. Just… mm.” He goes to rub at his eyes, but his hand stills then falls away from his face, a lassitude to his movements. “Five more minutes. Gotta… rest my eyes, just for…”

“Sure,” Steve says, and there’s affection in his teasing when he says, “You go ahead and ‘rest your eyes’ for a few more hours.”

“Mm…”

“Nance called,” Steve says, soft as anything, like he doesn’t want to wake Eddie if he’s already fallen asleep, but still wants him to know. “She’s okay. She says thanks.”

Eddie reaches out, eyes closed, pats Steve’s knee clumsily. “S’good.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, quiet. Eddie can feel him smoothing hair off his forehead, tracing his finger down his nose—makes it impossible for him to even try opening his eyes.

He barely catches it, nearly drifting… But he swears he hears Steve murmur, as if to himself, “You’re so good.”

“You’re warm,” Eddie mumbles without really meaning to.

Steve chuckles, so gently. Keeps stroking that soothing pattern, from Eddie’s brow down to his nose. “Am I now?”

Oh, you don’t know, Eddie thinks, and everything’s fading now, the world going all soft and indistinct, like cotton wool. You don’t know what it was like. I never want to feel you be that cold again.

#the self sacrificial steve agenda #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #nancy wheeler #eddie and nancy #nancy and mike #mike wheeler #eddie and mike #steve and nancy

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bulkyphrase · 1 year

Text

Sineala Stony Podfic List

One of my minor beefs with AO3 is that’s there’s no good way to search for works inspired by a specific author. So if, for instance, you want to find all the podfic readings of fics written by a favorite author (@sineala) for a favorite ship (stevetony) you’ve got to do some digging.

Or rather, I had to do some digging and now you can sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor. There’s 33 podfics on this list, so plenty to choose from!

All-Time Low read by AudioSilks (@whenas-in-silks) (Length: 1.5-2 Hours, Explicit)

Summary: Tony's lost his company to Obadiah Stane. He's lost it all: his money, his friends, his Avengers team... and his sobriety. Drunk, homeless, Tony is living on the streets, and when he runs out of liquor money, he sells the only thing he has left: his body. And one day, he has the exact wrong customer.

Backhand read by Cathalinareads (@cathalinaheart) (Length: 10-20 Minutes, Explicit)

Summary: Tony always knows what Steve needs, even before Steve does. But just because Steve needs something doesn't mean he likes needing it -- especially when what he needs is to hit Tony.

All the rest are below the cut!

Breaking Point (The Abort, Retry, Fail Remix) read by watery_weasel (Length: 20-30 Minutes, Mature)

Summary: Here's a fact about Captain America that the entire world knows now: the last thing he did was commit murder.

Convention Exclusive read by cookiemom6067 (@cookiemom6067) (Length: 10-20 Minutes, General Audiences)

Summary: "I'm interested in commissioning a sketch," Iron Man said. He leaned forward, edging into Steve's personal space, splaying his gauntleted hands on the table. "I'd like you to draw me wearing only a tiny thong, with Captain America staring at my nearly-naked body in horror." (Or: Steve Rogers, former artist for the Captain America comics, is signing autographs at a comics convention when he meets his biggest fan. Not an AU.)

Do It Over read by miss_marina95 (@missmarina95) (Length: 20-30 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: The last words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin, and you won't know who they are until they die. The thing is, Steve and Tony die a lot.

Follow in Your Footsteps read by paraka (@paraka) (Length: 45-60 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: When Tony is twelve, his soulmate's name appears on his wrist. Unfortunately, it's hard to find out anything at all about Steve Rogers. It turns out there's a reason for that.

Get Some Now read by where_thewind_blows (@flowersthroughthecracks) (Length: 1-1.5 Hours, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: Avengers Mansion has a mysterious feline infestation. Meanwhile, Steve just can't figure out how to ask Tony out on a date. And the thirteen teleporting cats sure aren't helping matters any.

Heart Covered in Smoke read by GoLBPodfics (@godoflaundrybaskets) (Length: 10-20 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: And now Tony's standing here, at the end of the world, and Steve's coming to kill him. Honestly, he can't think of a better way to go.

Hidden Facets read by cookiemom6067 (@cookiemom6067) (Length: 20-30 Minutes, Mature)

Summary: The weirdest consequence of Tony's unexpected telepathy is not the fact that he now knows Steve has secret gay fantasies. It's not even the fact that Tony has a starring role in them. That's absolutely fine. Better than fine, even. But what Tony can't figure out is why all of Steve's secret gay fantasies about him are so goddamn sad.

How to Date a Robot read by crawfishing (Length: 5-6 Hours, Mature)

Summary: How do you date a robot? Even the twenty-first century doesn't have the answers to every question. Steve will have to figure this one out for himself -- after he politely rebuffs Mr. Stark's interest, of course. Sure, Mr. Stark is handsome, but Steve would rather be with his bodyguard. So when Iron Man agrees to go on a date with Steve, Steve couldn't be happier. He loves Iron Man with all of his heart, and their relationship rapidly grows serious. But why does Mr. Stark hate Iron Man so much? And why in the world is Mr. Stark trying to tear Steve and Iron Man apart?

Job Satisfaction read by The_Casual_Sounds (@the-casual-cheesecake) (Length: 20-30 Minutes, Explicit)

Summary: When Steve can't handle his work with the Secret Avengers, he has a rather unconventional arrangement with Tony to help relieve his stress. It almost works.

The Law Runneth Forward and Back read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton) (Length: 1-1.5 Hours, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: It's been three weeks since Tony saved Steve's life at Mount Rushmore, and they're not talking about it. It's going to drive Tony insane. But they've got bigger problems, because Nightshade has turned Steve into a werewolf. Again. And all Steve seems to want is to be near Tony.

Like a Comet Streaming On read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton) (Length: 3.5-4 Hours, Explicit)

Summary: Tony escapes Afghanistan with a functioning Iron Man suit and a perfectly normal heart. He even manages to bring Ho Yinsen home safely at his side. But he may as well have lost everything... because his wolfbrother is dead. Six months later, the Avengers find Captain America, frozen in ice, miraculously alive. Everything and everyone Steve has ever known is gone -- except his wolfsister, the recipient of the lupine version of the super-soldier serum, who was frozen in his arms. Tony has everything but his wolf. Steve has only his wolf. This is how their lives fit together.

Love Across the Multiverse read by Cathalinareads (@cathalinaheart) (Length: 1.5-2 Hours, Explicit)

Summary: Mojo presents: Love Across the Multiverse! In tonight's episode, a battle-hardened supersoldier finds himself drawn to his handsome, genius teammate! It's an agonizing duel between his long-held beliefs and the secret passions of his heart! Will true love conquer all? There's only one way to find out! Don't miss the highlight of the season! (Viewer discretion is advised. Mojoworld residents who do not vote for their favorite participants of the season will be summarily sent to the arena. All hail Mojo.)

Mercy in You read by Pywren (@phyrrhicvictory) (Length: 1-1.5 Hours, Mature)

Summary: When Tony comes back from a very bad D/s date, in pain and abandoned by his dom, Steve offers to help Tony out and give him all the aftercare he so desperately needs.

More Than Skin Deep read by AudioSilks (@whenas-in-silks) (Length: 20-30 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: Tony can just about accept the fact that he and Steve were kidnapped and replaced by Skrulls for three months. But what he can't figure out is why none of the Avengers noticed. And what he really can't figure out is why none of their teammates will tell them what the Skrulls did while they were gone.

Never Too Late For Love read by Cathalinareads (@cathalinaheart) (Length: 10-15 Hours, Explicit)

Summary: Steve has always believed that a soulbond is a blessing -- a rare and beautiful miracle, joining the thoughts and feelings of two people forever, from the first time they touch. Steve knows he's not going to be one of the lucky ones. He knows Gail isn't his soulmate. But he loves her, even if they're not soulmates, and he's going to do right by her. After the war's over, he's going to marry her, and they're going to settle down. They'll buy a house. They'll have children. He'll see his family again. Maybe Bucky will live next door. It's going to be a good life. He doesn't need a soulbond. He'll be fine without one. Then Steve wakes up sixty years in the future to find that his wonderful life has moved on without him. His family is long dead. His fiancée married his best friend. And the only purpose he has left is leading the Ultimates, a misbegotten team of superheroes with flaws too numerous to count. Steve hates everything about the future -- but most of all he detests Tony, flashy and flirtatious, who embodies everything Steve hates about a world he never wanted to live in. And, oh, yeah, Steve has a soulmate after all: Tony fucking Stark.

The Ninth Step read by cookiemom6067 (@cookiemom6067) (Length: 20-30 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: Steve hasn't seen Tony since he was rescuing him, drunk, from a burning building. But Tony's sober now, he's at Steve's door, and he wants to make amends. Though maybe "want" isn't exactly the right word for it.

Nothing Pure Enough read by grrreed_pods (Length: 10-20 Minutes, Mature)

Summary: You shouldn't be able to develop a Hanahaki fixation on someone you've never met who's been dead for decades. But Tony has always been special.

The Opposite of a Problem read by exmanhater (Length: 10-20 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: "I promise to love, honor, and probably not obey you, and, uh, take you as my totally-unlawfully-wedded husband, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do us part, or for at least the next seventy-two hours." (Or: Tony and Steve get fake-married for the sake of the mission.)

Plus One read by stuckwithyou (Length: 10-20 Minutes, General Audiences)

Summary: Tony wants Steve to accompany him to a gala. They're not together. Tony doesn't seem to think this is a problem, but he doesn't know about Steve's feelings for him. And Steve's certainly not going to tell him.

A Real Boy read by M_Samro (@msamro) (Length: 1-1.5 Hours, Explicit)

Summary: When Steve shows up for the Avengers' team meeting, he quickly discovers that the version of Tony in attendance this week is the artificial intelligence. But Tony is still Tony, the man Steve has loved for years, and him being a hologram doesn't stop the two of them from falling for each other. They just have a few kinks to work out.

Right All My Wrongs read by Amanita_Fierce (@amanita-fierce) (Length: 0-10 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: Tony needs to clean up his act. Fury has a suggestion. Steve has a proposal.

Scars and Stitches read by Cathalinareads (@cathalinaheart) (Length: 10-20 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: When Tony shows up to SHIELD to be fitted with the Iron Man armor, Steve, the original Iron Man, is there to help him out.

Slipping off the Page into your Hands read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton) (Length: 7-10 Hours, Explicit)

Summary: Soulmates have their first words to each other written on their wrists. This should make it easy. For Steve and Tony, it is anything but. Steve's problem is that the future he has awoken into is nothing he was ever expecting: he has a soulmate now. Who might be a robot. And if his soulmate is Iron Man, how can he be so attracted to Tony Stark? It should be impossible. Tony's problem is that he is Iron Man, his soulmate is a man whom he in no way deserves, and he is going to fight everything in his heart and do his best to make sure Steve never, ever finds out the whole truth.

So Far Away From Me read by cookiemom6067 (@cookiemom6067) (Length: 20-30 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: Captain America has a new hotline, and Tony is a frequent caller -- but for a very unusual reason.

Straight on till Morning read by M_Samro (@msamro) (Length: 10-15 Hours, Explicit)

Summary: Tony Stark resigned his commission in Starfleet five years ago, after a disastrous away mission, and he swore he'd never go back. He just wants to be left alone to build warp engines in peace. But the universe has more in store for him than that, as he discovers when Admiral Fury comes to him with an offer he could never have expected and cannot possibly refuse: first officer and chief engineer aboard the all-new USS Avenger, a starship of Tony's own design. What's more, the Avenger's captain is Steve Rogers, hero of the Earth-Romulan War. Believed dead for over a century, Steve is miraculously alive... and very, very attractive. But nothing is ever easy for Tony. As he wrestles with his secret desire for his new captain and his not-so-dormant fears, another mission starts to go wrong, and Tony becomes aware that Steve has secrets of his own -- and the truth could change everything.

Sucker Punch read by IronAudio (@ironlawyer) (Length: 2-2.5 Hours, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: Steve never quite warms to Tony Stark, Avengers benefactor. The Molecule Man never strips Iron Man out of his armor. Life goes on for the Avengers, but as disagreements split the team -- and Shellhead and Winghead -- again and again, Steve wonders why Iron Man always picks Tony over him. And when Steve finds out, it happens in the worst way possible.

To Make Much of Time read by paraka (@paraka) (Length: 2-2.5 Hours, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: When Iron Man rejects Steve's romantic advances, Steve is disappointed, but of course he understands -- Iron Man's secret identity is important. But when a portal opens and Tony Stark crashes into their midst from twelve years in the future, Steve starts to suspect that there are more secrets here than he can even begin to comprehend, and neither Iron Man nor Tony are providing any answers.

Veridicality read by hopelesse (Length: 10-20 Minutes, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: When Steve is accidentally exposed to a truth serum, Tony learns that Steve has been keeping a lot of feelings hidden.

Wish Fulfillment read by hopelesse (Length: 10-20 Minutes, Mature)

Summary: When Steve hears that Tony is alive again, he does what any Supreme Hydra would do: he captures Tony. Unfortunately for him, it's not the right Tony.

Wonders of the World (The Keep Me Safe from Harm Remix) read by Pywren (@phyrrhicvictory) (Length: 1-1.5 Hours, Explicit)

Summary: Steve, America's top cop, meets Tony, in the middle of launching Resilient, in a hotel room in Seattle. There, Steve finds unexpected comfort in Tony's presence. It wasn't supposed to be an assignation. But then, a snowstorm wasn't supposed to strand them together, either.

Your Name on Every Wall read by The_Casual_Sounds (@the-casual-cheesecake) (Length: 2-2.5 Hours, Teen And Up Audiences)

Summary: The Time Gem throws Steve into the past rather than the future, and in doing so, it gives him the opportunity to undo his past mistakes. But when it turns out that all of his mistakes involve Tony Stark, Steve begins to wonder if he's ever going to be able to mend things between them.

#steve rogers #tony stark #stony #podfic #marvel fic rec

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