#let’s hope this doesn’t come back to haunt me

[randomdragonfires]

Moon Song | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He killed Lucerys, but Aemond sees the ghost of his nephew wherever he goes - especially in his sweet wife's eyes.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; ANGST; Delusions; Incest; Dark Themes; Kinslaying; DD;DNE!

WORD COUNT | 6.6k

A/N | Originally written as a birthday gift for @humanpurposes. Nothing says happy birthday like a dark fic about madness and murder I guess? :)

RAIN-SOAKED AND WEARY, AEMOND TRUDGES THROUGH the murky streets of King's Landing, his cold and damp riding leathers offering no respite. Each step echoes with the haunting images of Vhagar's reckless attack on Luke, the small, agonizing details etched into his mind like a deep carving. The city, shrouded in an eerie mist, seems to mourn his nephew in silent empathy.

A scared face. The cracking of jaws. The sight of Arrax’s wing flapping aimlessly down into the sea. Luke, falling free through the skies…

The Red Keep looms ahead, its imposing towers piercing the darkened sky. Aemond ascends the ancient stone steps in silence, his solitude a curtain shrouding the tempest raging within him. The guards watch him cautiously, sensing the palpable storm that accompanies the one-eyed Prince’s return. As he passes, the torches on the wall flicker, casting grotesque shadows that dance along the corridor walls.

Entering the shared chambers, Aemond's presence goes unnoticed at first. His wife awaits him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and anticipation as she sits at the edge of the bed, finding his gaze and immediately making note of his distress. He can feel her scrutiny, her eyes seeking answers he isn't ready to give. With how disappointed she may be, he is not sure that he’ll ever want her to know. But he knows she must, and that he’d rather it come from him than anyone else.

Words remain unspoken as Aemond, drenched and disheveled, closes the distance between them. She hasn’t moved, holding onto him by the waist as he encloses his cold hands onto the back of her head, finding some semblance of comfort in the warmth of her hair. His wife's face softened, ready to welcome him, oblivious to his guilt and agony. In the silence that hung thick in the air, he braced himself for the storm about to engulf their world.

“You’re cold, Aemond. Let me find you something warm to wear,” she says. He doesn’t let her leave him; he will not let her leave him, ever. In heavy times like these, he’s always quite liked having her to hold - and right now, it seems like she understands it just as well as she always does. She is a part of him, made to be by his side.

She’s my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else’s!

He remembers the words. It was the night he had come to, after his eye had been slashed out. The marriage pact had been brokered in the aftermath, a compensation for the losses suffered. His nephew's tantrum and those venomous words had sown the seeds of a bitter possession, one that manifested in the subtle manipulative gestures that followed.

He had reveled in taunting Luke, relishing in the knowledge that he had triumphed over his nephew in more ways than one. Aemond had married his niece, a Princess of Targaryen blood, a strategic move with which he had alleviated the stain of bastardy off of her. He’d spend years taunting Luke over his wins, and he’d finally taken his life too. And now, his wife was about to cast him aside for it. 

As he confessed to his wife, his eye, haunted by the accident, bore into hers, seeking understanding, pleading for empathy. The air grew dense, the chasm between them widening like an insurmountable abyss, a reflection of the irreversible consequences that now consumed them. 

I need you to believe me.

In the flicker of candlelight, hope clung to Aemond like a shadow, a desperate desire for his wife to see beyond the tragedy. Yet, her features twisted in disbelief, mirroring the horror within him. He had not expected any less, but to see it happen is like a dagger twisting in his heart.

He’s losing her. He cannot lose her. As she tries to draw away, he lets desperation take over him. He would be damned if he let her slip away over something that he did not mean to happen. 

His grip on her tightens to the point of choking, her eyes widening as she realizes that she is trapped. Not just in his hold, but in this marriage with a man that would stop at nothing, and is not even above killing family to survive. How long before he kills me too, she probably thinks. 

He longs to assure her that he wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head, but she is angry. She does not want to hear from him, so he will settle for her forced presence for now. Surely she’ll see. He cannot bear for her to look scared and fearful - she looks too much like her twin when she does. The last thing Aemond needs is to be reminded of him. 

Her sobs soak through his already damp clothes. She tries to push him away, but he is like a never-ending nightmare - the more she tries, the tighter his hold becomes, refusing to give her the solitude she craves. He wants to, he is simply scared - what if she never chooses to welcome him again?

Why?

His touch, once a source of comfort, now repulses her, but he remains oblivious to her inner turmoil. In the midst of her agony, he lowers her gently onto the bed, attempting to offer solace through caresses and kisses, unaware that his touch has become a reminder, a brand of her brother's murderer. She refuses to believe that it was an accident, and he is further pained at the dark realization that he may not be above killing her if she tries to betray and leave him over this. After all, if he cannot have her, no one else will.

"Stay with me, wife. Stay with me, and you will be kept alive and safe.” Try to leave me, and you will not live to see the next sunrise. 

The unspoken threat hangs in the air, a chilling promise that holds its own through his silence and her sobs. She closes her eyes, her unease palpable, a fear of the man she shares her bed and heart with. Aemond, too, watches her drift away, inch by agonizing inch, knowing he will have to learn to endure. He’ll have to, if her place is by Aemond’s side - and the day he married her, he’d solidified that.

What he won’t quite get used to is realizing how much like Luke she looks in fear, and how her eyes make it seem as though he is boring into his nephew’s instead. The resemblance unnerves him as he is taken back to the skies of Storm’s End in his mind once again - Luke had looked just as fearful for his life in his last moments. She is a reminder of what he’s done, of the half of her who is now lost.

How could he have expected that his own living, breathing wife would haunt him so?

THE LIBRARY IS CLOAKED IN A HUSHED DARKNESS as Aemond buries himself in his book, the words flying over his head as he tries to comprehend them. The oppressive silence of the night presses upon him, mirroring the strain in his heart. His worry for his wife weighs heavily on his mind, a persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. She has withdrawn from him, choosing silence over conversation, and the void between them grows deeper with each passing day.

In dreams, Luke sits atop his fledgling dragon, looking at him with a somber expression that makes him appear at peace. They are in the skies of Storm’s End again, only this time, neither of them is involved in a chase. They face each other, and each time, Luke talks, and Aemond seems to have no choice but to listen.

This did not have to happen, uncle, he would say. You could have let me live.

Every time, he wakes and resists the urge to slam his fists and pull his spun silver hair out as he wills the fragments of Lucerys to leave him be. He had initially blamed the shock, but even as he gains his bearings, the visions, dreams, and voices only seem to become louder, stronger, and sharper. It would seem that the more desensitized and ready to face war he becomes, the more his nephew insists on haunting him - reminding him that he is no war god, but simply a boy forced to grow into a man too soon.

This did not have to happen, uncle. You made a terrible mistake.

“Leave me in peace bastard, be gone!” He would scream as he slams his fist into the table and sends parchment flying. 

Aemond's torment continues unabated, the ghost of Luke lingering in every corner of his life, a silent spirit that refuses to be exorcized. Late at night, as Aemond lies in bed, he catches glimpses of Luke's face in the shadows that dance on the walls, his eyes hauntingly fixed upon him. The weight of his gaze bears down on Aemond's soul, making sleep an elusive and tormenting escape.

In the courtyard, where the echoes of laughter resound, Aemond finds himself frozen in place, the air heavy with Luke's presence. The wind carries whispers that seem to be the soft murmur of Luke's voice, leaving Aemond questioning his sanity. He can almost feel Luke's hand on his shoulder, a touch that sends shivers down his spine and leaves him grasping at the emptiness.

During war strategy sessions, Aemond's mind plays cruel tricks on him. As he pores over maps of wargrounds and fortified keeps, Luke's reflection materializes beside him, scrutinizing terrains with an otherworldly knowledge. Aemond's fingers tremble as he traces the borders, half-expecting Luke to offer his uninvited and foolish insights, but the silence remains.

In the Great Hall, where feasts were once lively celebrations, Aemond finds himself unable to escape the ghostly presence. The sound of revelry - that Aegon insists upon as they celebrate Luke’s death - becomes a haunting cacophony, and he can almost hear Luke's laughter intermingling with the echoes of those who celebrate his demise. Aemond often finds himself raising his goblet in a futile toast, the wine swirling like a macabre dance, mirroring the torment within him.

Even in the solace of nature, where one would hope to find peace, Aemond can't escape the ghostly reminders. Trees cast shadows that resemble Luke's silhouette as Aemond and Vhagar fly overhead, and the chilly air seems to whisper secrets that he strains to understand.

As he closes the book, a phantom chill creeps into the room. A sense of unease claws at him as he tries to erase the recollections from mind, as though doing so would remove the occurrences altogether. The chilly night air outside intensifies, causing the candle flame to dance wildly before it sputters and extinguishes with a subtle hiss. Aemond dismisses the notion, attributing it to a mere draft, and turns away from the now darkened candle.

As he turns, his reflection in the ornate mirror catches his eye, but instead of his own weary countenance, the mirror unveils the ghostly image of Luke. Aemond's breath catches in his throat as he stares into the haunted eyes of his nephew. The dim light casts an eerie glow on his ethereal almost-figure, and the air in the library seems charged with an otherworldly energy. The weight of guilt and the eerie manifestations converged, leaving Aemond paralyzed in the haunting stillness of the library, caught between the realms of the living and the departed.

"This did not have to happen, uncle," Luke's voice carries a weight of unspoken sorrow, each word etched with the regret of an untimely departure. The ghostly echoes linger in the air, weaving through the ancient shelves of books that stand as silent witnesses to this mad exchange.

Aemond - his breath catching in his throat - struggles to find the right response. The weight of guilt presses upon him as he gazes into Luke, dazed. The regret, palpable and suffocating, threatens to consume him. Luke lingers, a reminder of all his irreversible choices. Caught in the grip of the moment, Aemond feels a lump forming in his throat. "I never wanted it to end this way," he whispers, his voice tinged with regret that he would never have admitted to feeling if he hadn't had to voice it out loud. 

"You made a terrible mistake," Luke's voice echoes, the accusatory tone cutting through the oppressive silence of the library. 

Aemond's eye meets the hollow gaze of his nephew. "I am aware, and I am burdened by it… by you." He confesses, the weight of guilt hanging heavily upon him. Memories of happier days in his marriage pass his mind, and he is once again left with the gnawing pain of not knowing if she will ever seek him out again. Is he going to be made to live with this chasm between them forever? How could she live without him?

And immediately, as thoughts of his sweet wife cross his mind, the image of Luke transforms into when he was much younger, his curls a lot more prominent and his face a bit more round. He says the words again, the same words that Aemond had heard him say about his marriage - and it is all he can do to not fall apart. "She's my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else's!" Luke's words resonated in the stillness, each repetition intensifying the haunting atmosphere.

The air crackles with unresolved tension as the words loop, a haunting refrain that refuses to fade. Each spoken phrase intertwines with the musty scent of ancient books, filling the room with a lingering sense of melancholy. As the words pass through the room, the library stands witness to the unfolding chaos. Dust motes, disturbed by the weight of the conversation, hang suspended in the air like transient memories. The ambient firelight, filtered through the stained glass windows, casts a surreal glow on the troubled face of a man who desperately tries to escape the consequences of his actions. The words create ripples in the stillness of the library, a transient disturbance.

His fists clench, and with a roar of frustration, he lashes out at the mirror. The impact shatters the haunting reflection, the fractured pieces falling like a cascade of broken memories. Aemond, panting and wild-eyed, stares at the shattered remnants of the mirror as drops of his blood stain them all an angry, bloody red.

ON A DARK, EERIE MORNING, Aemond decides he will seek refuge in combat training with Cole. The rhythmic clash of steel on steel promises a momentary escape from the haunting of his tormented mind. In these fleeting moments, he clings to the hope that the precision demanded by the dance of death will anchor his thoughts, keeping them disciplined and resolute.

But the training ground transforms, and the air shimmers with the echoes of unsheathed swords. In the midst of training, Luke materializes. The world blurs as Aemond's gaze locks onto his nephew's phantom form, the arrogance etched upon his face mirroring the smirk that haunts him. A tempest of confusion descends, and in the blink of an eye, he lunges forward, sword clashing against an illusion.

Reality slips away, and he finds himself ensnared in a mirage - a realm where the dead dance with the living, taunting them with all they have left. In the throbbing aftermath, the truth bears down on him like a relentless storm.

He killed him. The admission echoes in the hollow chambers of his conscience, overtaking him completely. The clash of blades morphs into a funeral dirge, and as he stands amidst the lingering consequences of his actions, the training ground transforms into a graveyard of memories. The air hangs heavy with the scent of remorse, and the phantom of Luke lingers, a silent witness to the torment that now possesses Aemond.

How he wills for his nephew to leave him alone. How he wishes he could turn back time, to a day when his wife was happy with him, when he was not the object of repulsion in her eyes. How he wishes she would welcome him with open arms again...

But why would she, uncle? Why would she, when you have slain her twin and taken me away from her? Her true other half?

He swings his sword once more, the blade cutting through the air with a desperate force. Each slash is a fervent plea, hoping that the slashes would tear up the ghost of his bastard nephew to ribbons that fly away with the wind. Even in death, his nephew is a stain on his life that refuses to let him live in peace. First his eye, now his wife.

Her place is by my side, uncle. And by killing me, you only reminded her of that.

The echoes of Luke's haunting words reverberate through the empty training ground, as Aemond battles not only the illusions before him but also the relentless demons within. The weight of his actions, the echoes of his nephew's voice, and the damning truth merge into a haunting symphony that accompanies each swing of his sword, forming an enemy much more dangerous than the Blacks that he’d sworn to kill.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of remorse. Aemond's movements become more desperate, as if trying to carve out a safe haven from the phantoms that encircle him. The blade slices through him, yet Luke's voice persists, an unyielding reminder of the havoc wrought upon not just his life but everyone’s around him.

Amidst his violent dance with illusions, Aemond longs for the solace that has eluded him since that fateful day at Storm's End. His sword becomes an extension of his anguish, a vessel through which he hopes to banish the nightmares that torment his every waking moment. The words resonate, mocking his attempts to escape the repercussions of his actions.

Aemond's grip tightens on the hilt of the sword, the struggle etched across his face as he battles the intangible. The illusion persists, refusing to be vanquished, a testament to the indomitable force of guilt and regret.

He lowers his sword and the ghostly echoes of Luke's voice linger. The training ground falls silent, a wave of unresolved grief as Aemond grapples with the realization that, even in death, his nephew remains an inescapable presence in the twisted tapestry of his existence.

Luke smiles once more, and Aemond slams the tip of his sword into the gravel, watching it fall to the side as he screams. Luke’s reflection is a sharp image on his blade, but when he looks up, the ground is empty, save for a worried mentor that watches him from the side. What must he do to gain solitude again?

The air in the training ground seems to thicken further as Aemond walks away to put his sword aside. The haunting memories of his past misdeeds cling to him like a shroud, and the distant echoes of Luke's words continue to reverberate in his mind. The once-familiar grounds feel like a journey through a desolate and forsaken landscape as he somehow registers the distant sounds of Cole calling out his name in worry.

As Aemond picks up the sheath, he senses an eerie silence enveloping the surroundings. The wind carries whispers of his regrets, and the atmosphere is charged with an unsettling energy. He looks up to see his wife standing at one of the windows, her gaze fixed on a seemingly endless point beyond the horizon. The pain of a fractured marriage weighs heavily on his shoulders, and his arrogance, once a shield, now crumbles under the weight of remorse.

Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. He reads the emptiness in her eyes, an emptiness that reflects the void he has created between them. Aemond's heart sinks, realizing that his mistakes have irreparably damaged the bond he once took for granted. The echo of Luke's haunting voice intertwines with the desolation that surrounds him.

She is his, but he does not want to have her like this; unwilling. Unable to withstand the haunting gaze, Aemond turns away. The clang of metal against metal resonates in the air as he sheathed his sword. The once-sharp blade now feels heavy, burdened with the weight of his own sins.

Before he leaves, compelled by an unseen force, Aemond looks up at the tower once more. But this time, it is not his wife who meets his gaze. Instead, the window frames the ghostly figure of Luke, staring back with fear etched on his face. Before he can further contemplate the vision, she is right there again, looking away. With the many sightings of Luke that he is subjected to, Aemond is not fazed anymore. But he is once more reminded of how similar his nephew and wife look in fear. He does not like seeing her this way.

A shiver courses down Aemond's spine as his gaze meets the ghostly visage of his nephew. Before he can avert his eyes, the apparition transforms into his wife, each manifestation carrying an accusing, sorrowful, and frightened expression. The visions alternate with unsettling speed, a haunting dance where Luke and his wife exchange places in the blink of an eye. 

Aemond is unnerved by the rapidity with which the pair appears almost indistinguishable, their features blending into an eerie resemblance that sends chills through his soul. The accusatory eyes of Luke and the sorrowful gaze of his wife interchange with a disorienting fluidity, leaving Aemond trapped in a whirlwind of regret, fear, and a gnawing sense of the uncanny.

He walks away, steps definitive and terror-struck as he steps into the tower. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of regrets and the distant wind. Aemond, haunted by the consequences of his actions, contemplates the surreal encounter. The armor-laden grounds, once a place of training, now serve as the stage for the haunting manifestations of his past. The ghost of Luke remains and so does his remembrance of a happier wife - who, for reasons he cannot fathom, reminds him of his biggest mistake. A constant reminder that redemption may be forever out of reach.

THE WORD HOLDS TOO MUCH EMOTION than he can bear to pour into his voice, but he says it all the same.

“Wife.”

As Aemond approaches her, he takes in the sight of her, a weak vision of House Strong's distinct features marked by dark hair and blue eyes. The vibrant happiness that once defined her has been replaced by weariness, one that seems to have settled into the very core of her being.

Her brown hair, once a shiny cascade, now hangs in loose tendrils, lacking the luster it once possessed. The dim light highlights her fatigue, revealing the toll that the sorrow of losing her brother has taken on her. The lines etched upon her face speak of countless nights spent wrestling nightmares and the strain of unanswered questions. Her eyes, once bright and expressive, now carry a perpetual sadness and seem to bear the weight of all her losses.

Does she grieve for them too? For their marriage? For him and all the time they’ve lost?

As Aemond gathers the courage to approach, he can't help but feel a pang of regret for the role he played in casting this shadow over the woman he once knew and still loves. The air around her seems heavy with declarations unmade, the room echoing with the quiet desperation of a fractured connection that he is grasping at to mend. Aemond, yearning for reconciliation, steels himself to bridge the gap that has grown between them, hoping to heal not just their relationship, but her as well. 

She turns to look at him, the faint moonlight from the window hitting her face as she assesses the man that stands before her. Not her husband, no - Aemond knows how she looked at him when she loved him. Now she simply stares through him, understanding that it’s her brother’s killer that she is facing. He doesn’t know what hurts him more - her grief, or her cluelessness. 

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t walk away either, empowering him to take a few steps further. He reaches out to her and takes her hand, and smiles by the corner of his lips when she doesn’t grab her hand back. 

“Are you… well?”

The idiocy of the question while he sees how tired she is does not escape him, but in all honesty, she has him tongue-tied. Aemond has missed her touch, and simply getting to hold her hand again has set a fire ablaze in him that he cannot seem to quell.

“As well as one can be, considering the circumstances.”

Time stands still as he takes in the sound of her voice, hoarse from not having said much in a long while. His mother tries with her, but even the Queen can’t make his grief-stricken wife budge - she would stay until she couldn’t, leaving his wife to her thoughts. What could she say to make things better anyhow?  I’m sorry my son killed your brother? I’m sorry you’re caught in a war that is not of your making? I’m sorry you cannot look at your husband with anything but disdain?

He is rendered well and truly silent as he tries to measure her feelings, but she beats him to it as she speaks again - addressing the elephant in the room as quickly as she is able. “Are you here to apologize for murdering my brother?”

“It was an accident.”

He knows he shouldn’t be arguing, but what was he to do? He’d let the world speak cruelly of him and brand him a kinslayer, but he cannot have his own wife hate him so. His defense of his actions only seem to spur her further as she pushes her free hand into his chest, and he holds onto her hand tighter, unwilling to let her go like she wants to.

“Don’t demean yourself by justifying your venom, Aemond. You have hated Luke your entire life, and I’d rather you not make years of hatred seem like nothing in your pursuit to make a better name for yourself with me now. You’re well past that, valzȳrys.” She spits out the last word, making him feel hurt and horrendously out of place. husband

“You don’t believe me.”

“You killed him!”

She sobs, her tears making it very clear that he is a lot less in her eyes now than he used to be. He fights the urge to scream, to hold her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. He wants to remind her that he is not what she thinks him to be, and that he genuinely would never do anything to hurt her. But he has. And he is now facing the consequences of weighing the choices and choosing wrong. How he wishes he’d simply let Luke leave - Aemond had won, why didn’t he?

Her sobs echo in the strained silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken grievances. In a moment of raw vulnerability, she hits him square on his chest - each strike of her closed fists carrying the weight of accumulated sorrow, an outward manifestation of the tumultuous emotions that have festered within. Aemond, initially taken aback, winces. 

Yet, even as the blows intensify, Aemond doesn't recoil. Instead, he envelops her in a desperate embrace, a gesture born not out of defiance but of a shared longing for understanding. The chamber becomes a battleground of emotions, the struggle to make sense of their fractured marriage playing out in light of all that has taken place.

“I want to hate you so much.” She says, the words choked out as her voice comes out muffled. Her lips are branded onto his chest as she mouths the words over the leathers he wears. “I want to. You’re a monster, that's all I see. I hate you so much.”

He pretends to not hear any of the damning words, for fear of hurting her in the anger that they rouse in him. She looks up at him, and all he wants is to crush her in his hold as he feels the anger creep up on him. But what she says next knocks the wind out of him, reminding him of why he has taken the trouble to come here to try and repair their marriage. 

“But I love you all the same, and I don’t know if I hate you or the love I hold more.”

It is all the confirmation he needs. She is not out of reach just yet. Aemond, grappling with the weight of her words, feels a heavy tension in the air as her lips remain pressed against his chest, the muffled admissions still hanging in the space between them.

As she lifts her head, her eyes, red and swollen, meet his. Aemond sees the internal conflict etched into the lines of her face, torn between the desire to loathe him and the persistent, undeniable love that refuses to be extinguished. He remains silent, understanding the gravity of her admission, aware that any response from him could tip the fragile balance they are trying to restore.

In a moment suspended between resentment and longing, she tentatively reaches up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his jaw. Aemond, still holding back the urge to speak, feels the warmth of her touch, a gesture that speaks volumes. Then, as if guided by an invisible force, their lips meet in a hesitant, exploratory kiss. It is not a fiery embrace born out of passion; rather, it is a delicate connection, an attempt to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them. 

And then Luke surfaces, yet again.

He holds her tighter and kisses her deep, his tongue begging for entrance as he fights the ghost of Luke, staring right at him as he tries to make his wife forgive him. With every movement of their joined lips, he refutes his dead nephew’s words. He is hers, and she is his. From this day, till the end of their days. 

Not Luke’s. His.

“Mine,” he mumbles in between kisses. Over and over until the blasted bastard’s spirit hears and lets him live. But why should he, when Aemond did not offer him the same courtesy? “You’re mine. No one else’s.”

“What?” He doesn’t answer her murmured question, not quite ready to make her privy to the haunting of his mind by her twin. He does not want to let him ruin this moment for them, not any more than he already has. His hands involuntarily find her skirts, pushing them up as he lowers his lips to kiss her neck.

The skin of her thighs are as soft as he’d remembered, his hands relishing in the touch as it disappears under her dress. She clings to him, a slight whine escaping her lips as his fingertips graze her skin, holding onto her backside as he lifts her up effortlessly, feet carrying them both and pushing her into the nearest wall. The kiss is never ending, and he’d not have it any other way.He presses into her, his hands holding her by the hip so tight that he’s probably bruising her, but he is too far gone to care. He needs to prove his nephew wrong, and with each moment he believes he is closer to vanquishing the ghost of the Strong pup from his consciousness.

“Take me,” she says. He hears her, but he is not quite sure he is listening. However, he does as she says. He has wanted this for long, having missed her touch for long, having missed her wanting him for long. He has wanted this for too long to do anything otherwise, and so he does. He growls as he bites her neck, while she unlaces his breeches and lets his cock spring free. The weeping tip is erect and stands proud, and he hopes she can see what she could have had in the time that she pushed him away. No matter, she’s here now.

He is taken aback by how tight she is, how warm and inviting she is despite it all. Her wetness engulfs him as he thrusts into her, making up for wasted time. With each thrust and with each moan that she lets out, he hopes and prays that their marriage will endure - but the phantom of his nephew is never ending as he refuses to fade. Aemond claims her as is his right, but as he does, he realizes his true goal is to simply remind the ghost in his head that she is his, and no one else’s.

“Mine.”

She leans into him, meeting his forehead with hers as her hair falls around them. Her panting breaths and heaving chest has him in a tight chokehold, and it almost keeps him from being haunted by her twin. Almost.

She peaks with a shuddering moan, and as she falls into him - limp and willing - he chases his pleasure. He brings her down to stand and mindlessly thrusts into her as he chants mine, mine, mine over and over again and when he does spill in her, he wants to be able to only experience pleasure, and nothing else. 

Surely his mind is playing tricks on him, or Luke has simply taken over Aemond in a capacity far beyond his control - for he is certain he sees him in her eyes for just a moment, taunting him and reveling in his misery.  

The memory hits him like whiplash, and it is all he can think of.

Aemond’s hands encircle her delicate throat, pressing her frail form against the unforgiving stone wall, as though he intends to merge her essence with its cold surface. The echoes of her labored panting reverberate in the air, a desperate struggle for breath, while he, consumed by an unrelenting force, cannot cease his actions. 

Her blue eyes roll back in agony, and the veins on her neck stand out more prominently than usual, appearing blue in certain lights and green in others - details he might have discerned if not blinded by rage and madness.

He sees clearly, he always does. But in this moment, the intensity of his anger clouds his judgment, rendering him as blind as he is perceptive in moments of calm. Her pallor intensifies, and her hands futilely attempt to pry his fingers from her skin, seeking reprieve - he wants to let go, but he cannot. How could he?

His nephew has haunted him for years, much like the famed phantom of Harrenhal. Luke may have only been nine years of age when he took Aemond’s eye, but it has wielded a malevolent influence throughout his journey from boyhood to manhood. It has been the root cause for a lot of what he’s done - right from marrying her, to now killing her so she can join her brother wherever he is.

He needs to banish the haunting memory of his nephew from his tormented consciousness. He wants so badly for the words to stop playing in his head, weaving a harsh thread of thoughts that he cannot seem to find his way out of. Her life hangs by a thread, one that he stretches taut until she snaps.

As much as he resents acknowledging it, perhaps Lucerys was right. He isn't killing her; he is merely guiding her to where she belongs, by his side. “Aemond…” Her plea is feeble, choked, and nearly devoid of a voice. “Husband, please…” He hears his sweet wife’s last words, but he refuses to listen.

As the light in her eyes slowly dims, he watches as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Her hold on his choking hand loosens and loses its fight, and she gives in. It is almost as though they are back to how they were, in the days when they were happier, and his hands had been around her neck in much more sensual moments - always just enough, never as tight and deadly as this.

She looks almost peaceful in this state, in the last moments where she’s accepted that she has outrun her course. He cannot have her this way, does not want her this way -  where she fears him and what he has truly become; where every moment that she looks at him with mixed emotions, he is reminded of his nephew and the day he died.

Cursed bastard.

Her once kind smiles, the very essence that once distinguished her from her twin, have undergone a haunting transformation. Her face has since been etched with an unspoken terror, a fear that clings to her like a shroud of impending doom. Every glance she casts seems laden with an eerie anticipation, as if she is poised to deliver a fatal blow.

In those harrowing moments, the resemblance between them becomes a grotesque mirror, reflecting a likeness he cannot bear to acknowledge. The weight of her presence - his presence - is suffocating, an unsettling reminder of his own recklessness. He cannot afford the luxury of a wavering mind, not in the midst of a relentless war that demands his unwavering focus.

This connection has become an unbearable burden, stoking a fury within him that knows no bounds. All he craves is the dissolution of his nephew's haunting memory, an obliteration that refuses to comply with the confines of his subconscious. Instead, it lingers, an ominous specter that shadows his every waking moment, intensifying the horrors that plague him day and night.

And then, her breathing ceases.

The chilling realization of what he’s done crashes over him like a wave, dragging him into the abyss of his own making. The haunting echoes of his nephew's voice, the relentless specter that had tormented his every waking moment ever since the fateful day at Storm’s End, had finally ceased. However, the newfound silence is shattered by the ghastly thud of her lifeless form crumpling to the floor, unleashing an eerie force that wraps its tendrils around his soul.

She seems liberated from the oppressive shackles of fear and her lifeless face descends into an eerie calm that chills the marrow of his bones. In death, she appears more tranquil than any moment he witnessed in life since her twin’s passing. The grotesque disparity between her and Lucerys’ final moments sends a shiver down his spine, the air thick with the stench of regret and the palpable weight of his transgressions.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch her slowly chilling forehead, pressing a sorrowful kiss upon it. The chamber becomes suffocating, the air thickening with an oppressive calm that clings to the shadows. In that macabre stillness, a chilling certainty takes hold — Lucerys will no longer haunt him, but the cost is etched in the lines of his lovely wife’s lifeless face.

As the reality of his irreversible choice seeps into his bones, a haunting question claws at the edges of his conscience: Was the liberation from the phantom of his nephew's influence worth the mad ending of his wife's life? The Seven bear witness to another one of his kinslaying crimes and the heavy silence that follows - a testament to the darkness that now envelopes his soul, as the shadows of the hearth themselves seem to recoil from the stench of blood that stains the very fabric of the air.

Now the twins are together in death, by each other’s side. 

Aemond is free.

NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifications for all my fic updates!

MASTERLIST

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fan fiction #aemond fic #aemond #pro aemond targaryen #aemond stannies #aemond angst #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fanfiction

[chaoticbardlady99]

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me (Spawn! Astarion x F! Ghost Reader) MDNI 18+

Chapter Six: Four Clerics and a Vampire Spawn Enter a Tomb

Synposis: Astarion is struggling to adjust to not having you around for a little bit, but he amends this quickly. Astarion takes a moment to explore his own wants and needs while you are asleep.

CW: Mentions of torture, gore, m! Masturbation, Astarion being a lovesick mess I just had this, “oh Astarion and Tav were never together so he has no baseline for sexual touch.” And my brain went, “HE DOESN’T HAVE A BASELINE FOR SEXUAL TOUCH” and well- here we are. I hope you enjoy! I have put markers for when smut starts and stops for anyone who isn’t into it :)

Disclaimer- put together the picture for the banner, but I do not own any of the pictures. I did take the picture of ‘Birdie’ and Astarion on my PS5

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you for all your support and love!

Chapter 5: Chapter 7: AO3

Astarion sits and stares at your broken, crumpled form. He had closed your eyes already and he had dug a hole to bury the cat that so graciously let you inhabit it for so long. 

  He recognizes the country bumpkin arrow as one of Leon’s. How could this happen? Astarion had searched the area high and low for signs of the Bastard and didn’t find a thing- where the fuck did he come from!?

 Astarion lets himself cry as he buries the cat. 

  He can’t feel your presence around him and that terrifies Astarion to no end. He can’t lose you- you are both supposed to be ‘stuck’ with each other forever. 

  Astarion has hopes, dreams, and stupid fantasies about what kind of life you could live together once they were able to resolve your incorporeal person problems. He really just knows that, as long as he’s around you, life will be fun. Hard sometimes, but nothing that couldn’t be talked about or handled. 

 You have given him a rather large lesson in communication and the importance of it- after about six months, you had both celebrated Astarion directly telling you that something you said bothered him instead of lashing out. 

  It had been something stupid- he can’t even remember what it was. He was jealous of some man that you said was very attractive as the two of you peered over the railing of your inn in a small town around Amn. 

 That all feels so trivial now. You could be with anyone if it meant Astarion could have you back right now. He may kill the person and cry, but that’s beside the point. <

  The sun is suddenly embracing him and Astarion feels his body become reinvigorated. 

 You never gave up on him or finding a cure so that he could walk in the sun. You also expressed having hopes and dreams amongst other what-nots. You wouldn’t give up this easily on him and he sure as hell won’t give up on you. 

  You have to be out there somewhere. If you aren’t around him that you had to be teleported somewhere else and if that means storming the Heavens- so be it.

  Astarion immediately begins flipping through Volo’s book- rubbing the stupid pink tulle tutu material between his fingers. 

 It’s a stupid thing to keep- he admits it to himself all the time- but it was such a hilarious sight to see and you had said you hope one day he sees how much you mean to him. Astarion will mess with the crappy material whenever he needs the reminder that he has worth and you are busy doing something or sleeping. It’s helped him a significant amount during the night time- the happy memory soothing his soul. 

  And he desperately needs that reassurance and soothing right now.

 Thankfully, Volo’s book wasn’t totally filled with bullshit- the back detailing a City that is not that far from his current location.

  It’s about two and a half days away. That’s entirely doable and you are more than likely perfectly safe, exploring the city and, with any luck, you are hoping he’s trying to get back to you. 

   He can’t get himself to stop- not even for a moment. He finds himself absentmindedly humming various violin pieces you have played for him since you learned you could be an incorporeal person. 

  He feels border line delirious and he’s pretty fucking hungry if he’s being honest with himself- the creatures he’s finding as he goes aren’t filling enough, but he doesn’t have time to properly hunt. 

   You would be worried and upset with him for not taking care of himself, but he won’t feel okay again until you are back in his sight and within arms length again. 

  The trek is horribly boring- he has become so accustomed to even your little snores during travel that the silence is uncomfortable and wrong. Astarion can’t even begin to imagine how his heart would feel if he tried to fall asleep and stay asleep without you near. 

  The hour he tried to trance out of sheer exhaustion had been full of every nightmare imaginable, but it was a dream of Leon killing you- taking away the only person in the whole world that Astarion would gladly lay his life on the line for. 

  He should have killed Leon the moment he suggested you become a sacrifice for him to get Victoria back. Astarion would sooner go back in time sacrifice him and the other spawn than hand you over if that’s what it took to keep you safe.

 At least in that reality, you could both be together and he would never have to worry about losing you because he wouldn’t have to worry about fucking Leon. 

  He just knows Leon is involved- he can feel the irritation in his bones grow with each minute he walks. 

  Astarion races through the forest- being mindful enough to not go barreling through some poor soul just minding it’s own business. 

 For once, he isn’t looking for a fight. He just wants to get to you and leave- get far away from this Gods awful place and begin your lives together somewhere far, far away.

  The second day feels even worse than the first- twenty four hours was far too long and he was growing more worried by the second stint of his journey.

What if Leon finds you before Astarion does?

 Astarion is worried that Leon will convince you to sacrifice yourself for his daughter if he gets to you first- something he knows you would do without a second thought. 

  Astarion finds himself begging the universe that, for once, he is good enough for someone to stay for him- wait for him. 

 Worth someone being a little bit selfish for once.

 What if he isn’t? What kind of life could a transient vampire spawn offer you? Would you willingly remain a ghost if you had the choice or would you pass on?

 He attempts to trance again when his thoughts become overwhelming. He continues, however, to refuse sleeping for very long or take the time to properly hunt. 

 He knows what his needs are and he will take the time later. However, time isn’t a luxury he thinks he can afford right now.

 Astarion needs you- he’s doing this for himself more than anything.

 His second hour long trance is much better. He dreams of you in his arms, held tightly to his chest- your hair fanning out on a plush pillow while he leaves gentle kisses on your face and you giggle happily. You are here again and everything is okay. 

  Astarion wakes up crying when he realizes it’s only a trance- a trick of the mind. His lips yearn to know how your skin feels underneath them.

 Astarion needs you back by his side yesterday. One day was unacceptable as is, but two? His world feels tilted. 

   He feels like he can breathe again when he spies the massive Watch Tower in the distance- the black, oddly shaped tower looms over the other buildings and it’s presence demands to be seen. 

  His feet lead him through the gates of the City of Manifest and he makes a B-line to the Hall of Farewells. There are people everywhere enjoying their loved ones, but no sign of you yet. 

  Astarion goes to the front of the line- ready to knock whoever over so that he can talk to the teller. Your life very well could be in danger- Astarion hasn’t seen any signs of Leon in the Underdark, but you can never be too careful and that arrow was definitely one of his shitty homemade ones.

 “Hey! You can’t just cu-“

 Astarion gives the man a menacing, unblinking smile. The man gulps nervously.

 “You were saying?”

 “Ha, uh I was just saying, go right on ahead! You can cut me anywhere, anytime.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, my Boy,” Astarion says with a sneer, “otherwise you may not live to see the light of day.”

 A dawning realization of horror crosses the man’s face.

“That’s not what I-“

 “NEXT!”

  Astarion waves, “that’s my cue- I will find your delicious self later.” 

 He snickers to himself after he turns around- the man was positively green-, but when he goes to look down next to him to be chastised by you as you begrudgingly laugh- he’s reminded once again of his current twisted reality. 

  It’s only been 56 hours and he misses you so much- there is a massive hole in his chest with every step he takes and he is praying to every God that you are here. 

 “Hello! Welcome to the Hall of Farewells,” an elderly woman stands behind the counter, “who are you looking for today, young man?” 

  If you were here? You would have busted up laughing. 

“Young man, my ass!” 

  He can’t help, but smile slightly to himself as a tear begins to fall from his eye. 

“I’m looking for Althaeastra Rothwell? She goes by Birdie,” he gestures to show your height, “about this tall, beautiful, kind, hilarious, plays the violin really well.” 

 “Well- that is more than enough information for me to help you!” The elderly woman states while beaming, “she must be a very special woman and how lucky of her to have such a wonderful partner.”

 “I’m the lucky one, actually,” the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

  The woman smiles even brighter and Astarion has to try very hard to keep himself from blushing like a smitten school boy.

 Good Gods, he thinks, stop being a grieving, emotional mess and focus. You can be weird and dissect your feelings later once you find Birdie.

  The woman claps her hand and performs some kind of magic on a book that flips pages with the intensity of a storm. Names are jumping from the pages- sorting through nicknames, letters, dates of death, etc. until a bright DING alerts the elderly woman that the spell is complete.

 “Ah yes! Miss Rothwell! She hasn’t been here too long- only a couple days,” the woman muses, “hmm well, it looks like your brother already went off to find her. My guess is that you will find her with him.” 

 Astarion feels his entire body become significantly colder than it already is. 

 No- Leon couldn’t have bested him this time. How did Leon get here ahead of him? He did so many perimeter checks before entering the Catacombs and Leon was nowhere to be found. There should be absolutely no reason for him to be here- unless he had planned to kill you so you are a ghost again? That would make sense and it would force you two apart. 

 “Which brother?”

  The woman cocks her head at him and then a realization seems to be forming in her mind.

 You weren’t supposed to be going anywhere with Leon and it’s likely this woman just directed you to your actual death. 

 “His name is… Leon,” she reads the name uneasily, “she wrote only your name in the registry- specifically put ‘WAITING FOR ASTARION’. Brayden tried to tell her it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. Your brother came in shortly after and checked the registry.”

 Astarion damn near loses it- screaming profanities inside his head and desperately trying to keep from exploding all together. He can’t protect you from prison so he needs to play nice. 

 Afterwards? Well, let’s just say Astarion may be creating a list of people he wants to Falcon punch in the throat after you are safe and with him again. You most likely won’t approve, but he told you not to go wandering off with strangers! You do not have the combat experience or street smarts to be able to protect yourself. 

  Astarion goes to ask another question when a man comes racing in with a very mutilated, but living ghost. An insignia with a boot print and compass rose is on the front. The man’s black, curly locks are mangled and blue stained.

  The older man is hysterical- begging someone to save his son as pieces of him begin to fall away and disappear. Astarion feels a wave of panic go through his body. 

 “Brayden,” the elderly woman gasps, “Gods help us!” 

  A group of clerics descends on the men and tries to help the man who was evidently giving you a tour. Another group goes racing out the door in the direction the body was found. Astarion makes note of this “Tombyard District” and begins to leave. 

  His body, however, freezes as he approaches the young Ghost laying out on the floor- wheezing painfully and his eyes meet Astarion’s a look of recognition. You must have talked about Astarion a lot.

 Brayden’s eyes seem to scream back at Astarion, “she’s in danger! You need to save her!” 

 Astarion would know that magic and knife work anywhere- Leon got to you and this poor man probably tried to defend you. It disgusts Astarion that he is grateful for a perfect stranger, but anyone who has attempted to keep you safe is okay in his books. 

  He will not lose you to this place and he will make sure Brayden’s suffering was not in vain or yours for that matter. 

  Astarion leaves the Hall of Farewells- realizing that the more he sits there and listens to that man wail for his adult son to stay with him, the more and more hopeless and scared Astarion becomes. 

  Leon was Cazador’s best hunter, but it was because he was an aggressive meathead about the whole thing. It irritated the piss out of everyone. He wasn’t subtle and was more than happy to swoop in and steal your mark if it meant he could get back to the Palace faster. 

  It doesn’t take very long for Astarion to track Leon, but he’s alarmed when the faint scent of his other siblings begins to tickle his nose. The guard at the entrance of the Tombyard warned him against going in this late, but Astarion has a feeling he doesn’t have much time. 

 He stole a Ring of Manifesting on the way there so that after he finds you, you can both run straight to Waterdeep. Astarion had used one of his sending spells detailing what is going on to Tav and Gale just in case you both go MIA, but they are expecting both of you to be there. Admittedly, Astarion is quite proud of himself- you are always on him for not having a plan and this time he actually has a plan!

  The smell of rotting flesh and the sound of people crying over their loved ones rings through his ears. There are multiple funerals occurring at once- mostly Drow and a few Humans. 

 The area is not cozy nor is it an aesthetically pleasing place to rest, the buildings look like warehouses for the bored and lonely and the statues along the streets are even graveyard-esque. It makes him uncomfortable- he doesn’t necessarily care for graveyards anymore. Not that he ever did, really.

 There are alleyways here and there, but only one has Leon’s scent and the other scent is Lavender and something else he can’t pick up on. It has to be you which makes Astarion feel even more sick.

 What did he tell you about following random strangers places!? One time you followed a man with white hair because you thought it was Astarion and you had been missing for an hour and a half. 

 Now you have been missing for probably two Gods damn days!

 The scent leads him to an alleyway and the stench of rot becomes worse- Astarion can practically feel the pull of the weave in the air and the dark art of Necromancy.

 Wonderful, just wonderful. 

  Astarion creeps along the wall- grateful that he listened to your suggestion about wearing solely black armor. It made sneaking around much easier and if he’s about to face a necromancer without a Cleric around then he’s going to need every advantage he can get. 

  A few new scents are in the air- much cleaner than the heavy must that threatens to suffocate him. 

Think before you act, Astarion reminds himself, being irrational is not going to bring Birdie back to you any faster. 

  As he comes around a corner as slowly as he possibly can, he pulls his daggers out with the pointed ends against someone’s throat- he is met with a set of piercing blue eyes and earthy brown eyes. Both individuals appear to be clerics and they both gesture for Astarion to be quiet- that they are not a threat. Two other people become more visible to him. 

 Astarion recognizes the individual symbols on their chest as Uhanam- a lawful neutral God that is about law and intelligence-, Durann- a Lawful Good God that is about healing and listening to laws, and Aluvan- protector of Ghosts. He doesn’t recognize the other God, but she has the same symbol as the poor Cleric who had been severely injured trying to protect you.  

  A door appears further down an alley and a man that smells of Undeath with a beating heart comes walking down the alley. Astarion recognizes him as a Shadar Kai almost instantly. 

  Much to his irritation, the individuals let him pass by them, but he watches one use sleight of hand to maneuver the keys off his belt. The Shadar Kai doesn’t even so much as flinch. It’s rather impressive and Astarion enjoys the shit eating grin the Wood Elf flashes at their fellow clerics. 

  You would really like these people. Astarion will like them as long as none of them attempt to take you away from him. 

 “Alright,” one of the clerics, a blonde halfling woman, releases a sigh of relief before continuing her whispering, “hello- are you friend or foe?”

  “Depends,” he whispers back, “are you going to kill everyone-including the people they have held captive- or are you on a rescue mission.”

 “Rescue and revenge mission- actually,” the half- elf woman with the same insignia as Brayden says, “they tried to kill my fellow Cleric, Brayden- my husband in fact, and they kidnapped the person he was showing around. We just hope she’s still alive- this Lich doesn’t hang onto people very long.”

  Of course it’s a fucking Lich. 

 “For all of your sake,” Astarion snarls, “you better hope she is alive.” 

“Your loved one, I take it?” the halfing says.

 Astarion nods- they need to know there is someone here for you and if they so much as look at you funny, he will kill them with absolutely no remorse to show for it. 

 “That settles it then,” the Wood Elf says, “let’s go save some folks and kick some ass!” 

 It was like being around Karlach- the cleric has a goofy grin and an even goofier vibe.

  Astarion follows them- trailing behind so that he can take more time to search and see you before it becomes a bloodbath. 

 You just have to find her and get out of here, Astarion repeats like a mantra in his head, she is alive, she is safe-ish, she is okay. Everything is going to be fine because it has to be fine.

  The place is filled to the brim with various undead creatures haunting it’s halls. Some creatures he has never even seen before and others look like they are stitched together with mismatched parts. 

  Astarion tries to swallow his panic- no sign of you yet so you may just be caged some-

 “NO PLEASE!” your voice screams through the air and the sound of you struggling against someone rings alongside your voice, “PLEASE! I- DON’T WANT TO BECOME THAT- PLEASE!!!!!!” 

   You cry out in pain and Astarion begins barrelling past the Clerics who are trying to stop him, but they can figure it out. He needs to get to you. 

 Astarion pushes past every individual who comes by him- some try to attack him and he is quick to rebuke them or kill them with one blow. Your screams are becoming more and more panicked- you sound like you are fighting for your life and Astarion wishes you were aware that he is right here- nothing will happen to you.

 He just needs to find you and then you never have to come to this horrible place ever again.

“ASTARION!” your cries are coming from down the hall, “ASTARION, HELP! PLEASE!” 

   Your voice has begun to sound gargled, but he knows he’s on the right floor- the scent of Lemongrass hanging in the air like a blessing. 

  When he finally finds the room you are in, he watches as some kind of magic tries to contort you into something else entirely. You are fighting to prevent it- tears streaming down either side of your face.

“Astarion- please hurry,” your anger and your voice being reduced to a tearful whisper, “I’m not ready to die.” 

  And he’s not ready for you to. In fact, Astarion feels positively homicidal. 

  Within a millisecond, Astarion is shoving his daggers between the Lich’s ribs and it cries out in surprise- Astarion uses an arrow of Thunder and sends the Lich crashing into the wall- one of it’s arms dislocating in the process. 

 The Shadar Kai descend on him and you struggle against your restraints- trying to get away from the ones that are trying to hold you back down and keep him from getting to you. They are unlatching your restraints and dragging you towards another hall. The Lich waiting like a coward behind it’s soldiers. 

 “ASTARION!” you scream, “BEHIND YOU!”

   He sends another Shadar Kai to the Shadowfell thanks to your warning, only to have one of the Shadar Kai holding you cut your throat, an angry growl leaving Astarion,and he cuts through every creature his blade can get it’s sharp edge on. 

   A crash from behind him and the horrific creature that comes racing into the room distracts Astarion and he’s grateful that the Clerics had caught up with him because he wouldn’t have been able to save himself from the oncoming Ghoul running towards him otherwise.

  He makes eye contact with Dalyria, but it’s not her eyes. The sight of his siblings and their fate makes Astarion feel ill- the Lich gestures and suddenly they are collapsing to the ground in a ball of red magic. The blood curdling scream of anger that leaves Astarion’s mouth scares him.

  The Lich looks like he’s about to shit himself.

 Not only had this horrible, unnatural creature taken you and harmed you significantly- it had destroyed his family. The only one he knows and remembers. The only people in the whole world who know what it means to suffer just as well as he does.

  The creature gets back up and the Lich doesn’t have time to dodge before one of it’s unnaturally strong hands grabs it’s face and sends it’s flying away from the hall- it’s skull begins to crack the moment he makes impact with the wall.

 ��The Lich uses shadow step to retreat down one of the hallways as his siblings run at him again- looking rather pleased that they chased it off.

  He feels angry- it won’t be safe for you or his siblings here or anywhere with that Lich fucking off. Astarion wants to go after it- desperately and end this once and for all, but he knows he can’t. 

  Instead, he returns his attention back to the battle and getting to you as you continue to struggle against your captors. He’s over there in seconds- uses Dimension Door to put you in a safe corner and then using Misty Step to get back into battle. The creature that is his siblings stand protectively in front of you- waiting to destroy anyone who dare harm you. Their eyes meet his and they nod- we’ve got her. 

  He tries not to cry from sentiment alone- they care about him enough to keep you safe so he can focus on killing the other enemies in the room and Astarion never thought he would see the day where that would ever happen. It’s a shame it’s probably too late now to try to start over with each other again. 

  The remainder of the creatures are destroyed and Astarion personally mutilates the individual who decided cutting your throat was a fantastic idea. 

  Once it all calms down and everyone is dead- the Clerics lock the hallway door where the Lich had run away and they gesture for the mix and match of his siblings to follow as they exit the building. 

  The Aluvan Priestess, the Halfing, is the one to assure them that they would reverse their condition, they’ve apparently done it before and he hears your choked sigh of relief. He’s surprised to see the monstrous versions of his siblings look at you with hopeful eyes and you back at them. 

 It must have been a horrible 56 hours. 

 Brayden’s cleric in arms and wife comes over and heals your throat, your wrists, and offers you a clean outfit. You are shaking as you take the clothes and you look at the woman with your lower lip trembling.

“Is Brayden okay? He was trying to keep me safe.”

 The woman nods and smiles, “he’s in rough shape, but nothing he won’t be able to come back from- thank Wyst.”

 That seems to make you cry harder and Astarion is quick to scoop you up into his arms now that the initial shock of everything he has just seen has worn off. You cling to his neck, your arms wrapped around him tightly, and he just rubs soft circles into your back.

 “It’s safe now, Birdie,” he whispers, “I will never ever let anyone harm you again.” 

             *****************************

   It’s later in the evening when you seem to finally be more yourself again, but Astarion can tell that something horrible happened to you at the hand of the Lich. He is refraining from asking- not wanting to upset you or push you too hard. 

  You are drinking the honey mead in your hand heavily- eating bread and cheese along side it. Ghosts can’t get hung over so you took it as an opportunity to try to drown out the events of the last couple days. 

  It’s when you look at him with tearful eyes that he knows you are truly, honest to Gods suffering. 

“Darling?” He gently takes your hand in his, “what is it?” 

 You look up at the ceiling with a trembling lip before looking him in the eyes again.

 “He cut me open,” you choke, “he- he took out my organs and put them in other bodies before putting them back in mine.

“Then he was going t- to,” you shake as you try to get through your next sentence, “he was going to turn me into a Necroplasm. A horrible creature only made of bone and ectoplasm. Lifeless; thoughtless.”

  Your face is back in your hands and Astarion is feeling an incredibly confusing amount of emotions right now.

 He wants to hunt down that lich and destroy the bastard limb by limb, over and over again until he finally shows the last bit of mercy he could- breaking the phylactery. 

 But he also wants to get out of the City of Manifest entirely. His siblings are all separated again- temporarily Ghosts, but incredibly happy to not be melded together while the Clerics search for the remainder of their bodies to reconstruct. He has no idea how it works, but apparently the Gods over manifest are much kinder than the ones who dominate the rest of Faerun.

  Leon is the only one who hasn’t come back, but he’s dead to Astarion either way. He was quite impressed with the amount of damage you had been able to inflict. Once he teaches you how to use a dagger, you could truly be unstoppable.

 However, that’s for a later date when you become settled.

 Gale sent him two tickets to teleport to Waterdeep and you seemed to be relieved that you wouldn’t be staying here- you want to come back, but after you feel more confident in your ability to protect yourself.

  Tav and Gale are getting married in a few weeks- Waterdeep will be good for both of you. It will be familiar and comfortable.

 You can stay together in the room you usually occupy, he will keep watch if that’s what you need to sleep for a while. 

 Anything to make you feel safe again. 

 “I feel so violated,” you sniff and laugh sadly to yourself, “I have the worst luck. The first touch I receive in three and a half centuries and it’s while I’m being cut open and fit to others like a puzzle piece- like a thing.

“I could feel it,” you wipe your eyes, “every horrible thing those people felt before they died. I felt their love and misery for the people they were never going to see again-“ 

  This was not how Astarion wanted this reunion to go- Leon is dead, but it would never feel like enough. 

 Leon took honest, innocent moments you deserved to have and tainted them- all for something that was never going to happen anyway.

 A Lich is a Lich and he’s going to hunt the bastard down- you were just a victim of opportunity in his eyes. 

 “I wish I had gotten there faster,” Astarion whispers, “this isn’t how I imagined this going.” 

 “What do you mean?” You ask, wiping your eyes.

 Does he tell you that he envisioned at least kissing you? If you wanted? Now it feels like it would be pressuring you.

“It’s not imp-“

“No- enough about me,” you say, “I want to know what you’ve been doing and how life in the sun has been!” 

 Astarion smiles softly, “there hasn’t been a life in the sun without you. I barely noticed- I was focused on getting here to you.” 

  “Wait, really?” he nods in affirmation, you smile widely at that, “I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who missed hanging around.” 

  You look so happy looking at him- you are wearing his shirt since your own clothes had been practically destroyed and the clothing that was lended to you was uncomfortable. 

 “I’m going to wash my face and all the ick from these last couple days off real quick- I’ll be back.”

  He couldn’t help but miss you- even a room away when you go to wash off.  Astarion had braided your hair back afterwards. 

  Every part of you is beautiful and lovely- he was so scared he lost you without ever getting to see what would happen between the two of you. He hates how gushy and mushy he’s become over the last two days- at this rate, he’s just going to embarrass himself when you ultimately don’t return his feelings.

“Be my date for Tav and Gale’s wedding,” he blurts out of nowhere.

  Nice going panty dropper- you call that romantic?

 “What?”

  You literally said one sentence and blew up the whole thing, Astarion scolds himself.

  Astarion clears his throat, “I couldn’t think of a better plus one nor anyone I would want to suffer through the cheesy affair with.” 

 “Yes!” You exclaim, jumping up, “one hundred thousand times yes! Oh my gosh!!!!!! We will need to go shopping or thieving- who cares- I GET TO GO TO A WEDDING WITH MY FAVORITE PERSON!!!!!” 

 Oh thank Gods.

  Your once melancholy mood has shifted and Astarion feels a warm glow in his chest. He can already think of what cut would fit you best, what colors, how your hair should look, etc. 

  You ask him so many questions- what color does he think would be best? Will you match with him? What color would be best for both of them? And “GODS ABOVE HOW WILL I DO MY HAIR AND MAKE UP!? I’m out of practice!”

 Oh and you made it very clear- absolutely no tulle or crowns. 

 You both somehow decide on lavender and silver. Astarion figures he’ll wear silver with lavender designs and you will do the opposite. 

“What if I don’t remember how to dance!?” You say, mortified, “I’ll embarrass us both!!!”

 “Oh the horror- to be forced to save my darling damsel in distress from tripping over her own heels,” he teases, pushing a stray hair out of your face, “I’m sure I have more than enough dancing experience for both of us.”

 You look at him and bite your lip- a little bit of worry in your eyes.

“What is it, my Sweet?”

  He struggles to stop his smile at the nice blush that courses under your skin at the term of endearment.

“I- I know you hate parties,” you start cautiously, “are you sure you want to dance and everything? We don’t have to if it would make you unhappy. Just being there with you would be more than enough. Unfortunately I can’t offer not going, I think Tara would murder me.”

  Well that is… unexpected. Astarion’s body feels like it’s radiating with happiness and affection- you are quite literally perfect.

 Pull yourself together.

 “I’ll be fine, my Dear,” he says with a slight dismissive wave of his hand, “besides, this is my first party as a free man- who knows? Maybe I’ll become a party fiend.”

 “Ha! I don’t think you like people enough to do that.”

 “But I like you enough to,” he states, “so if you would like to go to them from time to time- I have no qualms.” 

  Gods when did he become such a romantic? 

  You, on the other hand, look like you might explode and he can’t tell why, but he hopes he hasn’t pushed it too far. Astarion is quickly reassured when a coy, mischievous smile passes over your face. 

“I promise I won’t make you go to too many parties,” you tease, “one too many and one might end up being a funeral.”

“Ah see, that’s my kind of party!”

“Oh my Gods,” you shake your head, giggling, and put it in both of your hands, “you don’t even like cemeteries.”

“You don’t need a cemetery for a funeral if you are creative enough, Darling,” he smiles cheekily, “I do put the fun in funeral after all.”

  You roll your eyes and shake your head with a smile at his Gods awful pun- he learned it from Shadowheart on their adventures and he loves to sprinkle it into conversations. 

“Fair.” 

   Somehow, you eventually end up asleep in his arms in the plush Inn bed like he had dreamed about the other night. You snore softly as Astarion holds you closely to him- making a point of looking at the door and windows frequently enough so there aren’t any surprise visitors. 

  Astarion has never actually cuddled with anyone (willingly, at least). Anyone who’s ever been in a bed with him has been condemned to becoming Vampire spawn (he almost wishes they had all just been dead). It was just sex, nothing more or less. Sure people offered, but it never felt right. 

  This? This feels right and like you were made for him. It’s a miracle truly- Intimacy without any sexual touch and he has the choice to be there, curled up around you. 

  It feels heavenly- better than his trances could have ever imagined. 

  You are both the same temperature so you almost feel warm to the touch. Your eyes are moving back and forth as you dream, he is relieved to see a content smile on your face. 

 Astarion is prepared to be there for you if you have nightmares. You have taught him that just having someone to comfort you is enough. He just wishes you didn’t experience any of it in the first place, but he won’t be keeping you too far out of reach or unguarded so hopefully it will never happen again.

  Eventually sleep takes Astarion too and he’s grateful for the somewhat peaceful rest- until it turns into a full blown fucking sex dream. 

  Astarion tries not to jolt you awake- somehow aware enough of his surroundings to know you are still there. You are still fast asleep- dawn is coming and Astarion is not, which could very well be a problem if you wake up while he’s hard.

   He sneaks away to the washroom- making sure to lock the door. 

 He will just take a bath, cool himself off, and then go back to bed for a cuddle. It’ll be like this never happened. 

(Smut begins)

 He’s never actually masturbated and there is a significant amount of weariness when he thinks about the idea. Sure he’s done it for show, but never in a private, alone moment.

  Astarion has basically been celibate for the last nine months and of course, now that you are a ghost person again, his libido decides to rear it’s ugly head.

 He doesn’t even know if you actually want him that way!

  The water is lukewarm and Astarion leans back against the tub- willing his hard on to go away already. It feels almost impossible to forget his trance- the way your pretty mouth looked around his cock, the way you keened when he filled you for the first time, the dance that takes the act from slow and romantic to something else entirely. 

  Wild, passionate- unrehearsed. 

  Astarion wraps his hands around his cock- desperate for any release he can get at this point. He isn’t going to be able to will this trance or these desires away and he is entirely in control of the act- if he becomes uncomfortable or begins to dissociate, he can stop. 

 “You don’t have to sleep with these people,” you reminded him softly, “Hells- you don’t have to do any of it at all if you don’t want to! Even if you are both naked and you’re already inside the person- you can stop. A good person, a person worthy of you, will respect your needs and be understanding.”

  Astarion can stop. You helped him with this realization nine or ten odd months ago. 

   He strokes himself slowly at first, trying to mimic the movements of the trance- starting with your mouth. You are inexperienced and Astarion imagines teaching you how to suck him off- your wide, beautiful eyes looking up at him eagerly as he praises you for being such a good girl for him.  

  His breath hitches when he runs his thumb over the head and applying a bit of pressure over his slit, his hips bucking upward and his brain paints the beautiful picture of him thrusting into your mouth- guiding your movements by grasping your hair as gently as he possibly can as he gets closer and closer to his peak. 

  In this fantasy- you moan around his mouth and you are touching yourself while taking his whole length until he hits the back of your throat. You wear his shirt like you are now- nipples pert, your breasts swaying as he thrusts into you. Your eyes are lustful, hazy, and wanting.

  Astarion’s head goes back by instinct- a breathy moan escaping his mouth and he’s thinking about what it might be like to be inside you. What it would be like to finally connect with someone he adores intimately. 

  He imagines exploring every single inch of you- finding what makes you wet and wanting for him. Astarion will ruin you for any other lover- his tongue teasing your clit and lapping up your juices like a man dying of thirst. 

 Astarion wants- no, needs- you to be crying out his name and telling him how you will only ever be his like he will only ever be yours. 

(Smut ends)

  He reaches his peak much faster than he anticipated- the release feeling like heaven. Astarion pants as he stares up at the ceiling, entirely blissed out. 

 Now that was incredible. He can understand why people enjoy it from time to time.

 His mind continues to think of you and it gets caught on the words the elderly woman had said earlier today- about how you were lucky to have him and vice versa. Astarion let’s his brain indulge for a millisecond before locking the thought back into the “we aren’t going to talk about this right now, self!” box.

 Althaeastra “Birdie” Ancunín. She would want a nice, but simple ring- nothing gaudy, he pauses his thoughts, or maybe she needs one simple ring and one gaudy one. Especially with her ability to pick up music again. What if she has to dress especially nice for an occasion? The ring should at least be able to tell people all the way out in the courtyard that she is spoken for. 

  He pushes his guilty pleasure thoughts aside. You are his dearest and closest companion- he will not screw that up by making you feel like you have to be in a relationship with him or like you have to jump into something right away. You just started your life and why would Astarion be your top pick? He’s a disaster- with or without you. 

  Well, the bliss was wonderful while it lasted. Now he’s just sad.

  After cleaning up- Astarion finds himself leaning against the door frame, jealous of the warm rays of sun that get to kiss your face first thing this morning. You are still asleep and don’t stir when Astarion climbs back into bed behind you. 

  One day, he will tell you his feelings, but for now? Astarion is going to try to go back to sleep.

***********************************************************************

Author note: Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated! Please let me know if you would like to be on the tag list! I am using the Ghostwalk campaign for NPCs, locations, etc. It is a 3e Campaign and doesn’t mirror 5e Ghosts. I have tweaked some of the ghost powers and such for the sake of the story, but if you would like more information on Ghostwalk and the City of Manifest, there is a PDF online that is free to download :)

Tag List: @n3rdybirdee @fandomarchiveilyd @dajeong @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @bitchstarion @hereliesblackdragon @pebble-bb @preciouslittlebhaalbae @lavvyan @beepersteeper

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 spoilers #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion x you #bg3 #karlach #astarion x f! reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion ancunin #astarion angst #astarion fanfiction #astarion smut

[steddiejudas]

STWG Daily Drabble 11/29/23

prompt: modern au

Eddie is harshly woken by his phone ringing at— JESUS christ, 4:30 AM.

The number isn’t saved in his contacts, and normally he would just let it ring or hang up the call so he could go back to sleep, but his brain is a little fried so early in the morning so he answers it like a reflex.

“Hello?” he asks. He can hear the sleep in his own voice and hopes to god this call isn’t something important that his slow, rough voice will make him look bad for.

“Robin!!”

A very loud, very drunk voice screams the name Eddie doesn’t recognize into the line. He lacks the wherewithal to really sus out what’s happening, so he summons every ounce of intelligence to the best of his ability to mutter: “huh?”

“Robbie I’m so drunk and my phone died. The bartender let me use his to call you. come pick me up.”

The guy is whining directly into Eddie’s ear. it should be annoying, should be grating to his sleep-addled brain, but he can’t help but think he sounds cute.

“Uh, hey man, this isn’t Robin. I think you got the wrong number,” Eddie says.

The guy on the other end of the line goes silent, and Eddie imagines he’s pouting over there, probably too drunk to remember he needs to speak into the phone.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay? Are you going to be able to call this Robin person?”

“I did,” the guy whines again. “You’re not Robin.”

“No, I definitely am not. I’m Eddie. And who are you?”

“I’m Steve. Will you please come pick me up?”

He considers this, chuckling lightly to himself. This Steve sure is trusting. Eddie could be a murderer just waiting for a cute boy like Steve to call him up, and he says as much, but apparently all Steve hears is:

“You think I'm cute? Wait, how can you tell? Are you in the walls or something?”

Is he in the walls? Jesus this guy really is ass blasted, huh. And Eddie can’t leave a fellow bad late night decision maker to fend for himself, can he?

“You sound cute enough sweetheart. sit tight, I'll be there in 15 minutes.”

“mmkay!” Steve sounds purely elated to have Eddie on the way, and hangs up before he has the chance to confirm where he is. It’s no matter really, there’s only one bar in the area that’s open this late, and it seems the bartender picked up on that lacking piece of information as his phone pings with a location pin a minute later.

It’s one of Eddie’s usual haunts so he gets there in 10, familiar with the route and aided by the complete lack of traffic at this hour.

He wonders if in the last 10 minutes Steve has forgotten all about him. He is just a stranger he drunk dialed after all, and Steve’s so far gone his short term memory must be nothing at this point.

But when he pulls up and enters the building, he sees the most beautiful face he’s ever seen alone at the bar. He hopes to any god that will listen that Steve at least remembers his enthusiasm about getting home so he can see the way that elation shows on his handsome features. The bartender who’s been babysitting, and appears to be forcing him to drink water, points to the door and Steve turns around, his face alighting with all the brilliance of precious gemstones.

“Eddie!” He shouts, throwing himself off the stool to stumble over to him. He nearly falls to the ground, but Eddie is there to hold him up.

Their faces are inches apart, and Eddie can’t help but notice the way his drunkenness flushes his cheeks, giving the scattering of moles across his cheeks a beautiful backdrop.

“Hey pretty boy. Let’s get you home, okay? Where do you live?”

“With Robin,” Steve says, his face betraying the fact that he really thinks that’s the answer Eddie needs.

“Mhm,” Eddie patiently hums. “And where does Robin live?”

“With me, silly.”

“Oh boy, you’re really out of it. Why don’t I take you back to my place, get some food in you, charge up your phone, and we’ll go from there.”

“Is food the only thing I'll get in me?” Steve asks, pressing in closer to Eddie’s grasp.

It startles a laugh out of him. One that starts deep in his chest and rolls through his body, throwing his head back and shaking his shoulders.

“Steve, you barely know me. You’re just lucky I happen to be a very nice, very respectful guy, who is going to

feed you and nothing. else.”

Steve pouts a little as Eddie puts an arm around his waist and pulls him out to the car, loading him in the passenger seat and buckling him in.

It seems Steve has zoned out on the ride, either lulled by the movements or, god forbid, incredibly carsick. Either way he sits in silence with his face pressed against the cool glass while Eddie lets him be alone with his thoughts for the short drive home.

Getting up the stairs to Eddie’s apartment is a challenge. It’s like Steve is doing his absolute best to go ass over tea kettle down them. Eddie braces himself behind him, hands on his waist to keep him steady, trying his absolute darndest to ignore the lines of hard muscle under his sweater.

Now is NOT the time.

They make it inside with little incident, Eddie plopping Steve down on the couch to disappear into the kitchen after fishing Steve’s phone out of his pocket and plugging it in next to him.

“So, I’m not much of a cook,” Eddie hollers. “But how do you feel about grilled cheese?”

No answer comes.

“Steve?”

Nothing.

Eddie peeks out of the kitchen to find a snoring Steve, sprawled out on the couch like a starfish. Somehow he’s even cuter like this. It brings a fond smile to Eddie’s face as he covers him in a blanket, tucks a pillow under his head and leaves a trash can by his side just in case.

It’s almost 5:30 now, and the exhaustion hits him all at once. Eddie gives the man sawing logs on his couch one last once over before going back to his own bed and crashing, hoping for at least another hour or two of sleep.

When he wakes, it’s with an unexpected sense of excitement, expecting Steve to be on his couch ready to have a coherent conversation and a real introduction, but when he makes his way out to the living room, Steve is gone, his pillow stacked on top of the neatly folded blanket.

He shouldn’t be sad about this. Steve is, after all, just a stranger who was drunk and couldn’t even remember his own address. He was probably embarrassed, confused, hell maybe even scared to be waking up in a stranger’s house with vague memories of how he got there. He tries to focus on that aspect of the situation, rather than his own disappointment. He does not succeed.

Eddie sits down on the couch, in the very same spot Steve laid his head the night before and wraps himself up in the blanket. He buries his face in it, inhaling the faint scent Steve left on it and wonders why he even cares. It wasn’t as if they had some big whirlwind romance in the span of the hour they were together; but Steve was so sweet, so cute, so excited to see him after speaking on the phone for just a couple minutes. It wasn’t anything more than a random act of kindness, but maybe Eddie wanted it to be.

It’s as Eddie is thinking it over that his phone pings with a message. Eddie groans, it’s probably just Gareth, or maybe the bartender from last night checking that everyone is safe. Though even that is wishful thinking. He checks anyway, trying his best to tamp down any wishful thinking until he sees the unknown number on his screen with one simple word.

[463-291-8275]: Thanks.

Eddie feels a lump in his throat, his chest filling up like a balloon. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, doesn’t even know if it is Steve, but shit he fucking hopes so.

[Eddie]: Steve? How did you get my number again?

[463-291-8275]: Uhhh… i definitely didn’t try like 10 variations of Robin’s phone number to find the one number i mistyped when i accidentally called you last night

Eddie frantically adds the number to his contacts before texting back, thanking whatever powers that be for giving him another shot.

[Eddie]: Wow I must have left quite the impression on you Stevie 😏

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: you could say that

Eddie smirks to himself, trying to ignore the blush that warms his face at Steve’s words. He tries to come up with what to say next, how to segue into asking him out on a date, but before he can, his phone buzzes with more messages from Steve.

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: so i know this might seem a little strange since we barely talked before i passed out in a drunk heap on your couch

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: thanks for not killing me btw

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: but um would you maybe want to hang out sometime?

Eddie jumps up from the couch, pumping his fist in the air like he just won the lottery. then, like he’s just remembering he lives alone, he yells at no one in particular: “FUCK! YES!” There’s an angry knock on the wall from his neighbor, but he doesn’t care in the slightest.

[Eddie]: idk about that Stevie

He goes to reply in his typical teasing fashion, but Steve’s reply comes in immediately before he can finish the thought.

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: oh

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: i totally get it

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: last night was probably weird for you

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: feel free to block my number i’m so sorry

[Eddie]: Woah, slow your roll there big boy!

[Eddie]: I said I'm not so sure about hanging out with you.

[Eddie]: But only because I’d rather take you out on a date

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: oh

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: Oh!

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: date! yes! date is good

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: i’d love to go on a date!

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: better even

[Drunk Steve 🥵]: i was fighting demons trying not to kiss you in the car last night

Eddie has to set his phone down so he doesn’t throw it to the ground and shatter it, opting instead to fist his hands in the pillow Steve used last night and shove it in his face to scream. He has to regain his composure before he texts back, doing his best to keep cool.

[Eddie]: A date it is then. Can’t wait sweetheart ❤️

#stwgdailyprompt #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #modern au #wowza can you believe i haven’t done a daily prompt in over a month #this one just spoke to me idk

[earthtooz]

x : NO FEAR :*+ﾟ i wanna love you with no fear !

in which: itoshi rin rejected you, so why isn't he handling your avoidance well?

warnings: 5k wc, fluff with minor angst, jealous!rin, food cw, swearing, reo is reader's best friend, COLLEGE!AU, gn!reader, non-canon complaint

a/n: happy valentine's day !!! shoutout to @ryekoo for finally giving me inspo on what to do for the rin fic of my event - u rly saved my life &lt;3

↳ 5K EVENT MASTERLIST ༉‧₊

you:i’m going to end you. <reo3: i’m too pretty to die ._. you: and you told me i was too pretty for itoshi rin to reject!?!?!?! <reo3: oh... <reo3: i’m sorry. <reo3: condolences fr.

with a disappointed sigh, you pocket your phone, decidedly ignoring the next few messages that reo sends as you wait for your bus. he owes you a million yen for the amount of grief and distress he’s currently putting you through, especially with the way he shattered all hopes you had with your love life.

well, hopes that you were stupid enough to feed into because this was itoshi rin you’re talking about; possibly the most standoffish, calculated, and devastatingly gorgeous man you’ve ever met in your life. yet, despite his detestable personality, you still found yourself falling hook, line, and sinker for the man, despite his insults, cold comments, and dismissive attitude.

maybe it’s masochism. 

now that you look back on it, rin’s rejection seemed almost inevitable. even if you lead yourself to hope with all the times you caught him staring at you, the prompt replies to your messages, and willingness to somewhat tolerate you during group projects, it was rather obvious that this would be the outcome to your heartfelt confession. 

‘i don’t see you like that’.

it’s cringeworthy simply thinking about it. now you’re going to have another memory that’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.

recalling the expression he made after your confession; eyebrows scrunched and lips tugged into a slight frown, was traumatising enough for you to wish for the ground to swallow you whole. his face will plague you for an uncertain amount of time because today truly, was so very humbling.

the sight of your bus approaching your stop rouses you from the crevices of your thoughts and after you jump on and settle yourself into a seat in the relatively empty carriage, you bring your phone out to text reo again. he’d sent four messages since.

&lt;reo3: this doesn’t make any sense we all thought rin was into you &lt;reo3: like DOWN BAD into you<reo3: everyone on the team has literally made bets on you two <reo3: i’m sorry :c r u okay?  you: yeah. just gotta take the L and move on you: hey at least i’m free for valentines <reo3: LET’S GOOO we’re definitely doing something <reo3: i’ll be a better valentines than r*n you: you’re sexier too babes xoxo <reo3: duh!

maybe you’ll let reo see another day. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your university schedule was never the same after the ‘itoshi rin’ fiasco.

it was never an amazing schedule to begin with since a few classes were quite inconvenient, and there’s only so much to enjoy out of your seminars. the fun part about them was being able to sit beside rin and talk to him whenever you could without getting waved off, but since his heartless decline of your feelings, acting ‘buddy-buddy’ wouldn’t be acceptable. so you resorted to sit by yourself in a section of the space you’ve never really occupied before, busying yourself on your phone as students walked in to class.

despite the temptation to look at the door to see when rin would come in, you do not budge one bit, eyes glued to your phone screen (which had nothing entertaining on it). this meant that you couldn’t see the confusion on his face when he didn’t see you in your normal spot and how it merged further into a look of offence when he instead spots you across the room.

reluctantly taking his usual seat, rin’s gaze lingers on you, hoping to meet your eyes at least once. but upon your insistence to pretend your phone was more important than him, he sits down, practically flopping onto his chair with his backpack cushioning his fall. 

sitting here feels a little empty. rin can’t help but think how it used to be much better when you insisted on being next to him.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── 

&lt;;reo3: you can come now rin isn’t here yet

you: kk b there soon

the trek across campus towards the university’s soccer field, although long, is harmless enough, especially since you were doing a favour for your best friend by bringing the soccer guards and water bottle that he left at your dorm. the harmful part was the looming threat of itoshi rin’s presence and your fear that you would encounter him on your way. 

all you needed to do was drop in quickly and leave. 

when you get to the field, nagi’s the one who sees you first from where he was lounging on the bleaches, changed in his soccer gear. 

“oh, y/n,” he mumbles, sitting up. “hello.”

“hey nagi. are you trying to nap before practice or something?” you ask.

“yeah.” 

“won’t that drain you though before practice starts? you’ve got like… five minutes.”

“still classified as a power nap. wanna collect a power up before startin’.”

amusing as ever, he is. “sure. hey, you know where reo is?”

“he’s changed, probably warming up with isagi and bachira and whoever else.”

“shouldn’t you be doing that too?”

“not until reo forces me to.”

as if on cue, a friendly and very familiar voice calls out nagi’s name and you’re delighted to see the purple-haired in question. you can finally give him his stupid stuff back; the ones you’ve been holding in your hands this entire time like an idiot.

“come on nagi!” reo exclaims, jogging over. a smile appears on his face when he sees you. “yo! y/n! thanks for bringing my things.”

“‘s not a problem. next time i’ll burn them so don’t leave them again,” you counter as the purple-haired takes his things from you with an eye roll. “i filled up your water bottle for you.” 

he places his things down before sitting beside nagi to put his guards on. “so considerate even whilst terrorising me.”

“of course.”

“seriously though, thank you for bringing my things.”

“not a problem. i’m gonna head back to my dorm to study so i’ll see you later. bye reo, bye nagi,” you wave at the two, fixing your backpack strap before turning around to leave the field, only to bump face-first into someone.

the apology that surfaces on your tongue quickly withers away when you lock eyes with a pair of steely, teal ones, partially hidden by strands of dark hair. he looks at you like he has something to say.

but you’re not ready to hear it. 

“uh, hi rin! gotta go!” you squeak before stepping to the side and running away, leaving rin to stare in bewilderment after you.

part of him has the urge to run after you. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

<reo3: isagi’s invited a bunch of us to the on campus screening of spirited away

<reo3: wanna come?

you: ykw why not

you: not like i have essays to write

<reo3: FUCK THEM ESSAYS! 

you: YOU’RE RIGHT SPIRITED AWAY IS BETTER !

if you knew that this would lead you to be seated (uncomfortably) between reo and isagi, who acted as the only barrier between you and an-unnamed-man (rin), then perhaps you would’ve dedicated yourself to your essay rather than a fun opportunity to hang out with your friends. 

1500 words sounds better than having to pretend like there wasn’t an icy cold stare penetrating the back of your head every time you turned to talk to reo, or isagi trying to keep his interactions up with rin so the latter wouldn’t try to talk to you.

you owe isagi a vending machine drink after this because a ‘thank you’ will never suffice. 

it’s easy enough to forget about rin when the movie plays and isagi begins whispering little pieces of commentary to you from time to time, eliciting giggles from you that you try to suppress to not annoy those around you. however, each sound that slipped past your lips was enough to make the dark-haired boy scrunch his face in disgust, an ugly, green monster climbing up his throat when he catches a glimpse of how happy you seemed with someone that wasn’t him. it kills him to see how easily it is for you to just ignore him like your friendship never existed.

since the campus movie was scheduled during a cool but bearable, autumn dusk, you severely underestimated how cold the night would get. heating wasn’t the best in the gymnasium so the committee had instructed everyone to bring their own blankets and warm covers, yet in your haste, you couldn’t bring adequate layers.

so after a while of trying to warm yourself up and convincing yourself that you were warm enough with a measly sweatshirt, rin notices from the corner of his eye how you kept rubbing your arms. 

he doesn’t hesitate to take off the fleece jacket that he was wearing over his university jumper. sure, it will be significantly colder without his outer layer, but rin’s willing to suffer as long as you were okay (when has he ever been this considerate?), except he stops when he sees nagi handing you his very oversized jumper. you accept it with a gracious smile and the white-haired boy merely shrugs before going back to watching the film. rin, on the other hand, feels a cauldron of rage brewing within him.

the sight makes his chest twist, wringing him dry as he stares dejectedly at how snug you seem in someone else’s clothes. the green monster inside of rin bubbles in contempt, a being that makes him want to rip the hoodie off you and replace it with his own for you to wrap yourself up in. he wants you to be content with him- happy because of him, not because of another.

you confessed to him only two weeks ago- barely even two weeks ago, so how could you so easily forget about him and move on? pretend like his rejection didn’t shatter you and him when he saw a devastation like no other on your pretty face?

rin doesn’t know how much longer he can live like this. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the following tuesday, you’re already seated in your new spot for your seminar, busy setting up your laptop in preparation when rin walks in. you see him from the corner of your eye, backpack slung around his shoulder, hands tucked unassumingly in his pockets as all 185cm of him saunters towards the seats. however, when you notice that he bypasses his normal spot and walks even further out of your peripheral vision, alarms blare deafeningly in your head.

you freeze when you hear someone take the seat behind you.

there’s a hard gaze on the back of your head, one that roots you to your spot and wills you not to turn around.

sneaking out your phone from your bag, you hide it so that rin can’t see it from his angle. 

you: RIN IS SITTING BEHIND ME OH NO

you: terrible start to valentines day smh

<reo3: WHAT!??!!???!???! fr.

you: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY I’M GOING TO DISINTEGRATE RIGHT NOW

<reo3: maybe *don’t* do that???? 

<reo3: WHY’S HE SITTING BEHIND YOU?????

you: FUCK IF I KNOW IT FEELS LIKE HE’S THROWING DAGGERS AT MY HEAD

<reo3: WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?

you: CRY???????????? IDFK???????????

you: oh fuck class is about to start

you: i’ll let you know if anything happens

<reo3: STAY SAFE 

you tuck your phone away with fear and dread looming over you, personified through the form of itoshi rin, who sits so indifferently behind you, head propped on his hand. you hear his pen click behind you and you don’t even need to see him to know that he’s taking out that stupid notebook of his since he preferred to take notes by hand. you want to turn around and rip said book into shreds.

as the professor starts the class, you try your best to shake rin out of your thoughts, wanting to leave him behind in the depths of your mind so you can concentrate on this damn elective. none of the notes you were typing onto your document made sense and it felt like everything the professor was saying went in one ear then out the other. curse rin for having this effect on you. 

at least you get to gossip with reo after this.

though your seminar was only 60 minutes, it might as well have been 60 years because of how significantly older you feel at the end of it. the weight of rin’s stare was heavy on your shoulders when you hurriedly grab your things and make a dash for the exit.

well. you try to make a dash for the exit because somehow, rin gained the ability to teleport and beat you there, grabbing your wrist unceremoniously before pulling you into the hallways. you fumble with your phone, hurriedly texting reo.

you: UHH MAYDAY I MGHT NEEE TO SKIP OUR PLANS

<reo3: WHAT’S HAPPENING?????

you: RIN IS DRSGGING ME SIMEWHERE IDK WHERE

you: MY LOCARION IS ON LIFE360

you: I LUV YOU STUPID WHORE

<reo3: WHDJFWIJAIDJFAWHAT THE FUCK????

“hey!” you exclaim, helplessly being pulled by rin’s long strides, shutting your phone off as you try to match his eagerness. he could at least be a little more considerate and lighten up that grip of his on your wrist. “rin- what? where are we going?”

“you’ll see,” he responds gruffly.

your mind blanks despite the hurricane of questions that circulate your mind. how did you get here? is the delirium finally hitting you after countless sleepless nights? you stayed up until 2am last night to make valentine’s chocolates for your friends so maybe it’s the sugar and the sleep deprivation. 

as rin pulls you through the hallways, you think about how weird it is to allow him this close to you again- well, you didn’t exactly allow him, he kind of just… invaded your personal space. but after a whole week of not talking to him, responding dryly to his texts, avoiding your regular hangout spots, and overall pretending like he doesn’t exist, being exposed to his intimidating presence once more is… exhilarating? unreal? 

“wait, can we stop for a second?” you demand, breaking out of your funk when you step outside as if the harshness of the sun’s rays woke you up. “i’m so confused right now. where are we going?”

“we’re going to have lunch together at that café you’ve been wanting to try out,” he tells you with a serious expression, not breaking his usual aloof and stern personality. 

rin doesn’t give mixed messages: no, he gives messages that have completely been lost, fallen astray somewhere along the path of communication.

shifting your weight between your feet awkwardly, you tell him: “well, i kinda had valentine’s plans.”

his mask of coolness and uninterest cracks, exposing all the emotions he’s been withholding from surfacing for the past weeks; jealousy, envy, greed, they all manifest through the helpless scrunch of his face. “with who?” asks rin, tone a lot harsher than he had intended, matching the crease of his eyebrows and the frown he was wearing.

it’s the green monster in him talking.

if you were going out with someone else, someone new, rin’s not too sure what he’d do. determination and pettiness can only take a man so far before his resolve cracks and you have the power to crush his heart with a single stomp, extinguishing his flames in one, swift sweep. 

“with reo,” you confess. the dark-haired relaxes again, his face returning to a neutral expression.

“okay. ditch him then.” his audacity is baffling.

“i can’t just do that!” 

“why not?”

“cause that’s a shitty thing to do!” you say, before murmuring under your breath, “not that you’d know the first thing about being polite.” 

“i don’t care, it’s reo, you two hang out everyday. tell him to give me a turn.”

“you’re a horrible person, rin,” you murmur, ignoring the butterflies that erupt in your stomach.

he doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely eyeing you expectantly, waiting for your next step. huffing, you reluctantly take out your phone as a sign of surrender under his suffocating pressure, muttering complaints under your breath as you find reo’s contact - literally your most recent one, to send him a quick message. almost instantly, your best friend responds with a thumbs up paired with a smirk and you almost want to block him then and there. 

“done.”

“perfect,” rin goes to grab your hand again but you retract from him just in time. when you look up to meet his gaze once more, you see his unimpressed expression whilst he keeps his palm extended towards you expectantly.

“i don’t need your help walking places,” you grumble, not liking how fast your heart was racing.

he gestures to his open palm once more. “i know.”

after a moment of silence, you give in, hesitantly placing your hand in his. with a small grin, rin intertwines your fingers before pulling you to his side. without another word, he begins walking, leaving you to merely follow the brutally fast pace he’s set.

you must’ve looked ridiculous to other people. being dragged around by an 185 cm man, how humbling.

the place rin led you to was not too far from campus; a totally manageable distance for the two of you to remain in silence during the walk. you try to bypass the awkwardness of it all by focusing on other things, like how warm rin’s hand is and how you hope he doesn’t mind your sweaty hands. he seems to be content from what you’ve observed, happily walking beside you whilst sparing a few occasional glances over; ones that you pretend you don’t see whilst admiring the cityscape around you.

there are various valentine’s decorations hung up around the insides of the cafe that made you cringe slightly. although they were very cute, you feel humiliation climbing up your throat, serving as a reminder that you were currently spending a day of love and romance, or whatever, standing beside the very man who rejected you. 

this is the cruellest version of a sick joke.

“welcome!” a cheery voice greets, breaking you out of your thoughts. “table for two?” rin nods. “perfect! are you here for valentine’s day because couples get access to a special menu on top of our regular one.” 

when you open your mouth to reject her offer, rin beats you to it. “we’ll take the valentine’s menu.”

“okay, right this way,” the waitress guides you to an empty table for two that was right by the corner. the atmosphere of the place was cozy with various candles and statement pieces to really bring it together, but you have no time or brain space to appreciate the aesthetic of the café. 

it’s not until the waitress leaves that you speak up, utterly confused. “why’d you get the valentine’s menu, we-”

realisation hits you like a truck. 

“-are we on a date right now?”

rin’s unmoving, save for the purse of his lips as he stares at you. you feel a little foolish right now.

“yeah, we are,” he answers, curtly and concisely.

alarms are blaring in your head, the earth is tremoring below you, there are distant screams somewhere in the back of your mind and all you can manage out is a simple ‘oh’. 

“get what you want, i’ll-” rin begins before you abruptly cut him off.

“-no, hold on, i’m so confused right now,” you rub your temples, staring at the stupid valentine’s day menu decorated with pink and hearts and chocolates. “why?”

“why what?”

“why are we on a date?”

“because it’s valentine’s day?”

“well- i know that part,” you murmur under your breath. “it’s just, y’know, people celebrate this day when they like each other.” and not when one party is miserable because the other rejected them. 

“we do like each other though.”

there are no words to describe the shock you feel. really. not even an anvil dropping on your head could wake you up from whatever dream you are conjuring right now. 

“no, we don’t! i like you, you don’t like me.”

he looks away, the tips of his ears turning red. “that’s not true,” he murmurs, no louder than a whisper, yet your jaw drops all the same at his confession. “i do like you.”

“a week ago you didn’t!” 

“a week ago i wasn’t ready to get into a… relationship… or whatever.”

“oh,” you fix the strap of your bag, feeling slightly awkward. “and you’re ready now all of a sudden?”

“yeah.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“the fuck? why?” 

“you don’t really seem like the type of guy to turn around on yourself like this. what changed?”

rin won’t ever tell you about how much he missed you during these two weeks and how it was his jealousy and greediness that spurred him to act on his feelings. instead, he simply slides the menu to you, pointing to a milkshake-‘lover’s brew’, and since the menu was decorated with pictures on the side, you could see what the concoction consisted of. whipped cream, heart sprinkles, topped with a caramel heart and fairy floss. 

“the milkshake?” you ask, trailing off towards the end. “you hate sweet things and this especially looks like it could give you diabetes.”

the dark-haired shrugs. “so? i thought you’d like it.” 

“sure, but it is kinda pricey for a milkshake.”

he shrugs again, putting his elbows on the table which causes his sleeves of his turtleneck to roll down a little, exposing the shiny silver of his, no doubt expensive, watch. “i’ll pay for us, it’s fine.”

“hold on-”

“i’m paying. end of argument.” 

it’s an offer you can’t really reject. being a university student and all, funds are limited, so wherever you can, you want to avoid withdrawing money out of your account. that said, it doesn’t mean that you don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about draining rin’s, but with how long you’ve been friends, you know that once he’s set his mind to something, it’s hard to change it.

“if you insist,” you grumble, straightening up your spine as you awkwardly fiddle with your shirt. you feel so scrutinised under his gaze, even as you reach for the jug of water and pour two cups of water. “what else should we get?”

the waitress then comes around to take your orders and when she’s gone, conversation flows easily, reverting back to how things were between the two of you (to rin’s relief). he listens as you talk animatedly about the unfortunate series of events you had with your professor the other day, how cute your encounter with the campus dogs were, and the really unfortunate run-in you had with a guy from your shared tutorial classes.

(the dark-haired boy makes a face when you mention another man’s name before his usual face of indifference melts back in.)

“here’s your milkshake,” the waitress says, placing the drink in the middle of the table before walking away, “you guys are really cute by the way.”

“thanks,” rin says calmly, a stark contrast to your flustered reaction.

two straws stick out from the milkshake and when you put one in your mouth, you almost choke when rin takes the other one, causing your noses to bump in the middle. the look he gives you is nothing short of mischievous before pulling away, a knowing smirk playing along his lips. 

“ew. that is really sweet,” he mutters before leaning back, crossing his arms. 

“yeah,” you cough. “it is really sweet.”

recovering from your embarrassment, the rest of lunch goes by quite seamlessly. he goes to pay for everything with a confident tap of his card, causing you to stand awkwardly behind him, keeping all complaints to yourself as it goes through. thanking the waitress, you leave the café hand-in-hand once more. 

“thanks again for paying,” you repeat and rin gives a hum of acknowledgement whilst you two walk aimlessly on the path. “what do you want to do now?”

“i don’t know. do you have anything you want to do?”

“i might have an idea.”

leading him in the direction of a nearby store that just opened recently, you come to a stop in front of a shop that had neon-lights illuminating its inside and claw machines filled with adorable plushies lining along the walls. 

glancing at him, there’s a glimmer of amusement in rin’s eyes as his lips turn upwards into a small smirk. “really?” he asks, looking over at you.

“really. this’ll be fun!” you promise before walking in, the dark-haired following suit as you stop in front of a token-purchasing machine. 

from the corner of your eye, you can see him taking out his wallet already and you immediately put your hand on your wrist, ceasing his movement.

with just one glance, a whole conversation passes between you two. “if you pay for me i will sock you.”

“i’d like to see you try,” he deadpans, quirking a brow before pressing the ‘20 tokens = $19’ button on the machine, “but i’m paying.”

then the sound of his card meeting the reader and the transaction being approved rings through the air, followed by the deafening noise of coins clashing against metal. the look he gives you is nothing short of proud. 

“come on babe, bet you won’t be able to get any prizes,” challenges rin as he brushes past you, the pet name causing your stomach to churn as insults rest on your tongue, offended by his declaration.

he’s gracious enough to give you half of the coins, allowing you to play four games each. you only manage to win on one of them and even then, you were astonished at your own achievements, excitedly grabbing the plushie and hugging the stuffed toy to your chest protectively. rin, on the other hand, comes back to you with two in both hands and the gawk you let out was completely against your will.

“how did you do that?” you ask, a little stupified at the sight (it was kinda hot though). although at this point, you shouldn’t really question how itoshi rin works since he takes the meaning of ‘march to the beat of your own drum’ to a whole other level. 

instead of answering, he hands them over to you and you have no choice but to take them, your arms now overloaded with three stuffed toys. 

before you can even open your mouth to ask if he broke into the machines, your phone buzzes with a notification and the second you open it, you’re met with a familiar ‘⚠️bereal’ banner, one that makes you excited over the impeccable timing. rin raises an eyebrow at your sudden surprise.

“bereal! quick, pose!” you demand and rin obeys, raising a peace sign with a slight smile before the camera turns around to you and the many stuffed toys you’re cuddling. 

how adorable you are might just kill him. 

the dark-haired shakes the thought away before taking out his phone, instructing you to smile. you pose for the photo, hugging all the plushies closely to your chest whilst rin gives his usual deadpan stare into the camera. he then gives you his phone to check if it was okay to post and when you approve, you press the ‘post >’ button for him.

shutting off his phone for him, it’s at the same time that the bereal notification pops up again, this time detailing how one of his friends had posted but that’s not what caught your attention.

it’s a certain photo that made your heart thump loudly in its ribcage.

“am i your lockscreen?” you ask, pride and flattery swelling in your stomach, manifesting through the warmth of your cheeks. 

the slight widening of his eyes give you all the answers you need. “you weren’t supposed to see that.” 

nothing could stop the slow grin from erupting on your expression. it’s ridiculous to say so, but it almost feels like a weight is being lifted from your chest, the pains of the last few weeks erasing themselves completely with this one detail. 

that’s how you know rin was meant for you.

“out of all pictures of me, you chose this one?” you question, gesturing to the selfie that you once sent him during your study sessions. your hair was messy, there was a semi-crazed look in your eyes, but at least the moisturising lip gloss you had reapplied then made you look somewhat put together. 

looking at his phone once more, you feel a little warm.

“i like it,” he mutters shyly, unable to look you in the eye. despite his embarrassment, his statement fills you with endless relief, providing gratification for your relationship with rin that you didn’t know you needed. 

though you’ve been friends with him for quite some time now, you feel as though you don’t really recognise the man in front of you. past perceptions you’ve had of him has now been shattered by his flustered gaze, the relentless blush coating his cheeks, and the uncharacteristic way he slumps, as if defending himself from any judgement you might throw at him. 

luckily for him, that’s not what you’re interested in doing.

unlocking your phone, you hand it to him. “take a matching selfie so i can make it my lock screen too.”

at least you have all the time in the world to get to know him all over again.

(rin will never tell you that he only has been active on bereal so he could see what you were up to. except it backfired every time because instead of satisfying how desperately he was longing for you during your two weeks of no contact, it only made him want you more. he wanted to be there with you through your intense study sessions, he wanted to be going on walks with you, he wanted to be there with you when you were watching one more episode of your favourite tv show before going to bed, he just wanted to be there with you.

now he has all the time to make sure he is.)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[@y/n’s BeReal]

@ karasu69: @fruityninjaotoya YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS 　　→ @fruitninjaotoya: Shut your micropenis up

@ yocchan: Y/N WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS 　　→ @ nagixxxxxxxxxxxxx: ratio 　　→ @ yocchan: DON’T RATIO ME RN

@monsterbachira: omg are y’all 😍❤️😍 rn 　　→ @y/n: wut. 　　→ @itshrin: Yes 　　→ @monsterbachira: y/n rin is actually a good kisser 　　→ @y/n: thanks for letting me know meguru! 　　→ @itshrin: i’m going to end you. 

@bbgreo: i’m glad y’all had fun but no itoshi rin on our platonic date pls! 　　→ @y/n: would never dream of it luv <3 　　→ @itshrin: Sleep with one eye open, Reo 　　→ @y/n: that’s my best friend :( 　　→ @itshrin: You don’t need him 　　→ @y/n: reo and i are one you can’t separate us 　　→ @itshrin: Ok fine 😒 　　→ @bbgreo: yay! 　　→ @y/n: yay!

<reo3: told you you were too pretty to reject xx

#itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #itoshi rin drabble #itoshi rin #itoshi rin bllk #blue lock

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter ten ⭐︎ Weigh down on me, stay 'til morning

Warnings: slight angst, jealousy, lots of jealousy (from both sides), insecurities, mentions of unrequited love, alcohol and weed consumption

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You agreed to Steve's deal, and now all that you do, is wait by the phone... for his call.

Word count: 10k+

Author's note: Things are getting a little more serious now, you can expect a lot of jealousy in this chapter, and in the next two. @hellfire--cult and I came up with some gooood ideas, so enjoy hehe

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

Your body feels warm, aching in some places, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling, you welcome it, knowing what or who caused it. You smell his shampoo, his body wash on the pillow your head lies on, you smell his cologne, the one that always makes your heart flutter. 

When you slowly open your eyes, you’re not surprised to find him facing away from you, you're met by his sun kissed back. 

You blink, still waking up. 

You eye the moles on his skin, the scars on his back from where the bats had dragged him away. You wish to touch them, to trace them with your fingertips, to kiss his skin and bless him with better memories, but you can’t. And it’s not like memories of you and your touches would bless him, in any way. 

The thing between you, his feelings, his actions are purely driven by lust, nothing more, nothing less. You won’t raise your hopes up, this is bad enough as it is. 

What would your teen self think if she saw you now? 

What would she say to you if she saw you lying in Steve Harrington’s bed? 

The version of you now, is happy, content with what she has, even if she doesn’t actually have him. 

But what matters now? Nothing. Just him, just you and him. That’s all that matters now, that’s all that will matter, for now. 

Your mind wants to take you back to all those dark places you have been in, to all the feelings you have experienced since Steve had taken a hold of your heart. – Jealousy, rejection, heartache and pain.

And his words from the night before come back to haunt you. 

“I see whoever I want and you do… the same.”

You can’t lie to yourself, it did sting a little, it did make your stomach churn, it did make you feel sick to think of him with someone else after being with you, while being with you. 

It also hurt to wake up without him, it hurt all day to think that all he did was use you, that he took what he wanted and left. – You never expected the explanation he gave you last night, you also didn’t expect the softness of his hands, the gentle touches and kisses as he told you what really happened. Your chest still aches with guilt for treating him the way you did last night, but you were driven by sadness and you can’t help but feel that he did deserve it… a little. 

With a sigh, you turn away from him, pushing the shared blanket off your body, you place your feet on the ground and take a look around his room. 

You grip the sheets beneath you, looking at all the items in his room before you look over your shoulder, back at him, back at the pillow you just slept on. 

How many girls have occupied this space before? 

How many girls has he touched the way he touched you? 

How many girls have been kissed by him the same way you’ve been?

You had never kissed anyone the way you kissed him. 

You also never touched anyone the same way you touched him. 

He is so special to you, but you aren’t to him.

And you never will be. 

You grow annoyed with yourself, shouldn’t you be happy? Shouldn’t you be in complete and utter bliss, knowing that he wants you enough to do this? 

You close your eyes, and you take a deep breath before you push yourself off the bed. 

You shut out your negative thoughts, letting your curiosity in. You tiptoe across his room and stop in front of his bookshelf – that’s filled with more comics and movies than books. A polaroid camera sitting on the shelf, next to a fake plant. Of course, he got himself a fake plant. 

The dresser next to the window is decorated with a big lamp and a few pictures that spark your interest. You sneak a glance at him to find him still sound asleep. 

You’re not surprised to find pictures of your friends on his dresser, of the teens, of Eddie and Robin, of the whole group. None of you, not even on the group pictures that Jonathan keeps taking whenever you all hang out – that might be your own fault though, you never felt comfortable enough to join the group pictures, you still don’t consider yourself a part of it, even now. 

But you can’t help but wonder, would he have cut out the parts of you if you had been on those pictures? 

You close your eyes again, taking a deep breath as you’re willing yourself to calm down, to stop overthinking, to stop being so negative when what you got is now finally in reach. 

You get to be with him, you get to touch him, you get to feel his lips on your skin, his hands on your body, him. And even when there isn’t any intimacy, even when there aren’t any feelings on his side, you can just pretend, for those little moments, you can pretend. 

You open your eyes again, and look around for your clothes that Steve took from your hands last night after you changed into one of his shirts. You find them neatly folded on the chair by his desk, your denim jacket thrown over the back. 

It’s time to go home, even when you’d like to stay longer. 

You make your way over to your clothes, you stand with your back to him as you take his shirt off, standing in his room in nothing but your panties for a moment. You fold his shirt and place it on his desk, already missing the smell of it and the way it felt to wear something of his. 

You don’t even feel his eyes on you as you start putting your clothes on, starting with your bra before you reach for your skirt, you bend down as you put it on, zipping it shut on the side. 

Steve is now lying on his back, his right arm behind his head as he watches you, feeling a little disappointed that you are getting dressed and ready to go home. 

He watches, and stares at you for as long as he can before you notice him. 

He takes in every little scar on your soft skin, the way your hair falls down your shoulders, the way your skin is glowing beneath the stream of light that shines through the curtains. 

The moment your top is on and you bend down to put your shoes on, Steve clears his throat. 

“Leaving so soon?” Steve’s groggy voice sounds through the silent room. 

You freeze at the sound of his voice, the rough noise causing shivers to run down your spine. 

Who would’ve thought that you’d ever get to hear Steve Harrington’s morning voice?

You close your eyes as you knit your eyebrows together. You shouldn’t have waited so long to leave. Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes again, and straighten your back as you finish tying the laces of your converse. You plaster a smile on your face before you turn around to face him. 

“Figured our little deal doesn’t include coffee and breakfast,” you joke, reaching for your jacket. 

Steve’s eyes move up and down your body, before they settle on your neck where the marks on your skin are perfectly visible to him. You hate the way your heart flutters at such a small action of his. 

“Says who?” 

You try not to stare at him, but it’s hard not to when he looks this good. A tired look in his features, hair all messy, hairy chest on full display. You dig your nails into your denim jacket as your eyes move to his neck, the scar around it always dragging you into a trance like state, as you catch yourself daydreaming about peppering his skin with kisses.

“I dunno,” you shrug, tearing your eyes away from his body and meeting his eyes instead, “I think that’s girlfriend privilege.” 

He cracks a smile at your words, eyes flashing with amusement, “didn’t know Eddie was my girlfriend.” 

A laugh falls from your lips as you roll your eyes and shake your head. 

Eddie stayed over at his place countless of times, ever since those two have gotten closer, ‘sleepovers’ have become a regular thing, especially after a long night of smoking weed and drinking beers in Steve’s backyard. Usually, Eddie just passes out on the couch though, and Steve ends up throwing a random blanket over him. 

Just like at your house, Eddie raids Steve’s fridge and snack drawers, all the damn time.

“Well, your girlfriend might be upset if he finds out that you fucked his best friend, last night,” you joke only to grow flustered a few seconds after those words leave your lips. 

But, Steve smirks at you, smugness flickering in his eyes. 

“Huh,” he pushes himself up on his elbows, running his fingers through his hair, “guess it’s gonna be our dirty little secret then,” he winks. 

Dirty little secret. 

Yeah, that’s all it will ever be. 

That’s all you will ever be. 

A dirty little secret. 

You gulp, swallowing down the hurt as you nod at his words. 

“Yeah…” You scratch the back of your neck before you point to his door, “I’m uh… I’m gonna go.” 

His smile falls a little, eyes growing serious as he sits up, the blanket now only covering his lower half. 

“I can drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s nice out, I’m just gonna take a walk, maybe stop by the coffee shop or something.” 

He nods, still eying you, “a-and are you feeling okay?” 

You raise your brows at him, “hmm?”

“I-I mean,” he stutters, awkwardly looking around the room before his eyes meet yours again, “it’s just… the information leaflet said that it can cause some side effects, the Plan B thing… I mean. Nausea, dizziness, upset stomach,” he starts listing the things, counting them down with his fingers as his cheeks flush red. 

Your eyes soften, heart fluttering at his concern. You’re even a little taken aback by how much he cares but then again, it might just be the guilt he feels, knowing that he’s partly at fault for this in the first place.

“N-No, I’m okay,” you assure him, watching the way the tension in his shoulders disappears. “I’m feeling fine so far.” 

He nods, “okay, good.” 

“Yeah, so… I uh…” You trail off, lifting your hand to point at the door again, watching him nod again. You turn on your heel and walk away, not knowing when you will see him again. 

You settled on this thing between you, you set up the rules, but what you didn’t talk about was how this whole thing will actually play out. 

Just as you open the door, his voice makes you halt in your tracks, you turn your head to look back at him, giving him a questioning look. 

“Hey Blondie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are we gonna… hang out later?” 

Hang out. 

You almost want to giggle. 

You tap your nails against the door, eying the smug, yet flustered look on his face as he looks at you expectedly. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “You can call me.”

He tilts his head to the side, licking his lips, “mhm, or you can call me,” he smirks, almost mockingly. 

“Sure.” 

Neither of you called. 

In fact, there is nothing but radio silence between the two of you, the moment you leave his house.

And, it frustrates you to no end, because all you want to do is to see him, to feel him again, but all you get is absolutely nothing. And, it only makes you more insecure, it only fills you with more self doubt. 

If he wanted you, he would’ve called. 

Right? 

You thought he’d call by Monday night, he didn’t. 

You spent all Tuesday, waiting for the phone to ring, but it never did. 

You could’ve called too, he even told you to, but for some reason, you thought that it was just another way to tease you, you heard the mocking tone in his voice, you saw the smirk he looked at you with. 

And yet, you picked up the phone a few times with the intention to just call him and ask him to come over but you slammed the receiver back into place every single time. It didn’t feel right to make the first move, every time you tried to, rejection followed. And even though he was the one who offered you the deal, you still couldn’t bring yourself to make a first move, no matter what had already happened between you both. 

It’s only Wednesday now, it’s only been two days since you had last seen him, and yet it feels like you haven’t seen him in weeks. 

It makes you frustrated and sad at the same time, but unlike yesterday, you can’t mop around in your bedroom all day, waiting by the phone like some lovesick teenager. 

And you can’t show your sadness either, you can’t let your best friend know what kind of war you’re fighting in your head. 

Steve is your secret and you are his. 

His dirty little secret. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Eddie asks as he’s scarving down the burgers and fries he brought from the diner, his new friend works at. He’s been spending a lot of time there, lately. 

You push around the fries on your plate, the cheeseburger only halfway eaten. 

“I’m just a slow eater,” you shrug, dipping a fry into the ketchup before you take a bite. 

Eddie’s brown eyes flash with amusement, “mhm, except for when you’re high.” 

“That’s another version of me, Eds.” 

“Uh huh,” he chuckles, taking another bite of his burger, the bite being large enough to make half of it disappear. 

You chuckle, flipping your hair over your shoulder, you place your elbow on the kitchen table, continuing to eat your fries. You look out the window, eying the gray clouds in the sky and the wind in the trees, a storm is nearing and it’s making your stomach churn and your skin crawl. 

You have always hated storms, the heavy wind that howls through the night, the strong rain that hits the windows harshly, thunder that makes you flinch after every crash and the lightning has always made you feel uneasy. 

You hated being left alone in this house during thunderstorms, but your parents were gone, and your sister was rarely ever around at nights, so you had to find ways to calm yourself down, usually you did it by putting on headphones and turning the volume up high enough to drown out the noises of the storm outside, it helped. Music always helped. 

But the night in the Upside Down changed everything, which is ironic, you always thought that an extreme situation would have killed your fear, but it didn’t, it only worsened it, and now not even music helps anymore. 

“Are you gonna stay for a while?” 

Eddie raises his brows as he reaches for his drink, eying your face. 

You know he can read you, you know that he can see right through you. He is one of the only ones who can – and it scares you. Not because you don’t want him to know about your fears or your struggles, there is really nothing that you hide from him at this point… Nothing but that one thing, that one thing that no one can know about, not even Eddie. 

“Yeah, I thought we could watch a movie, I brought some,” he points in the direction of the hallway, where he left some tapes on the counter. 

You nearly sigh out loud, feeling relieved. 

You wouldn’t want to be alone right now. 

Thunder crashes in the distance, not loud enough to make you flinch, but enough to fill you with dread. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you smile before you look out the window again, continuing to watch the clouds move, missing the way his eyes widen and the way he nearly chokes on his soda as he stares at your neck, at the marks you forgot to cover up before he came over. 

“What the hell!” 

The volume of his voice makes you flinch harder than the loud thunder that just crashed before the yell escaped his lips. You look back at him, bewildered, only to find him staring at your neck, already jumping from his seat and rounding the table to get to you. 

You’re confused for a moment, staring at him with a frown, but when he stops in front of you, and he lifts your hair up to take a closer look at your neck, at the hickeys Steve had left, you nearly gasp yourself. 

How could you have been so stupid? 

How could you forget to cover them up?

Eddie stares at them for a moment, for a really long moment, before his confused eyes meet yours, “who gave these to you!?” 

You can’t give him the truth, Steve would certainly break things off with you if you did – if he hasn’t already. 

Blood rushes to your cheek the longer your best friend stares at you, waiting for an explanation. 

“I uh… I had a uh… booty call?” 

This would normally be the moment, where he’d laugh in your face, knowing that this is a lie. But he is too surprised to look deeper into your eyes. 

“This is the first time I know you actually had sex, and you didn’t plan to tell me!?” He lets go of your hair, stepping back and throwing his arms up. 

“It’s nothing special!” You lie, your eyes following him as he returns back to his seat, “h-he was just, he’s a guy that’s here because of a friend! I met him once at one of my sister's college parties…” 

He is still in shock, his eyes are still glued to your neck. 

“What’s his name?”

You swallow, placing your hands into your lap, you dig your nails into your palms, taking deep breaths as you try to appear calm. 

“Why do you care, you don’t know him.”

“Exactly,” he smirks, crossing his arms over his chest, “so what’s the issue in telling me?”

He is now looking at your flustered face, and you are glad that he can’t actually read your mind, or else you’d be screwed as you’re trying to figure out a name to give him. 

“...Chandler…”

His eyes grow wide, smirk falling a bit. He uncrosses his arms, reaching for his drink again as he sighs, “now I understand why you didn’t want to tell me his name.”

You clear your throat, the tension in your body dissolving a little. 

“Uh huh…”

“So how was it?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

It was… perfect. 

Yeah, your nights with Steve were the best moments of your life. He made you feel things you have never felt before. He made you feel alive yet like you existed in some other world, a better place. 

As you look into your best friend's eyes, you realize that now is the perfect opportunity to let it all out, to tell him things that you’ve been wanting to get off your shoulders, because maybe then, this will get easier for you. Maybe. 

So you open your mouth and you start talking, without mentioning Steve’s name or anything else that could give you and him away. 

You talk and you talk, and you get carried away, and yet, nothing eases the ache in your stomach or the one in your chest. 

Just nothing. 

If anything, talking about it makes it all only worse because it somehow strengthens every memory of him.

And, your memories are a blessing and a curse at the same time, they take you back to his kisses, to his lips that sucked marks on your skin, they remind you of how it felt to feel him inside of you, to hear him moaning your name, to feel him holding you close, to know that he felt good because of you. 

But then, they also take you back to an unpleasant memory, and you can’t even stop yourself from thinking about it, not even as you sit before Eddie, not even as you both make your way into the living room to watch the movies he picked out, and surprisingly, not even the storm can stop the thoughts in your head.

“I see whoever I want and you do… the same.” 

His words keep echoing in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder, is he already seeing someone else? 

Is he touching someone else? 

Is he kissing someone else? 

Is he feeling good because of someone else? 

Is he moaning someone else’s name as he had long forgotten about you? 

Is that the reason why he never called? 

He wouldn’t, would he? It’s only been two days. 

He wouldn’t sleep with someone else… not so soon, at least, right?

Days and sleepless nights haunt you, just like the questions that keep piling up inside your troubled mind, it makes you feel restless. 

There is nothing but Steve on your mind and it’s nothing new, but it feels different now after what had happened between you and him. 

You long for him, your body yearns for him but you stay away, because maybe this is what he wants, days have passed and he didn’t call or come to see you, surely it must be what he wants, maybe he changed his mind about the deal, about you. 

You’re proven wrong when you find yourself at Eddie’s pool ‘party’ on Friday afternoon, five days after you had walked out of Steve’s house. 

The sun is shining, not a single cloud in sight, not a single trace of the storm that had crashed over the town only two days back. 

The heat is beating down on your skin, but it’s a pleasant feeling as you lie on one of the pool loungers between Nancy and Max. Your sunglasses perched on your nose, hair falling down your shoulders as you keep adjusting it every few seconds or so, hoping that no one else will see the marks Steve left behind, you had done your best to cover them with makeup but that didn’t stick to your skin long enough, one jump into the pool and the layer was gone. 

His eyes are glued on you and your pink bikini, and you can’t help but feel smug, despite all the insecurities that have lingered all week. You keep biting back your smirk whenever you catch him staring, and you watch how his cheeks flush red and he grows flustered before he hides it with his own smirk and a cocky look on his face. 

You’ve greeted each other the way you always do, with suggestive smiles and cryptic words that only you two understand the meaning behind. 

You haven’t talked much since he came though, but you keep brushing past each other, eying one another with that one look in your eyes when your hands reach out to touch each other, even if only for a short second. 

Now you keep glancing at him, waiting for him to finally take his stupid white shirt off, but he seems content, standing in the shadows with a beer in his hand as he chats with Eddie.

“I missed this,” Nancy says, “tanning and not worrying about a single thing.”

You tear your eyes away from Steve and turn to look at her. Nancy is wearing a blue swimsuit, her curls in a messy bun, white framed sunglasses protecting her eyes from the scorching sun. You can’t help but stare at her, eying the girl that you once were so jealous of. 

Nancy is beautiful, effortlessly so. She’s got those pretty doe eyes and the luscious curls that frame her face so perfectly. She’s a pretty sight to look at – you’re surprised to see that Steve’s eyes aren’t glued on her. 

But her beauty was never the reason for your jealousy. 

“Yeah, me too,” you murmur as you reach for the cocktail Eddie had made for you. 

“I don’t know how you can enjoy it,” Max mumbles beside you, and you can’t help but chuckle, you’ve been waiting for her to start complaining. “I’m gonna look like a tomato if I keep sitting out here.” 

You push your sunglasses up into your hair, watching as she gets up from the lounger. 

You chuckle at her. 

“I’m jumping into the water, I’m sick of the sun.” 

She storms off, flipping her red hair over her shoulder before she jumps into the pool, joining Lucas, Mike and Will. 

You sip on your cocktail, eyes moving back to Steve, just in time to see him finally taking his shirt off. He throws it over one of the chairs by the table, and lifts his hand up to run it through his hair, flexing his bicep as he turns his body to you as he steps into the sun. 

You dig your teeth into the straw as you let your eyes roam his body. The hair on his chest, the scars on his sides, the scar around his neck, all looking so beautiful under the light. You see the smirk on his lips when he catches you ogling him, and you don’t even bother to hide it, to look away and play it cool. 

But your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull and you almost choke on the sip you just took when Eddie’s eyes grow comically wide as he takes a look at Steve’s back. Your best friend’s jaw drops before a gasp falls from his lips. 

You don’t need to think twice about what’s gotten him this shocked, you left marks on Steve, just like he left some on you – but yours are more aggressive. 

While it’s only hickeys on your skin, it’s scratch marks on his. 

Your heart jumps a little when you realize that Eddie could easily put two and two together and figure out that you didn’t sleep with Chandler or that Steve didn’t fuck Heidi – that they weren’t the ones who left marks on yours and his skin.

But before Eddie can even ask him any questions, he’s suddenly hit with a forceful stream of water coming from Dustin’s water gun. A different kind of gasp tears from his lips, and his face flashes with confusion before a deadpan expression takes over as he looks down at himself, water now dripping from his face, hair and his shoulders. 

He looks around, searching for the culprit when he finds Dustin, hiding behind one of the bushes. 

“You little shit!” He yells as he puts his beer on the table, he grabs one of the water guns, filling it up with water before he runs towards Dustin, who instantly jumps away from the bushes and runs into the opposite direction. 

Steve shakes his head at them, watching them run around in the backyard, almost running into El, Robin and Vickie, who are in the middle of a little photo shoot with poor Jonathan – who hates being out in the sun, especially for this long. 

You are still playing with your straw as you eye the male who stole your heart and your mind. 

“Can I ask you something?” Nancy asks as she sits up, reaching for her own cocktail before she turns to face you, forcing you to look away from her ex boyfriend. 

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” 

With a small smile on her face, she tilts her head to the side as she looks at you. You notice how red her cheeks have gotten, but you don’t know whether it’s because of the sun or the question she is about to ask. 

She looks down, eyeing your necklace and the pink bikini top that she complimented before. 

You stare at her curiously. 

You and Nancy aren’t the closest, you get along, you talk whenever you see each other, there is never any awkwardness between the two of you, but still, you aren’t the closest. 

“I know we haven’t talked much, but um… I was wondering– cause… I love Robin, seriously but– okay um…” she stutters, closing her eyes for a moment as she shakes her head before she opens her eyes again and looks back up, “I was gonna ask if you would like to go shopping with me?” 

You're stunned. 

With widened eyes, you stare at her, taking in the sight of her nervous face, cheeks growing redder when she’s met by your silence. 

“Why me?” 

“Like I said… I love Robin but her style… she always complains it's too girly when I show her something I want to buy,” she rolls her eyes as a smile tugs at her lips, “and you… you always look good, I love your skirts and dresses.”

Your eyes soften, blood rushes to your cheeks at her compliment. 

You and Nancy have something in common, it was the reason why you started talking in the first place, after she find out who Chrissy was to you, she approached you, she offered you her condolences – she had a deep understanding in what it’s like to lose a close friend, she lost hers too. 

You both lost that one girl friend. 

“Thanks, Nancy. I’d love to go shopping with you.”

You watch the way her eyes light up, and you can’t help but feel surprised that someone like her feels excitement because of someone like you. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you say as a smile appears on your face. 

“Cool,” she smiles at you, unable to hide the giddiness in her voice. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you ladies, but would you like me to take a picture of you, before I drop the camera and never pick it up again today?” Jonathan asks as he stops in front of the two of you, with cheeks glowing red, thanks to the sun, and an exhausted look on his face, thanks to the three girls that forced him to be their photographer for the past hour or so. 

Nancy giggles at her boyfriend. 

“Sure, let's take a pic!” 

First she wants to go shopping with you, and now she wants to take pictures with you. You can’t lie to yourself and act like it doesn’t touch your heart a little. 

You hide your eyes behind the sunglasses again, not wanting to give away just how surprised you are by all of this. 

You lean closer to her, holding your drink up a little as you smile into the camera – not feeling his eyes on you. 

Steve is unaware of the smile that tugs at his lips as he watches you pose and smile next to Nancy, a giggle falling from your lips when Nancy whispers something to you. You lean even closer, wrapping your arm around the other girl as you grin into the camera. 

Something bubbles in Steve’s chest, a feeling he can’t make out, but suddenly, he wishes that he was the one next to you, that he could be the one taking a picture with you. 

He could. He could be the one, if he asked for it. 

But how would that make him look? 

What would you think of that? 

You would certainly laugh at that and tease him, right? 

He sighs and looks away from you when you’re done taking pictures, only to find Lucas staring at him, a smug look on his face as he wiggles his brows at him. 

Steve clenches his jaw, rolling his eyes at the boy, he lifts his hand, pointing at him, “don’t even.” 

Lucas smirks, swimming closer to the edge of the pool, “I didn’t even say anything.” 

“Uh huh.” 

Steve doesn’t even hear the footsteps behind him, focused on the boy in front of him. 

“It’s so cute how you keep checking out your girlfriend,” Lucas giggles. 

Steve runs his hand down his face, groaning, “she’s not my… listen you little shit–”

“God,” Dustin appears next to him, no water gun in his hand any longer, breathing heavily as he tries to catch his breath after running around the backyard. 

Steve turns his head to look at him, but Dustin’s eyes are glued on Nancy, thinking that she was the one he was checking out. 

 He’s got it all wrong, so so wrong. 

“Gotta let her go, man. I don’t know how many times–” 

Steve rolls his eyes, he takes a step back and places his hands on Dustin’s back, shoving him into the pool. 

He shrieks loudly before he goes down, the water splashes around him, tearing laughs out of Steve, Lucas and Max when the teen resurfaces, gasping and glaring at him. He grabs his cap that is now floating around in the water. 

“My cap! You got it wet!” He shrieks again. 

Max laughs at him, “you’re so dramatic, nerd.” 

Steve is laughing, enjoying the shocked expression on Dustin’s face, when he feels a soft hand on his shoulder. 

“Hi Stevie,” you purr into his ear. 

Shivers run down his spine, an exciting feeling bubbling in his stomach as he turns around to face you, a smirk already tugging at his lips when his eyes meet yours. 

You look at him innocently, tilting your head to the side as you flash him a smile. 

“Hi blondi–”

You mimic his action, and push him into the water the way he did to Dustin. 

“Hah!” Dustin laughs in triumph, pointing at Steve with a smug look on his face before he looks at you, “thank you, you’re much cooler!” 

“Told you she is,” Max shrugs at him, making you laugh. 

Mike and Will laugh at your action. 

Steve flips his hair, turning to face you with a groan that quickly turns into a wince as he holds his hand in front of his left eye, scrunching his nose up in pain. 

Your smile quickly falls and you take a step closer as he starts swimming back to the edge. 

“Shit!” He curses, still holding his hand up, “chlorine got way into my fucking eye!”

You bend down as he swims closer, concern flashes in your eyes, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the smug basketball player next to Dustin, or Will who always watches closely when you’re around Steve.

“Fuck, Lego head…” you murmur as you reach your hand out to cup his cheek, “let me see–”

Suddenly, Steve lunges forward, using the hand that just hid his eye to grab yours, he opens both eyes and greets you with a smirk before he pulls you into the water. 

Of course you fell for it. 

You shut your eyes and hold your breath before your body hits the cold. The water envelopes your whole body, shocking it a little after spending the past few hours lying under the sun. 

You swim back up, only to be met by a laughing Steve who stares at you smugly. 

The teens are laughing behind you. 

“Ha ha…” You splash some water at the male in front of you, making him laugh even harder. 

“Come on, Blondie,” Steve chuckles, biting his lip as he swims closer to you, “that was fair.” 

You swim back, putting some distance between you both while he tries to close it, playing a dangerous game out here, in front of everyone to see. 

Your stomach flutters when his eyes roam the parts that aren’t hidden beneath the water. A lust filled look flashing in his hazel eyes as he continues staring at you like some hungry animal. 

God, you can’t do this, not here, not now. 

You turn away from Steve, stretching your arms out beneath the water, and trying to swim away from him, away from the teens who aren’t even looking between the two of you anymore, more focused on Argyle who’s yelling at them to come out of the water to play soccer.

You swim to the other side of the pool and Steve follows, he’s not even bothered by all the eyes that could follow, though he still looks around to make sure that no one’s watching. 

You enjoy the coldness of the water, desperately needing it after being under the weight of his eyes. Not even the sun could fill you with such warmth that his looks fill you with. 

You stop swimming when you feel the ground beneath you again. Sighing as you reach your hands out to hold onto the edges when you suddenly feel his hand on your butt. 

You gasp in surprise, blood rushing to your face as your eyes widen. 

He presses his chest against your back, chuckling at the gasp that fell from your lips. He squeezes your ass roughly. 

“Steve!” You nearly shriek, looking around in panic. 

Nancy and Jonathan are now sitting in the shadows, sitting close to each other as they talk. 

The teens are now playing soccer with Argyle. 

Robin and Vickie now cozied up on the pool loungers as they listen to Eddie, who’s telling them a story, dramatically as it seems, he keeps throwing his arms up. 

“Relax,” He whispers into your ear, letting his fingers dig into your skin one more time before he hooks his finger around the string on your bottoms, fingers tracing the bow that you tied before he snaps the material back against your skin, “no one’s watching,” he says so confidently, though he missed one pair of eyes when he looked around at your friends. 

He swims around you so he can see your flustered face, he smirks at you as he leans his back against the wall, eying you up and down. 

You blink, trying to hide the shock in your features, your heart still racing at his action. 

“Why didn’t you call?” You blurt out.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, eyes lighting up at your question, his smirk widens as he reaches for your hand under water, trying to pull you closer after looking over your shoulder, but you don’t budge, despite the fluttering in your heart, you don’t budge. 

“Why didn’t you?” He retorts. 

Because every time you wanted to, reminders of your past would come to haunt you. 

You clench your jaw, and look down, instead of answering the question he threw right back at you, without giving you the explanation that you wanted. 

If he wants to keep playing games, then so be it.  

You push his hand away from yours, despite longing for more. You take a step forward, and lift your head, plastering a confident look on your face as you reach your hand out to hook your finger around the elastic band on his swim trunks, making him gulp. 

“I was satisfied,” you shrug, lying right through your teeth.

He chuckles, licking his lips as he looks around, trying not to react to your touch, to your nails grazing his skin. 

“Right, Blondie.” 

You tilt your head at him, “what, you think you’re so irresistible, Lego head?” You ask, as you bring your hand back to your side and put some distance between you both again. 

He shakes his head at you, smiling in amusement, “oh, you wanna continue this little back and forth then, huh?” He points between you both. 

His spitcurl falls in front of his eyes, drops of water roll down his cheeks, and it takes everything in you not to follow those drops and watch as they fall down to his chest. 

You don’t, but if it will keep him interested, then you are willing to do anything. 

So you say, yes. 

You keep playing the game, you keep teasing him, all day. 

Whether you give him suggestive looks or tease him with the way you suck on the straw as you drink one cocktail after another, you bend down in front of him and touch him whenever no one is looking. 

You play with him, just like you did before. 

And it drives him crazy, you know it, you can see it – the fire behind his eyes only growing stronger and brighter, it’s what spurs you on.

When the teens are gone, Argyle and Eddie finally roll up some joints, Steve lights up the fire in the pit and Jonathan gets some more drinks from the fridge. 

You all sit beneath the starry sky, the fire now lighting up the space around you, as music and laughter sounds through Eddie’s backyard.

You sit between Robin and Eddie, sipping on your fourth drink, your mind now hazy enough for you to let loose completely, giggling at anything your best friend whispers into your ear. You don’t even notice the sour looks you’re getting from the one who is sitting across from you. 

Argyle and Robin are in some deep discussion about sex and relationships, the girl keeps scoffing at anything that leaves his lips. 

Nancy and Jonathan watch the little banter unfold with amused looks on their faces. 

“I’m just saying, I’m not even speaking out of experience, dude,” Argyle slurs, holding his hands up in surrender, “I think you can’t have sex with just one person and be happy with it – how can you even know what’s good when you’ve only been with one person!?” 

Robin’s eyes roll far back as a frustrated groan escapes her. 

“That is such a man thing to say!” She mumbles, tugging at her hair. 

“It really is,” Vickie nods. 

“You know, I actually kind of agree,” Nancy shrugs, taking a sip of her beer. 

“With who?” Robin asks, tilting her head at the girl. 

While everyone looks at Nancy, waiting for the answer, you look at Steve, watching him watch her. 

“With Argyle.” 

Steve’s eyes widen for a moment, and he quickly looks away from her and down at the joint between his fingers, he raises it up towards his mouth and places it between his lips. 

You saw it, the flash of hurt, the pain behind his dark eyes. 

And you can’t help but feel a pang of your own hurt, knowing how much he still mourns his past with her, how much it still hurts him that she isn’t his anymore, that he couldn’t make her happy, that he couldn’t make her feel the way Jonathan makes her feel. 

“Oh wow,” Robin murmurs, looking down wide eyed. 

“You gotta experiment!” Argyle says as she takes a look around, “as long as you’re single and you’re not hurting anyone, go around and have fun.” 

Steve’s eyes find yours and he holds contact for a moment. 

“Mhmm, I agree.” You nod. “But I think when you have that one person that you're deeply attracted to, both sexually and romantically, you can still have a lot of fun, you can experiment together and like, what do you need other people for when you have these types of feelings? You won’t get bored with that person.”

“Thank you!” Robin claps her hands together, “that’s what I’m talking about!” 

“But, as long as you don’t have that person, you can just… experiment and have fun with others if you feel like it,” you shrug, taking a sip of your drink. 

Steve’s eyes are glued on you, a weird feeling tugging in his chest. 

"Oh, really?" Your best friend smirks at you, leaning forward in his seat, he places his elbows on his knees, “and how many people have you experimented with?” He wiggles his brows, ‘knowing’ about the very recent one. 

Suddenly, all eyes are on you, all filled with curiosity. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

Argyle groans at you, and so does Eddie, while the others chuckle. 

Steve, who watches you, not even expecting any other answer than ‘two guys’, knows about Billy and, well, himself. He passes the joint over to Robin and reaches for his beer instead. 

“Come on, it’s a tight little circle, no secrets leave this,” Robin gestures to the group, “how many hearts did you break?” 

You roll your eyes with a smile on your face, tugging the blanket closer to your body. 

“Well, I have never broken any hearts before,” you start, avoiding his eyes, “but uh… there have been a… few… guys.”

You miss the way Steve freezes, the way he holds his beer midair as he was just about to take a sip from the can. 

“Give us the number girl!” Eddie complains. 

If you weren’t so tipsy, you would have probably felt much more flustered, beneath all the gazes. 

With a sigh, you lean back in your chair, and look at your best friend, “fine… eight.” 

Eddie gasps, his brown eyes grow so wide that it makes you laugh. 

It’s truly a tragedy that you didn’t look at Steve, you would have seen the shocked and the very upset look on his face after that revelation. 

“Holy shit!” Robin laughs in surprise, “I-I would’ve never thought! N-Not that it’s a bad thing of course, it’s just, you’re so… reserved!” She turns to look at Steve, also missing the look on his face, “look at you, you both have something in common!” 

“Wow,” Jonathan slurs, dragging out the word, “good for you, grumpy.” He holds his drink up at you. 

Nancy’s eyebrows are furrowed, her lips pursed as she looks at you in question, “so… are they like… all from Hawkins?” 

“Oh no, no…” You shake your head, now catching a glimpse of Steve who stares at you with an unreadable look on his face. “My sister invited me to college parties, and we uh… went out to bars in Indianapolis, it was just one night stands… nothing deep, really.” 

“Damn, sweetheart,” Eddie whistles, “I didn’t know you were so wild.” 

While everyone seems to be very entertained by your sex life, Steve can’t help but feel irritated by it, despite not knowing any of the details yet. 

“How many were from Hawkins?” Nancy asks.

“Just uh… one.” 

Despite the bitterness on his tongue, he can’t help but smirk, knowing that he is the one, pride swelling inside of him. 

“Do we know him?” Robin asks and Steve nearly chuckles, but then you say something that makes the smirk drop again. 

“Um no, I don’t think so… I mean, he went to our school, but was like two years older? He was the captain of the football team.”

Vickie’s eyes widen, but she bites her tongue, while Robin furrows his brows, trying to figure out who it was. 

Nancy and Jonathan glance at each other, furrowing their brows. 

And, Steve… Oh, Steve is really not having the best time tonight. He knows exactly who you mean, Jacob Leeney. 

In his King Steve era, he always considered him his rival. 

While he was the captain of the basketball team, Jacob was the captain of the football team, and both of them were on the swim team, competing with each other to steal another number one spot. The girls loved him just as much as they loved Steve, if not more. Unlike him, who brought out the asshole side of himself to woo the girls, Jacob was nice to them, a real ‘sweet’ gentleman who used his plastered kindness to get his latest conquest in his bed. 

He can’t believe you were one of his girls. 

He can’t believe you fucked this many people in general, let alone Jacob fucking Leeney. 

“You fucked Jacob!?” Eddie jumps up, “when!?” 

You’re a little confused by the anticipation in his features, like there’s more he wants to ask, like there’s more that he knows. 

“Uh… last year?” 

“It was you!” He laughs loudly, pointing his ringed finger at you, “Fuck, Jacob. Holy shit, sweetheart, are you that good?” He smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

Steve clenches his jaw, glaring daggers at Eddie. 

“What?” You chuckle, confused. 

“I was outside and he approached me after making me wait for like forty minutes to sell him weed as he had asked, and he just went ‘sorry man, I just had the best head and fuck of my life.’”

Steve feels nausea rising up to his throat, blood rushing to his cheeks from the irritation that grows inside of him. He stares at you, unable to tear his eyes away, and right now, he can’t tell whether he wants to drag you out of here and fuck you in his car to show you that he’s the best you’ve ever had or just leave by himself as the anger inside of him grows and grows. 

Pictures of you and Jacob flash in his mind, making him clench his jaw and holding the can tighter, bending it a little. 

Did you moan for Jacob the same way you did for him? 

Did you cling to his body too?

Did you beg him for more? 

“How do you even know it was me, Eddie!?”

“Was it at Caroline’s house?”

“Doesn’t prove it’s me–”

“November 3rd.” 

Silence fills the air around you all.

“Oh shit, it was me…”

Nancy giggles at you and at the flustered expression on your face. 

“Looks like you got some competition, Steve,” Robin laughs, slapping her best friend’s shoulder, “we got a fuckboy and a fuckgirl in this round.” 

“I’m not a fuckgirl–”

“Sure you’re not, Blondie,” Steve says a little too harshly, “just that you fucked eight guys!” 

And he wonders if you’re still doing that, if you’re still fucking others, even now. 

The smug look on your face tells him that you do – is that the reason why you didn’t call? Because you had someone else who entertained you when he didn’t? 

The thought fills him with anger and he doesn’t even know why. 

You can do whatever you want, whoever you want. 

He was the one who set up that rule.

If you do fuck others, maybe he should too. 

“So?” You shrug at him, smirk tugging at your lips as you finally look at him. 

He clenches his jaw, squinting his eyes at you. 

You’re a little taken aback by the very obvious anger in his features, and yet, you can’t help but get distracted by how good he looks under the orangey glow of the fire.

“Aw, are you jealous that someone could beat your score?” Argyle laughs, wiggling his brows at Steve. 

“Yeah, Steve,” Robin smirks, “how many girls did you fuck?” 

You watch him curiously but you already know that no number will surprise you. Steve was or maybe he still is a real fuckboy, maybe not the rough kind, but still. 

He clears his throat, looking around awkwardly as he scratches the back of his neck, before his eyes settle on you. 

“Well, Blondie and I are actually on the same score.”

And here you thought you wouldn’t be surprised, you expected more from him. 

Eddie laughs beside you, “are you playing in the same league though? What popular chick did you bang?”

Now that is something you don’t really want to know about. It’s not that you’re not curious about it, you just don’t want to deal with any more insecurities. 

But Steve doesn’t bite his tongue, he could look at anyone right now, he could look at Eddie, who had asked him the question in the first place, but instead, he looks right at you. 

“Jennifer Mitchell.” 

Oh. 

You have to bite your lip to stop your jaw from dropping. 

You heard all about Jennifer Mitchell, Billy told you everything you… didn’t even want to know. The girl wasn’t exactly popular in school, but she was known… for one or two things. 

Steve gives you a smug look, and you can’t even hold back from rolling your eyes at him. 

“And the scratch marks?” Eddie asks, smirking. “Was that Heidi?” 

You look down, pressing your lips together. 

“What scratch marks!?” Robin gasps. 

Steve clears his throat, running his fingers through his hair, panic settling in his gut. 

Robin knows all about Heidi, and she knows that the girl isn’t capable of rough sex. 

Maybe the alcohol in her system and another made up lie of his, will satisfy her though, so he tells her that Heidi changed, that she is now… experimenting. And he relaxes a bit, when she starts asking other questions, ones that aren’t about Heidi. 

You don’t sit there and listen for long, not wanting to know the details about his times with other girls. You can’t stand it, so you pick up your empty glass and get up to walk into the house, ‘in need of another drink.’ But you only place the glass on the kitchen counter and stand there for a few minutes, staring at the alcohol bottles. 

The jealousy that you feel is nothing new, you felt it countless times before, but it’s so much more intense now, because before last weekend, you never had him. 

Now you kind of do, and it’s not a pleasant feeling to hear all about his sex life, to wonder if he’s still seeing others – you’ve been overthinking about it enough this week already. 

You hear your friends laughing, and you wonder what else Steve had told them that is so funny. 

You roll your eyes and push yourself away from the counter, leaving the kitchen and making your way upstairs and into the direction of the bathroom, needing a moment to yourself. 

You turn on the light in the darkened room, but just as you’re about to step inside, you hear footsteps behind you. You turn around to see Steve walking towards you, with a look on his face that you can’t make out, right now. 

You tilt your head to the side, plastering a confident smile on your lips, “miss me already?” 

He catches you off guard when he places his hands on your waist and pushes you further into the bathroom, he closes the door behind him and locks it. 

Beneath the bright lights, you can see his eyes much better, they’re dark as they stare directly into yours. His hair somehow still looks perfect, despite being in the pool all day and constantly running his fingers through it, it looks just as good as always. His nose and his cheekbones are red from being out in the sun, he’s wearing a flannel, the sleeves pulled up to his elbows, the top buttons undone. You have to swallow harshly when you eye the chest hair and his sun kissed skin that peeks through, you have to tear your eyes away but he looks so… good. You can’t help yourself. 

Steve lets go of your waist, he crosses his arms over his chest, his face hardens. 

“So eight huh?” 

You lift your brows, surprised at his question, you didn’t think that this is what he came here for. 

“What’s to it?” 

“Am I number eight, Blondie?” 

“No,” you smirk, “number nine.” 

His jaw clenches a little, he blinks slowly as he glares into your eyes a little. 

“What is it, King Steve?” You ask, reaching your hand out, you place your finger on his chest, dragging it down a bit, “afraid I have more experience than you? Cause trust me… that is entirely true.” 

He chuckles at you, shaking his head, “you wish.” 

“I don’t have to wish,” you shrug, “but do tell, am I your number eight?” 

“Nah,” he whispers as his eyes flicker to your hand, to your fingertips that trace the exposed skin beneath his flannel, he gulps, trying not to show how your touch makes him feel, “you’re my number nine too.” 

“Uh huh,” you murmur. 

You wonder how many girls he had been with after Nancy left him. 

You wonder when Jennifer happened, before or after her. 

“You know, you kinda flinched a little at the mention of Jennifer,” Steve says with a very amused voice. 

“Nope,” you shrug, looking at him innocently, “just surprised you would fuck her, that’s all.” 

“Well… she certainly knew what she was doing,” he says, testing the waters to see how you will react. 

“And what exactly did she do, Harrington?”

“I’ll keep that to myself.” 

The smile on his lips and the prideful look in his eyes sparks your anger, the one that’s been brewing inside of you, all week. Yet somehow, the sadness and your insecurities were stronger than the raging emotion that now takes control of you, alongside the deep jealousy that pushes you to do something that you have been craving all fucking day. 

You throw aside all your thoughts, all your worries, and you take the leap. 

You place your hands against his chest, watching the way his smile falls as surprise lights up in his hazel eyes. You slam him against the wall next to the door that he just locked, you grab his face and pull him down, smashing your lips against his. 

Steve gasps against your lips, and you can’t help but feel excitement rushing through you. He melts against you so quickly, and so easily. He cups your cheeks and kisses back just as roughly. 

No matter how fast his lips move against yours, he isn’t the one in control today, and he knows it, he can feel it… and to his surprise, he doesn’t mind it. 

You press your tongue against his bottom lip, and he wastes no second to let you slip it into his mouth. He presses his palm against your cheek, moaning when you deepen the kiss further. 

You get lost in it, just the way you did the first time and the second time. You get so lost in his kiss that nothing around you matters anymore – not your friends who could come looking for you both any minute, not your jealousy that makes you seethe, not the fact that he isn’t yours. Nothing matters, only he does. 

He keeps moaning against your lips and as you press your chest against his and you feel him against your stomach, you can’t help but moan too. 

It takes everything in you not to drop to your knees and use your mouth to worship him, just the way you had always wanted to. 

Not yet, you tell yourself. 

You throw your arms around his neck and let your fingers get lost in his hair, tugging at it as you keep your hands busy, so you don’t give into your lust and slide your palm down his stomach and into his pants. 

You can feel that he tries to take control but you don’t let him and the moment you press your thigh between his legs, he’s done for, he stops trying to fight for dominance. A whimper falls from his lips as they stop moving against yours for a moment, stunned by your little move. 

His hands fall from your face down to your waist, holding onto it tightly as you kiss him like it’s the last thing you will ever do. 

Steve’s heart is racing in his chest, out of pure shock, his stomach fluttering and his dick twitching in his pants – he needs you, he wants you so bad. He is starting to grow breathless, but he doesn’t want this moment to end, not yet. It’s been bad enough waiting for your call all week, he had to use his hand more times than he could count as his mind kept taking him back to you. 

Now you’re here, right in front of him, and you clearly still want him just as much as he wants you. And your lips, your lips taste so good, a hint of strawberry from the balm you always carry around the cocktails that you’ve been drinking all day. 

The roughness of the kiss, the intensity and your touches show him that there is a side to you that he hasn’t had the pleasure of getting to know just yet, but he wants it, so so bad. 

You tug at his hair, tilting his head back a little as your tongue keeps moving against his and the kiss somehow grows deeper and hungrier, moans falling from your lips, echoing through the room with his. 

Neither of you care about the possible consequences. 

Steve nearly busts in his pants when you press your stomach against his aching dick. You let your left hand roam his shoulder, his chest and his stomach, your fingertips start inching closer and closer to where he needs you the most. 

But just as he’s about to break the kiss to start begging for you to touch him, you roughly pull away and take a step back from him, leaving him without the warmth you just provided him with. 

He almost whines at the loss of your touch. 

Now the room is filled with panting and loud breathing besides the deafening silence. 

You bite your lip, tasting the beer and the mint that his lips have left behind. Your knees nearly buckle as you take in the sight of him. 

Flushed cheeks, messy hair and puffy lips, along with the big eyes that are filled with nothing but desperation and lust. 

Despite the fluttering in your heart, as you stare at the man before you, you can’t help but smirk. 

Who would’ve thought you could turn him into that? 

That you could leave him desperate and panting for more. 

You take a step forward again, watching the way his curious eyes follow every of your movement, lips parting as he slightly leans down, thinking that you will kiss him again. 

And you do, just not the way he wanted you to. 

You press your lips to his cheek, giving it a soft and teasing kiss before you lean closer to his ear. 

“I’ll wait for you at my house later.” 

And with that, you step away from him, you unlock the door and open it, throwing another glance over your shoulder at a very flustered Steve – a look that leaves you swelling with pride and a glimpse of hope. 

You can feel the way he reacts to your touches, you can see how red his cheeks can glow for you, how lust filled his eyes can get – something that never even happened in the past, not even once but now here you both are.

You doubt that he could ever feel more for you than this. 

And yet, you would wait for years. 

You would wait forever. 

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @maroon-cardigan @taintedcigs @sherrylyn628 @munsonlore @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @agirlwholovesrockstars

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington series #stranger things angst

[taifenggg]

Lovestruck[Demon Bros]

Things the bros do because they're simps for you.

CW: mild cursing

Characters: GN!Reader(no pronouns specified), Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor

Authors Notes: I actually have a huge amount of requests for my other accounts but since I’m impulsive and have no sense of impulse control, I made another writing account for the sole reason that I wanted to ramble about Obey Me LMAOOO

[Dateables Here]

Lucifer [🦚💙]

He listens to you, even when he's busy

“Luciferrr,” you poke your head into his room, after knocking on his door. You stroll in taking in the sight of a somewhat disheveled Lucifer, sitting behind stacks of paperwork. A few buttons at the top of his shirt are undone and his tie is loose around his neck. You resist the urge to stare longer than you need to, turning away and plopping down in one of the armchairs in his room.

“I’m busy.” Although his words are blunt, there’s no actual malice behind them. You take that as a sign that since he didn’t actually tell you to leave that it was okay for you to stay. You lean over the side of your chair, sighing somewhat dramatically. “You’ll never believe what happened earlier.” And soon, you find yourself rambling about your day to Lucifer, speaking whatever comes to your mind. Every time you glance up at Lucifer, it seems as though he’s busy with whatever paperwork he’s subjecting himself to, but you ignore it and continue speaking.

Unbeknownst to you, Lucifer had actually stopped quite a while back ago, he was busy staring at the same line again and again, but somehow he couldn’t find the urge to continue working when all he could focus in on was your voice. His finger tapped absentmindedly at his pen as the edges of his lips quirked up every so slightly finding the way you were sprawled over the chair somewhat amusing. 

Mammon [💰💛]

He’ll do something with you, even if he’s inclined not to

“D-do we have to do this?” Mammon’s hand squeezed yours tightly and you could feel how clammy it was against yours. You pouted at him, your lip jutting out, “Mammonnnn come on, can we please go into the haunted house? It’s supposedly much scarier than last years!” Your expression softens as you watch him visibly stiffen at the prospect of going in, “Well on second thought-”

“Nono, lets do it. T-the Great Mammon will protect you from anything that jumps out at us!” He points at himself, puffing his chest out to make himself seem more imposing. You resist the urge to laugh at how goofy he looks despite the fact that he’s clearly scared shitless. “Okay, okay,” you reach over to ruffle his hair, hoping that in doing so could help alleviate some of the nerves he was feeling. 

“Oi, what’re you doing?” Mammon’s face flushes, but he doesn’t stop you, and instead leans into your hand more. Giving your hand one more squeeze, he charged towards the haunted house with you in tow. Needless to say the both of you spent the entire time clinging to each other when you're in there. 

Leviathan [🐍🧡]

He has a playlist of songs that reminds him of you

“Levi, I just listened to that one artist you recommended to me, and I gotta say, their songs are absolute bangers,” You grin at him, “You have really good music taste!” Leviathan blushes from the compliment, turning to the side, “Well they actually dropped a new song recently, let me share it with you, I have it in my playlist.” He pulled out his D.D.D to open his Devilfy, scrolling through the numerous playlists that he had.

His finger pauses in its scrolling as it hovers over a certain playlist titled, “My Henry.” He glances up at you, feeling himself grow flustered as he quickly looks away once more, typing in the song instead of trying to scroll and find it and sends it to you. “Thanks! I got it!” You beam at him, shooting him a thumbs up from where you’re seated, and putting in your earbuds to stream it. 

He’s grateful he made the playlist private, lest he deal with any questions from your end. 

Satan [😾💚]

He sees parts of you in characters in his stories

“What do you have there?” you peeked over his shoulder, draping your arms over him. If it were any of his brothers, he would have found himself snapping at them and pushing them away, but since it was you Satan found himself leaning more into you touch. “A book I recently acquired,” he smiled, reaching over to squeeze your hand. 

“Mhmm, anything interesting?” You absentmindedly traced the outline of his fingers with yours and Satan swore he could feel his heartbeat going faster. “Well, in a way the main character of this book is kind of like you. They’re kind, and they’re not afraid to stand up for what they believe is right,” He chuckles softly, turning the page with his free hand. You deadpanned, shaking your head, “You’re just describing every generic, heroic main character out there.”

Satan paused, setting his book down slightly as he turned to look at you, a gentle smile on his face. His hand reaches up, brushing your cheek, “I suppose, but they are traits that define you as well.”

Asmodeus [💋🩷]

He’s always seeking to try things with you

“Y/N! There’s this new café that opened up near Ristorante Six, want to come try it with me?” Asmo grabbed your arm, hugging it tight, almost as if he was afraid you would slip away from his grasp. You turned to face him, laughing softly as you transferred his hand into yours. “Didn’t you just go there the other day?” you teased him lightly.

Asmo pouted slightly, holding onto your hand even tighter, “Since the line was so long I didn’t get to try everything that I wanted to because they were limiting the number of items a single customer could order, that’s why I want to bring you with me! Plus it’s super pretty there, pleaseeeee?” You held his gaze, your resolve wavering slightly, you had planned on doing something else but seeing how badly he wanted to go you couldn’t help but relent.

“Alright, alright, of course I’ll go,” you laughed lightly. Asmo’s face lit up upon hearing your answer, tugging you along with him, “Great! I have a few other things planned out, so hopefully you don’t mind if I steal you for a few hours~”

Beelzebub [🍔❤️]

He seeks out your opinion before deciding on anything. 

“Bloody Terrine, Deep-Fried Devil Zebra, Devildom Stir-fry with Toxic Chameleon-”

“Beel you’re drooling,” you laugh softly, grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth. He takes it from you, his stomach rumbling from the thought of what he wanted to eat. “Y/N, what should I get?” His eyes focus in on you after a few seconds of staring at the menu. “Huh?” you’re slightly startled from his sudden question. “You should get whatever you’re feeling Beel, I mean you’re the one eating it.”

Beel shook his head, continuing to hold your gaze, “I want to hear your thoughts as well,” a slight flush dusts his face, but it’s barely visible. You smile softly, looking up at the menu, thinking for a second. “Mmmm well you got Bloody Terrine yesterday, and Deep-Fried Devil Zebra a few days before right? Why not get the stir-fry?” Beel takes in your thoughts, thinking on it for a moment before beaming at you, “Okay I’ll do that, thanks Y/N.”

Belphegor [🐮💜]

He prioritizes your comfort over his own

Belphie opened his eyes slowly, a smile finding its way onto his face as he stared at you, asleep next to him. However that smile soon turns into a frown as he studies the way your face is scrunched up, almost as if you were having a bad dream.

Belphie gently untangles himself from you, brushing a hand over the top of your head. Almost immediately, your face relaxes and you let out a puff of air as you slip into a more comfortable slumber. Belphie continues brushing his hand through your hair, carefully so he wouldn’t end up waking you up. Sure he was tired, but he would have rather helped you than just leaving you to fend for yourself when it came to the nightmares that plagued your sleep. His tail curls around your leg comfortingly, holding you in place so that you don’t end up rolling away but at the same time you’re still near him. 

Belphie sighs softly as he settles back down next to you, rearranging his limbs so that they weren’t in your way. Although it wasn’t the most comfortable position, it was better than nothing. 

To Masterlist [ ◇ ]

Back to Navigation [ ◇ ]

#ash writes #obey me! shall we date? #obey me! #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x you #omswd #omswd x reader #omswd x mc #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me leviathan #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me beelzebub #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor #obey me belphegor x reader #lucifer x reader #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader

[sykostyles]

subject to change 1.1 (final)

w/c: 6.3k summary: in which Harry gets his head out of his ass and goes after y/n. but is he too late? part one

a/n: hi again! thank you all for the love on part one to this story! I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means to me! I hope you all enjoy this part just as much!

cw: PLEASE LOOK HERE BEFORE YOU READ! impact play, breath play if you squint, general rough sex, implied cheating (no actual cheating takes place), breeding kink, creampie, anal play (he puts his thumb in her ass lol), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up, besties) general manhandling. If I forgot anything pls let me know!

Harry did care. He cared a lot. But he knew you were angry and he let you go. It was the best option. At least that’s what he told himself. He would just live the rest of his life with this empty feeling in his chest. He’d live with the pain of constantly having to see your name when his customers would buy your books. He’d smile and continue to recommend your books to people looking for something ‘extra spicy’ as they’d put it. They’d always come back in a few days to get another one of your books.

He never did take your titles off of his Owner’s Picks shelf.

Sometimes Harry swore he could hear your giggles at the front of his store when he was helping a customer find something near the back. “Excuse me, just one second,” he’d mutter to the customer before hastily making his way up front to be met with nobody. He thought he was losing it. He knows he heard it. He wishes he’d heard it. He’d make his way back to the customer, breathing out some excuse and getting back to finding the book they were looking for.

You even haunted him in his dreams. He could feel the way your skin dipped and curved as he ran his hands over the sweat slicked skin. Feel the way your warm walls engulfed his length; sinking further and further under your spell. Hear the way you cried his honorific and begged him to let you cum; begged for more, Until the blaring of his alarm would snap him back to reality and he’d be left to take care of what dream you left behind.

It’d been six months of this constant brooding attitude he’d have whenever he thought of you. Harry hadn’t been able to sleep with anybody else. Just finding solace in fucking his fist, and wishing it was you. Oh but he tried though. A few women at the bar, or a pretty customer he thought looked like you. But they weren’t you, were they? He’d gotten drunk off of the way your body felt under his touch, and it’s like he’s been hungover ever since. Often he found himself looking at your social media, scrolling through all the pretty pictures you’d post. Pictures of your apartment, your cat, your family. Pictures with Chase? Who was Chase? Pictures with your friends. He’d take note of all the cities you’d been to since he saw you.

Oh, a new post.

You were apparently going to be about an hour away from him next week.

Interesting.

Every city you traveled to, there were more and more people waiting to meet you. You couldn’t believe it. Flattered doesn’t even begin to describe what you felt. So many stories of how you saved people's relationships after they read your books. Their sex lives with their partners had been so boring but after they’d read your books, they’d found new inspiration to spice things up. Every time someone told you a new story you were dumbfounded. Still finding it so hard to believe that anybody even found your books interesting, let alone liked them enough to take time out of their day to come and meet you and have you sign their book.

You’d tried to move on from Harry. A few casual hook ups, and a short term boyfriend, Chase, that lasted all of two and a half months. Said boyfriend looked at you like you had two heads when you asked him to choke you during sex so you weren’t sure why you thought it would last. 

You would find yourself daydreaming; frothing at the mouth thinking of all the dirty things Harry had done to you. You’d grip the front of your sink in the morning, head hanging near your chest while you thought about Harry’s cock splitting you open; his fingertips colliding with your cheek while he called you his dirty little slut, all while Chase was in the shower, a wave of guilt washing over you for imagining these things while your boyfriend was two feet away from you. Oh, how you wished you could experience those things again. 

You were right though, you’d gotten plenty of fuel for your next book. The follow up to Little Freak was scheduled to be released at the end of the year, just in time for holiday sales. Jenny was thrilled. You thought you would be. But you just felt empty. You always felt worse when you’d snap out of it, staring at yourself in the mirror with annoyance for yourself written all over your face.

“You look sick, babe. You alright?” Chase would ask, stepping out of the shower. “You look a little flushed,” The back of his hand coming in contact with your forehead. He was super sweet after all. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Just warm in here from the steam,” you’d wave him off, pressing a kiss to his lips and offering him a smile.

Chase broke it off with you last week saying he couldn't give you what you wanted. You knew that, but didn't have the heart to break it to him first. He seemed a little fragile, if you know what I mean. So you pretended to be sad until he left your apartment and then you had a laugh before making a post announcing the next city for your signing tour.

Jenny booked you a hotel, even though the bookstore you were going to be at was only about an hour away. But riding back in the car for an hour sounded pretty awful so you didn’t put up a fight. 

The owner of this store was so excited for your event. She walked up and down the line thanking everyone for showing up, and reminded all of them of the snacks and refreshments she’d set out. She was a doll, continuously asking if you needed anything. Always giving you a smile and a “Just holler at me if you need anything, dear!”

About an hour in, a pair of eyes caught your attention. You’d know those eyes anywhere. He was about four people behind the person you were talking to. Standing there, book in hand with that sweet smile on his face. His eyes bore into yours. Your breath caught in your throat, your face turned pink and your hands immediately felt clammy. The person in front of you snaps you out of your trance and you direct your attention back to them, acting as if nothing happened. 

“This book literally brought life back to my relationship. We had no idea what we were missing out on!” She exclaimed, “My husband sends his thanks as well,” she giggles out.

“I’m so glad you guys enjoyed it. Hopefully you’ll like the next one too. Thank you so much for coming!” You hand the book back to her with a smile. She thanks you and is on her way. The next few people are the same. It never got old though; hearing how your books positively impacted others. Whether they found out they liked something they never heard of, or if it gave them the courage to spice up their love lives. 

Harry studied you as you interacted with your readers. How genuinely happy you looked to be talking to these people. The smile on your face that he’d only seen in his dreams over the last six months. The crinkle you got near your eyes when you laughed. That giggle. He was addicted. He needed to hear it every day. He’d do anything. That’s why he’s standing here right now in front of you with your book in his hand. 

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” you say back to him. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he hands the book over to you, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Cut the crap, Harry. What are you doing here?” taking the book, you scrawl your signature on the cover page.

“Can we talk?” he looks at you with pleading eyes. You glance up at him, holding the book back out to him. 

“I don’t know, Harry,” looking away, you fumble with the permanent marker between your fingers. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please, sweets. Just wanna talk,” He smiles down at you. Meeting his eyes again, your gaze hardens. There’s no way he just wants to talk. You’re not totally stupid, but you’ll humor him.

“Fine. Just to talk,” you wave your hand in the air, “Just wait in the seating area.”

He smiles at you again. “Thank you.”

Walking into your hotel room with Harry in tow, you wonder just how stupid you are. What are you doing? Is this smart? Probably not. Do you care? Also probably not.

“What are you actually doing here, Harry,” you ask, sitting on the end of the bed to take your shoes off.

“Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to see you?” his voice was quiet and smooth, nothing like it was in the bookstore earlier. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets as he watches you.

“Not even a little bit,” you scoffed with a laugh, tossing your shoes to the side before leaning back on your hands.

“Well, it’s the truth.” His gaze remained unwavering. 

You were born at night, but not last night.

“You’re such a liar,” you laugh, “You’re going to stand there and tell me that you drove an hour just to see me?” 

“I missed you.” he breathes out. You just stare at him with widened eyes, and he stares right back. Emerald eyes, rather sunken and tired looking, just keep staring back at you.

“How dare you,” you stand from the edge of the bed, finger pointed into his chest. His eyes widen at your demeanor. “You don’t get to do that. You said this was a one time thing. You told me multiple times that it was a one time thing.” You continue walking towards him, him taking a step back with every forward step you take. “So, what exactly do you want, Harry? You came all the way here just to tell me you missed me? When was it you who put that rule in place?” His back hits your hotel room door. “Am i just a good fuck you can’t get out of your head or what?”

“N-no, you’re,” he pauses, “you’re everything. And I’m just an idiot who can’t talk about his feelings.”

“Please, you told me yourself that you don’t do ‘feelings’. So do me a favor and tell me what it is you really want.”

“I want you,” he says softly, looking at your lips. Not even an ounce of hesitation floods his system when he reaches out with both hands to cup your face, and finally presses his lips to yours for the first time. You gasp, but kiss him back anyways; Your hands finding a soft grip on his wrists. It’s everything. The way his soft lips perfectly mold with yours. All of the built up emotions he’d been shoving down the last half a year showed themselves in that kiss. He bore his soul to you in that kiss. His tongue swipes at your lower lip, but that’s when you pull away.

“No, Harry,” you rush out, “Y-you’re too late,” you pull his hands from your face, and start to turn away when he grabs ahold of your upper arm, spinning you back towards him.

“Oh, don’t give me that shit,” he bites out, tone no longer soft. “I saw the look on your face when you noticed I was there tonight.” 

“I-I have a boyfriend,” you lie, thinking you could use Chase as an escape route. Sure, he broke up with you about a week ago but Harry doesn’t need to know that. “You’re too late, Harry.” He studies you for a moment. The tremble in your upper lip from fighting off a grin. The telling glint in your eyes. The way you won’t look him in the eye.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?” Both of his hands grip your arms as he slowly walks you backwards.

“I’m n-not lying. I have a boyfriend. His name is Chase.” You almost stumble over your own feet, but his grip on your arms keeps you standing. Ah, Chase.

“Right,” he mocks you, “and does ‘Chase’ make you tremble and break like I did?” He leans down near your ear. “Does he make you beg and cry for it like I did? Does he make you cum so hard you see stars like I did? Hm?” His warm breath tickles the skin of your throat. Harry sweeps your hair away from your neck before latching his teeth onto your pulse point, making you gasp. You feel your legs bump against the edge of the bed, your fists take hold of his sweater to keep you standing.

“Harry, I can’t,” you groan. You want to; more than anything, but you won’t give him the satisfaction. He grins against your skin, swiping his tongue over the bite mark he left behind. 

“Your body says otherwise, sweets,” he says, bringing his face to be level with yours, “Tell me to stop,” he slips a hand under your skirt, teasing his fingertips along your inner thigh. Your breath is caught in your throat. “C’mon, tell me to stop,” he plucks the hem of your underwear right near where you want him most. His lips finding your skin again; featherlight kisses being pressed up and down the column of your throat. You tilt your head back to give him more room.

“H-harry, please,” you whine, your hands reach up to grasp the nape of his neck.

“Please what?” he whispers against your throat, biting down again, eliciting a groan from your lips. 

“P-please, t-touch me.”

“Thought you said you had a boyfriend?” He grins, tilting your chin down to look into your eyes. The hand that’s been under your skirt takes hold of the front of your panties and pulls you forward, making you lose your footing and sending you backwards onto the bed. Harry presses one knee onto the mattress, fingers still holding your panties, as he leans over you.

“T-that’s su–subject to change,”  you try to pull him down by the nape of his neck to kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge, one arm anchored near your head.

Instead, with a flick of his wrist he’s pulling your panties down your legs. Bringing them up to eye level, he smirks at the wet patch evident on the front of them.

“Is it now?” His salacious eyes look at you from above. You nod in response, making Harry chuckle. “So, are you going to admit that you were lying to me?” He tosses your panties to the side before bracing his other arm on the other side of you.

You shake your head, a mischievous smile forming on your pouty lips. You run your hands under his sweater up his torso, relishing in the warm feeling under your fingertips. He never let you touch him last time, but he wasn’t about to stop you now. He’d die a happy man after knowing what your skin felt like against his. The way your body reacted to every little touch he offered. Sure, he felt you last time, but not like this.

“You’re just going to make it worse for yourself, sweets,” Harry grins down at you.

“Maybe that’s what I want,” your hands stop their exploration and cup the sides of his face, your thumbs rubbing over his cheekbones. “I do have a boyfriend, but he’s not you,” you whisper. Knowing that Chase isn’t your boyfriend anymore.

“Such a naughty girl,” He leans down to kiss you, your hold moving up and tangling in his curls. You moan into his mouth when you feel the tips of his fingers come in contact with your cunt; he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, exploring every nook and cranny he could find before he pulls away, chuckling at your blown out pupils. “Does Chase take care of you like I did?”

“N-no,” a whine leaves you at the loss of contact, “He won’t even choke me,” you pull him back down to your mouth, hooking your right leg around his waist to bring his weight on top of yours.

He pulls away—“Sounds like a pussy”—before kissing you once again. Lips moving in sync; your whines and whimpers being stolen from you by the greedy man above you. His fingers finally make contact with where you need him most; dipping two inside your warmth to prod at the spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back.

“Haah, you have—ff—fuck, r-right there—no idea.” Your skin already feels like it’s on fire. Your body reacts to his every touch; craving more and more at every turn. Harry would give you anything you wanted if you’d asked for it.

“Mm, you probably feel so needy right now, huh?” he chuckles, bringing his free hand up to firmly grasp your throat. The mischievous glint forming in your eyes again, his favorite smile etched onto your lips. He finally put your favorite necklace back in its rightful place. 

“Uhuh, please. Need you so bad,” His thumb begins rubbing slow circles on your clit; your teeth take hold of your bottom lip as you look at him with blown out eyes, silently begging for more. 

“Yeah?” He’s enthralled by your eagerness. The most genuine smile he’s ever been able to muster forms on his lips. You’ve successfully turned this man into mush without even trying. He’d burn the whole world down for you if it meant you’d look at him like that. “Gonna let me take care of you?” 

You nod. 

“Forever this time?” he’s searching your eyes for any ounce of hesitation. Every feeling he ever felt for you shined bright in the emerald orbs before you.

You smile. 

Big.

“Y-yes, Sir,” leaves your lips in the form of a salacious whisper.

“I can be Sir any other time, I just want to be Harry for you right now, sweets,” he retracts his hand from between your legs, bringing it to face level. His eyes never leave yours as he swipes his tongue over his fingers, licking up every ounce of your arousal; his other hand never leaving your throat, rubbing his thumb over your pulse point. Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s so dirty; and you love it. 

You nod frantically in his hold. “H-Harry please,” you’re not sure what you’re asking for, you just want him.

“Gonna give you what you want–what you need–baby,” he presses a chaste kiss to your lips before taking a hold of your hip with his free hand and flipping the two of you over so you were straddling his waist. Sliding his hand that’s around your throat to the nape of your neck to kiss you deeply. He sits up with you, bringing his hands down to the hem of your shirt, sliding his warm hands over the expanse of your hips, trailing up to grope your breasts; his lips still moving perfectly in sync with yours. “C-can i take this off?”

“Please,” a whine leaves your lips. Your arms raise up as he slides your shirt over your head, tossing it to the side. He eyes your chest; placing kisses all over. Reaching behind you, unclasping your bra as it finds the same fate as your shirt. His mouth latches on to your left breast, rolling his tongue over the perked bud. You throw your head back, arms draped around his neck as you grind your bare cunt into his very evident bulge; reveling in the friction against your clit.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to lose my shit,” he growls, taking your other breast into his mouth.

“Do your worst,” you whisper into his ear, sliding your hands under his sweater, pulling it over his head to join the other pieces of clothing on the floor. You stand from his lap before he’s able to react. Slipping your fingers into the waistband of your skirt, you shimmy it down your hips and thighs, giving him a little show. He watches on with lustful eyes. 

He reaches for his belt, pulling it from the loops of his jeans. “You gonna tie me up again, Harry? Hm?” you tease him, opening the button of his jeans.

“No, baby. Wanna feel your hands all over me this time,” he tosses the belt to the side, standing from the bed, he cups the sides of your face, pulling you to him once again. Your hands still working his zipper, pushing his jeans down.

“Then allow me,” you whisper. Reaching to pull his hands from your face, dropping them to his sides. Slowly sinking to your knees, placing open mouthed kisses to his skin as you traveled south. You feel his abdomen contract at the light touch, making you smirk against his skin before swiping your tongue over the surface, making the man above you audibly whimper.

“D-don’t tease, sweets.” 

You chuckle, pulling his jeans all the way down, he kicks them to the side. Harry slides his boxers off, not wanting to waste anymore time, much to your dismay. You roll your eyes, but your attitude disappears once his cock springs up and you catch a glimpse of his reddened tip, just begging for your attention. 

“Sit,” you whisper, running your fingertips up his legs, tracing over the tiger tattoo on his thigh; placing a kiss on its nose after he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Anything you want, baby,” he reaches to cradle your face, but you dodge his reach. He looks at you quizzically.

“No touching,” rolls off your tongue. You watch his eyes darken as that famous smile forms.

“Oh, you want to play like that?” he leans back on his hands, as you nod. Your hands wrapping around the base of his cock, making him suck a breath through his teeth.

“Wanna see how long you can last without touching me,” you say before you spit onto his tip, smearing it with the precum along his length. Engulfing him in your mouth, swirling your tongue over his tip; running it up and down the prominent vein along the underside. Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head when you pass the tip of your tongue over the tip of his cock. 

“F–Fuck, sweets, that’s s–so go–ood,” his hands fist in the comforter, just itching to grasp into your hair to guide you how he wanted you. But he was enjoying letting you have your fun. You hum after sinking him to the back of your throat; working him up and up and up. “Baby, if you don’t stop, I’m gon–” you reach up, to fondle his balls, giving them a firm squeeze. His hands shoot up; pulling you off of his cock. “Unless you want me to cum down your throat, you’d better stop now,” he warns you, letting you go. You shake your head.

“Fuck my throat, Harry,” you groan. “Gimme your cum,” your tongue lulls out as you put your mouth on him again.

“You want my help now?” he questions, swiping your hair out of your eyes. You hum an ‘mhm’ around his cock. You pull off for a second—”You already lost, so just fuck my throat already”—before sinking your mouth back onto him. A groan erupts from deep in his chest; he stands slightly, gripping underneath your chin with one hand, and cradles the back of your head with the other, “Breathe through that nose, baby,” he says before nestling your nose against his happy trail; holding you there for a few seconds before pulling back just enough to hear the slick sounds of spit leaving your lips and then diving back in. Rocking his hips back and forth; his balls slapping your chin with every thrust. Your eyes watering, mascara bleeding onto your cheeks. He pulls you off, letting you catch your breath. “Color?” he asks, leaning down by your face. 

“G-green,” you choke out, a sadistic grin forming on your lips. 

“My filthy girl,” he smiles down at you. Tapping your cheek, signaling you to open, Harry spits onto your tongue, colliding his fingertips with the surface of your cheek before sliding his cock back into your mouth. You groan at the impact on your cheek. “Still want my cum in your throat? Blink once for yes and two for no, sweets,” he grins down at you. You blink once in response. “Alright, baby” he speeds up his hips, the tip of his cock prodding at the back of your throat with every thrust. You gag, but he presses on emptying himself deep inside. Moans and cries of your name leave his lips as he squeezes every last drop into your mouth onto your tongue. You swallow and cough as he pulls himself out, catching your breath. He reaches down, pulling you up under your arms to stand with him. Swiping his hands over your hips and lower back; he pulls you to straddle his lap on the bed once again. “Such a pretty girl, looking a mess for me,” he praises, swiping a thumb across your cheek wiping some of the tears and drool away. “Missed you like this. Missed you in general,” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours, tasting himself on your tongue. 

“I missed you too,” you whisper against his lips, pressing your lips back together. He grins against your mouth.

“Couldn’t have missed me too much,” he chastises you, “How many guys did you try to look for me in?” he questions, flipping the two of you over, standing between your legs and  leaning over you. “Hm? How many guys did you try to let have what's mine?” One of his hands swipes those two fingers through your folds.

“J-just f-four,” you moan at the contact. “Promise, I missed you,” you try to pull him down to you, but he remains like a statue, staring at you from above. “Please, kiss me, Harry,” you plead with him.

“Mm, just four,” he mutters. “Gonna give me four orgasms to make it up to me?” he nods his head at you, grabbing your chin to nod your head for you; he smiles at the look of panic in your eyes. “Say, ‘Yes, Harry’ if you understand, baby,” he says, placing a kiss on your nose.

“Y-yes, Harry,” you whisper. Smiling before pulling his lips to yours. He trails his kisses down the expanse of your chest, teasing his tongue on your skin with every kiss. You’re a whimpering mess beneath his touch. Reacting to every pass of his hands over your sweat-slicked skin. Harry settles on his knees between your legs, sligning your knees over his shoulders.

“Still green?” he asks, breath fanning over your cunt. 

“Uhuh,” you whine. “So green.”

Harry dives right in, swiping his tongue over your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, lightly crazing his teeth over the nub; making your hips jerk in response. One of his hands slides up to firmly hold your hips in place against the mattress. 

“Oh, fuck, Harry,” you gasp as a finger enters your heat, giving you that delicious curl that only he could achieve. Your fingers weave into his curls, tugging at the roots. 

“Mm, baby. Keep pulling on it,” he moans against your pussy. “Make it hurt,” he whines. Tongue fucking you as deep as he could and his nose constantly bumping up with your clit has your senses turning all the lights in the house on, plus his finger poking at your g spot has you cumming without warning. Clutching onto his curls for dear life as your body convulses under his mouth.

“Gimme all of it, baby. Soak my face,” he says, continuing his ministrations. Your clit throbs under his tongue, sending shockwaves through your body. 

“T–too much, Harry, oh god. Too much!” He slaps down on your thigh as a warning.

“Shut up, and take it for me like the good girl I know you can be f’me,” his thumb pressing on your clit, sending you into your second orgasm only a minute and a half after your first one. “Good,” he praises you. “Very good, baby.” His fingers continue working you through your trembling state; bringing you back down to earth; just for him to send you back into outer space once he deemed you ready for takeoff. “How are you feeling, sweets?” He slides your legs off of his shoulders, then standing to lean over you again.

“So fucking good, Harry,” you moan out, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. He leans into your touch laying his body weight on top of yours. One of his hands comes up to cradle your face, swiping his thumb over the apple of your cheek before kissing you hard. Tasting yourself on someone else’s tongue has never tasted so good. He moans into your mouth, swiping his cock through your folds. 

“Good,” he smiles down at you. You hike your leg up around his hip, tugging him as close to you as possible as he pushes inside. A delicious stretch that you’ve missed terribly. None of those boys you’d attempted to forget Harry with could ever compare to this here and now. He swallows the moans you let escape; sliding his other hand down to grip the sides of your throat, making you whimper. “Take it,” he growls, “Take it all.” 

“Hgnh, Harry. It–it’s–” your moans take over before you’re able to finish your sentence. But Harry knew.

“Know it is, baby. But you love it.” He grins, covering your mouth with his to pull your tongue into his mouth. Stilling his hips once he’s at full hilt, surveying your body's responses to the stretch. Pulling your other leg up over his hip, you silently beg him to move. Harry begins rocking his hips back and forth, stealing every one of your whimpers and cries of pleasure. Your nails leaving scratches along his back. Harry reaches one arm under your lower back, lifting your hips slightly, getting a different angle. Your head tilts back, he takes the opportunity to attach his teeth to your throat, eliciting a deep groan from you. 

But he’s not satisfied yet. He stands, still inside you; grabbing ahold of behind both of your knees and pressing them to your chest, he pistons himself into your cunt; turning you into a whimpering mess. “Fuck, sweets, this pussy fe–eels so go–od.” He groans, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. The angle making your eyes cross; lulling your tongue out he offers you a wad of spit, adding two fingers. “Suck,” and you do. Taking them into your mouth; swirling your tongue around. His other hand sliding down to rub fast circles on your clit, making you gasp. Accepting the opportunity, he pushes his fingers further into your throat making you gag. “Hm, very good, baby,” he smiles at you, retracting his fingers; offering you a slap across your cheek. You smile up at him. “Dirty girl, just wants to be manhandled. Poor thing’s been neglected, huh?” You nod. 

He speeds up his fingers, ignoring your protests of too much. He reminds you that you know what words to use if you really want him to stop. “Gonna cum, pretty?” 

“Uhuh uhuh,” you whine, “hurts, Harry.”

“Know it does, pretty. But you’ll take it f’me won’t you?” he coos at you. You nod frantically in response, your arms anchoring around his neck and pulling him to you. “Yeah you will.”

“G’na cum, Harry,” you tuck your face into his throat, peppering kisses all over the surface in attempt to ground yourself. 

“Cum all over me, pretty girl. Give it to me,” he whispers in your ear. Your body contracts against his, he anchors one hand to your hip, forcing you to remain in place and accept the assault on your bundle of nerves from his other hand.

“H-Harry, please, please please,” whines leave your spit slicked lips, and he just coos you to be quiet.

“Shh, baby. Just take it f’me.” his fingers speed up just a little bit more, as do your whines. “Now, now, do I need to silence you? You were doing so good, baby,” he says, colliding his fingertips with your cheek once again, making you go quiet. You shake your head ‘No’. He takes hold of your face, covering your mouth with his hand as he looks down into your eyes. “Then give me another, right now,” he demands, stilling his hips against yours but continuing to spell his name over your bundle of nerves over and over and over again. 

“F–fuck, Harry,” your body works into overdrive as you hit the peak of the mountain again; toppling over the edge of pleasure and coming down fast, headed right for rock bottom but not before Harry swiftly pulls himself out of you, and flipping you over onto your tummy. You gasp in surprise. He enters you again from behind, you reach back to grasp his hip, attempting to push him back. 

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m not done with you yet,” he growls in your ear. Grasping both of your arms, he folds them against your lower back in one hand.

“Y-you said, f-four,” you whine into the comforter.

“Did I?” he grins above you. “Hm, guess that makes me a liar too, doesn’t it?" he chuckles darkly, his free hand landing smack after smack on your ass. "C’mon pretty, give me number five.”

“H-harry, I–I ca-can’t.”

“You can, and you will,” he states matter of factly. Pulling your arms back with each thrust of his hips to hit every good angle inside your pussy. 

Your head is spinning, every nerve of yours is on fire. Sliding a hand down the expanse of your back, he presses his thumb into your ass, making you moan louder than you have all night. With every thrust of Harry’s hips it drives his thumb further into your ass making your eyes cross.

“G’na cum again, oh god, Harry. G’na cum!”

“Cum, baby. Give all of it to me,” your arousal comes in waves, squirting all over Harry’s abdomen and thighs. “Oh, yes, baby. There she is, such a dirty girl. C’mon, keep squirting all over this dick,” he groans. Leaning down to angle your head to smush his lips against yours. Your body is set ablaze; nobody has ever been able to set your senses on fire like this. Harry was your one in a million, and he finally saw that. He continues thrusting his hips, in and out, in and out milking every bit of your arousal from you that he can. Releasing your arms, he braces his hands near your head, biting down on your upper back as he fucks you into the mattress.

“W-where do you want my cum, baby?” He asks breathlessly, sinking his teeth back into your skin.

“I-inside. Fill me up, Harry,” you moan into the blanket beneath you, your knuckles turning white from your grip.

“Don't have to tell me twice,” he grunts, “G’na fill this pussy up with my babies. Make you all swollen for me. Then those boys will know who you belong to. You want that? Hm?” 

“F-Fuck, yes, Harry. Make me yours,” you cry out, fisting the comforter in your hands. He stills against you; filling you to the brim. “S-shit, Harry. So good, baby. So good.”

“Shit, pretty—you’re so good. Best I ever had, swear to god. Such a good girl,” he moans against your skin. “Perfect f’me.”

The months of brooding just kept him away from what was his; you. Everything about you. The smile he fell in love with at first sight, but refused to admit it. The sounds of your laughter filling the air. The way your face reddened every time he kissed your cheek goodbye. The gleam in your eyes when you got particularly excited about something, especially if it was considered taboo. You were his dirty girl.

He was leaning against the counter as you two discussed everything. The one question you’d asked him that he didn’t really want to answer at the time. “Do you believe in love?” His response, “I’d like to, but it’s not for me,” and it broke your heart. He didn’t think he was deserving. He just wanted to run his business, and move on. He ignored every pang in his chest when he thought about you. But looking at you here and now, his arms wrapped around you as you stood in your hotel room shower, his heart has never felt more full.

“I think I have to change my answer to one of your previous questions.” He says, running his hands over your water slicked skin, rubbing circles on your hips with his thumbs.

“Mm, which one would that be?” You ask, turning your head to look up at him, cheek pressed against his chest, your fingers tangled in his wet curls.

“If I believe in love.”

“And?” You question, a sly smile forming on your lips.

“If I get to experience it with you, then I absolutely believe in love,” he leans down to softly kiss your lips, pulling you as close to him as possible. “But you were right about one thing,” he whispers as he pulls away for a split second, taking in the gigantic smile on your face. Your eyes searching for any sense of deception. 

There is none.

“What’s that?” you ask, bringing a hand down to cup his face; you run your thumb across his bottom lip.

“I didn’t do feelings. Not until you,” and he’s kissing you again.

c/n: weeeeell. what do we think? 🙈 I know it says final up there but I think I may do a check in or two for our pair here. We shall see!! Thank you for coming along this journey with them! I hope you enjoyed!

please like &/or reblog if you enjoyed!

#harry styles fanfiction #harry edward styles #harry styles writing #harry edward style #harry styles imagine #harry smut #harry imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #Harry x you #Harry x reader

[luvtak]

lullabye, lmh x reader

✧ genre/tw minho comforting you when you can't sleep <3 fluff to the highest caliber, one very sleepy sweet kiss, unedited.

✧ w/c 974

The covers felt too heavy and the arm around your waist was uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Usually sleeping with your boyfriend brought safety and sweet dreams, but deep into the night you still can’t find respite. Laying in the dark to not disrupt Minho and begging for the sweet relief of sleep to take you away. 

 Earlier in the night you had cuddled up on the sofa to watch a horror movie, an endeavor that the man beside you enjoyed and you not so much. You avoid scary things at all cost–no haunted houses, no camping trip scary stories, and most definitely no ghost movies at ten o’clock. It’s silly, to be grown up and still so frightened of scary stories, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from feeling that familiar blanket of dread climbing up your back. 

You wished you could take back the happy smile you gave when he suggested it, but he looked so happy when he found it. You could’ve bottled the sound of his smiley voice when he asked, “What about this one, kitty!?” and you just couldn’t say no, even if you were terrified. When he was awake, it was easy to hide it from Minho, but the second his eyes closed and his breath steadied the shadows began to look more and more like made up creatures.

It’s while you’re tossing and turning and nestling further into the pillow; desperate to find the best position to fall into dreamland when his arm tightens–shocking you into stillness. It’s unlike Minho to wake up in the middle of the night, weirder still that his voice sounds fond rather than the sleepy irritation you were expecting. 

“Honey? Why are you moving around so much?” leaden with sleep and worry, the man sounds more desirable than he usually does. Turning around in his hold, you see his eyes for the first time since you laid down–wide and blurry, fighting the whispers of sleep to bore right into your own. His hand slinks lower, from your waist to your hip, and begins a steady tapping in hopes to calm you. 

“I don’t know, I just can’t get comfortable I guess.” you hope he’ll take you at your word, but he knows you too well– knows the glimpse in your eye comes from fear rather than discomfort. Frowning, he pulls you right into his neck, rubbing at your back until he can hear you sigh. 

He whispers sweet words and quiet wishes, all while paying close attention to your rapid heart beat pressed against him; beating slower and slower as he speaks. 

“You should’ve told me you were scared, I never would’ve made you watch something you didn’t like.” His voice, while not much more than a whisper, resounded so loudly through your body: ringing through your ribcage and up into your heart until you felt at ease–an ability no one but him has ever pulled off. You don’t quite know how to tell him that you were embarrassed, that it was something you didn’t like talking about. 

Even more humiliating, you didn’t know how to say that watching scary movies with him could be addictive–the way his pretty eyes would get bigger and bigger as the story progressed… his hands pulling you closer to him as the score heightened. How could you vocalize how his little gasps of surprise made you feel, the same little gasps he would make when you kissed him in the spot beneath his ear. 

Sure, watching him laugh at something funny or roll his eyes at something dramatic would also make you swoon, but there was something with the horror that became magic. Maybe it was the fact that he liked it, but you feel more that it’s his allowance to feel vulnerable. That he’s letting you see him scared and surprised, that instead of pulling away he pushes in. 

Instead of this, you tell him, “Don’t worry, Bunny, I wanted to watch it too.”

“But you’re scared! And you can’t sleep!”

“That's just the consequence of a good time, baby.” 

While he does laugh, he doesn’t seem happy. Saddened by the thought of you lying alone, anxious and dreamless, while he slept soundly. 

You see the guilt, etching itself in the downward curve of his mouth and the grasp his fingers have on your back, and you will it away. He’s not at fault for you not speaking up, no matter how deeply he feels he is. When you tell him this, speaking with all the sincerity you can muster, you see he doesn’t believe you. And so you do the next best thing, winding your hands around his neck to hold at his cheeks–soft skin melting your fingertips and bringing with it dancing goosebumps along your skin. Slowly, with the same tenderness one takes with a wounded animal, your face approaches his–smiling when you see his eyelashes flutter close and settling your lips atop his. He responds with a sentimentality that is unlike him, slow and sure of himself. Your name on the tip of his tongue as he kisses deeper–mouth opening with a smile and tongue swiping needlessly at the seam of your lips.

 It’s quiet and intimate in a way that only 2 am can bring–sleepy and clumsy in all the best ways. 

When you break away, it feels much later than it was–the sandman finally coming to your call and settling sleep into your bones. But you’re still a little scared, and Minho can tell, so he holds you closer to his chest: your ear laying where his heart sits and listening as he begins to hum. 

It’s a song you think you must know, sad and peaceful in the late evening light, and the mourning melody lulls you to sleep. The wordless melody following you into dreamland until the sun comes up. 

© LUVTAK

#lee know #lee know x reader #lee know x you #skz x reader #skz scenarios #lee know scenarios #lee know fluff #skz fluff #lee minho #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagine #minho imagines #lee know imagines

[seresinhangmanjake]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader - We Both Know

Summary: Simon broke up with you but you both know it was a stupid choice.

Notes/Warnings: Stalker-ish Ex!Simon; Soft!Simon; Insecure!Simon (a little bit); some smut (18+), fluff, cursing, typos probably

Words: 1642

He’s here. You know he’s here. Not because you can see him or hear him or feel him—he’s too skilled for that—but because you know Simon Riley like the back of your damn hand. And Simon Riley won’t let you go. He has not proven himself capable of letting you go. Not yet, not fully, and if you can help it, not ever.

When you close the door behind you and kick off your shoes, you don’t bother turning on the lights. You’ve spent nearly two months flipping that switch in your entryway, pretending he isn’t somewhere in your apartment. Two months of going about your nightly routine as if there isn’t an intruder in your home. Two months of ignoring the soft shutting of your front door or window once you’ve settled into bed. But you’re tired of playing this game, and frankly, you miss him—the man; not the ghost who has been haunting you, trailing you, hiding in plain sight.

“You've been watching me,” you announce into the void. 

A handful of beats pass but not for a second do you let yourself believe you’re crazy for attempting to converse with blackness and silence. Then the little cord on your lamp is pulled by thick fingers, illuminating the side of the apartment where he stands. He’s a shadow in the corner of your living room, drenched in black from head to toe, skull-printed balaclava included, and it takes everything in you not to rush to his side, shove that piece of fabric up over his chin, and kiss him.

“You've made it necessary,” he scolds; the first words he has spoken to you in nearly sixty-five days. It’s the longest he has forced you to go without hearing his voice, having been attached at the hip since you met; and having that smooth, deep tone in your ear is like soaking your body in a hot bath, sloughing off the wear and dirt and grime to come out renewed and refreshed.

You nod because you know what you’ve been doing. You’ve known your choices would bring him back to you. You hoped, at least. But you also hoped he would give himself and his stalker behavior up long before you would have to call him out. He’s usually much more possessive when you spend your evenings drinking and freely dancing amongst crowds, and the thought of you flirting with other men has always put him in a sour mood. You thought seeing it up close would make his vision go red, but he's held himself back. However, you suppose him watching and following you from a distance is better than not caring to watch or follow you at all. 

“You're not being safe,” he tells you. 

“You mean I'm doing things you're not happy with.”

Simon doesn't respond to that. He can’t, because you’re absolutely right and he isn’t the type to disrespect you by lying to your face.

“You broke up with me to—what was it—‘live my life’ while you're gone? Do you really have a right to be pissed at me for getting a head start?” you ask as you take steps further into the apartment and toss your purse on the counter. “If that's the case, maybe you should've dumped me a little closer to your deployment date so you wouldn’t have to witness it.”

Now you do feel him. You see him through the mask. He’s bubbling inside, the beginning of a boil, because he made a silly choice and doesn’t like to be reminded of his mistakes. He hasn’t exactly voiced that, specifically, but it’s the truth. It was silly. It’s also the truth—though again, not specifically expressed—that he regretted it the very minute he walked away from you, leaving you in tears because he is the one afraid of what will happen when the two of you face his first deployment in your relationship. He is afraid to come back home expecting a loving welcome only to find disappointment if you’ve chosen to seek out the comfort of another man. So, ‘Don’t let me hold you back, love’’ he’d told you. ‘Live your life, and I’ll figure out what to do with myself.’

Simon groans, grumbles, vibrates the room. He begins to close the distance between you until he thinks better of it and halts beside your couch. “I did it because–”

“Do you miss me?” 

“That is not rela–”

“Do, you, miss, me,” you press.

He swallows hard, Adam’s apple protruding under the balaclava. His fist clenches at his side. You don’t think he's going to give you the satisfaction, but then he sighs and says, “Of course I fucking miss you.”

Your breath catches in your throat and your vision starts to blur at the edges. Those words heal the bits of your heart that he broke when he left.

“Then don’t be stupid,” you say, crossing the room until your chest is nearly pressed against his. You rest your hand on his cheek, or what would be his cheek if not for the mask. “Don't make us spend your last week here apart from one another.”

With another exhale, his shoulders loosen their rigidity, and in that moment you know you have him.

“Fuck me, Si,” you whisper. 

His eyes flick to yours. A flash burns through his irises.

“It'll just make it harder.” That pathetic argument betrays his actions. One of his palms instantly goes to your waist, gently tracing the curve. The gesture is so natural between you you’re not sure if he even knows he’s doing it. 

“I promise it won’t,” you say. 

Then your hands slide along his shoulders to grip his biceps and you slowly turn his body until you can push him into a seated position on the couch. He lets you lead. He lets you staddle his lap. He lets you lift the mask a few inches and connect your lips as you grind your hips down, hardening him within his pants. 

Simon’s fingers squeeze your thighs. They travel to your hips, encouraging your movements, before they continue a path up your spine. With his tongue in your mouth, you lose track of his touch for some time until he’s settled on a placement for his hands. One wrapped around your waist, hugging you tight; the other woven into your hair, holding you in place as his kisses swell your lips, verging on bruising. 

“Come on, baby,” you mutter into his ear when you break the connection to breathe. “Don’t you want to be all warm and snug inside me? Don’t you miss how well you fit? Like my pussy was made for you, right? That’s what you’ve always said.”

You know how it sounds. It’s desperate and needy, but you don’t care. You’re begging, not just for the man who sets your body aflame, but for the man who altered the trajectory of your life when he entered it. The man you refuse to live without. 

“Love–” he starts, but his groan from the nibbles you give to his neck interrupts him. 

“You can rest deep in me for a while if you want. I’ll stay perfectly still for you. Or I can go nice and slow the way you like.”

Moving your head back, you stop the shifting of your hips and lock your gazes. You pointlessly wait for him to deny you. Pointlessly because Simon Riley doesn’t deny you in situations like this. The equal balance of your need for one another has made that impossible, so it doesn’t surprise you one bit when he nods in agreement.

Your thumbs delicately guide the balaclava over his nose, but you stop there. Only he removes the mask. It’s his right; his decision to show his face and to whom. You are one of the lucky ones, but you’ve never taken advantage of that gift. 

With one hand, Simon grips the top of his mask and jerks it the rest of the way off his head—hair sticking out in a million directions—as he sneaks his other between your bodies to undo the button of his pants. He lifts his hips, bouncing you on his lap, before you do the same so he can push his pants down his thighs. 

You don’t spend time marveling at the thick column of flesh he’s pumping with his fist. You know everything about his cock. Every ridge and valley from base to tip. Every vein. Every inch of him you have memorized, and you’re too hungry to waste another second without him where you want him most.

When Simon finally slides inside of you, you hum in satisfied delight. Like basking in the heat of the sun after the chill of Winter. Like the first bite of your favorite ice cream hitting your tongue. Like quenching a thirst. Like coming home. 

Simon’s head falls back against the couch and his chest heaves with heavy inhales and exhales. His eyes are closed, but you catch a hint of a smile on his face.

“We feel so good together, Si,” you say, slowly rubbing your hand up and down his chest. “I want this when you return. Don’t you want this when you return?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then why deprive yourself of what you love? Especially when what you love wants you so bad.”

He lifts his head and reaches up to brush his knuckle from your cheekbone to your chin. “I was trying to make it easier.”

Palms cupping his jaw, you run your thumb over his bottom lip. “Fuck easy.”

“Love, it’ll be a year. No less.”

“I don’t care,” you swear. You start to rise and then you sink back down onto him. “I'll be waiting for you, Simon.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #modern warefare ii #mw2 cod #mw2 #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley fic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley fanfiction #simon riley fluff

[yxami]

I’m bored and don’t wanna go to bed RAA

Yandere ghost that traces your veins with his fingertips, providing a cool sensation as your chest rises up and down from a quiet slumber. He’s desperate to do more but he doesn’t want to wake you up from the chills he gives.

Not when you have work tomorrow, you’d likely wake up with darker under eyes and a scowling expression all day. He’s always left pouting whenever you even look slightly upset. He can sense when you knit your eyebrows in the lightest irritated way.

He wishes it was possible for you to sense his touch, to feel his love through his hands and mouth, but it’s not possible. And it pains him to accept that fact. He’s almost deluded himself into thinking that some day he can.

And that day comes. Well, you should probably say night, because the night that you sense his cold fingers run across your arm, it makes you jump up from your peaceful dream to see the large man draped over you with his hand retreated back into his other.

“Wh—what the fuck?!” You screamed, slamming back into your bed frame, throwing a stinging feeling into your spine. You were about to let another shriek escape from your lips before he covers it with his hand, straddling your lap to make sure you couldn’t run away.

“Please..! Please don’t scream.. I’m sorry for waking you up, I didn’t know you could sense my touch.. it’s never happened before” He looks at you before looking at his hand to realize you could see and hear him as well.

You could see him!!

“What the fuck are you?” Your face is filled with worry and confusion, his ghostly presence is something you’ve never encountered nor even heard of before.

A ghost man? Appearing in your lap? This has to be another dream, a weird one at that!

“I’m a human! Well, I used to be, now I’m just a ghost. I’m not sure why you can sense my touch now” He stares into your now less widened eyes, never moving an inch from your thighs as he sits comfortably. You weren’t sure if it was an effort to keep you in place or just because he liked it.

“Now?? You’ve been touching me in my sleep before??” You look concerned and worried.

“Don’t say it like that!! I’ve just been grazing my fingers across your arms” He waves his hands in-front of him, turning into a flustered puddle of mess. He was so red in the face from embarrassment, even with his pale look.

“And why have you been doing that?” You sighed, now more confident that this man could do not harm, he looked more like a scared puppy rather than an undead ghost that would haunt you for the rest of your life for whatever reason.

“Because… I’m.. um” His voice hitches in a higher pitch, obviously not prepared for such a direct question. Should he really confess here and now?

“Your..?” You egg him on, expecting a quicker answer now that you responded back. You glanced at him still in your lap, seemingly used to being in the area now, you made no effort to move him.

You wondered whether you could touch him back so you placed your hands on either side of his hips, making him jump from your warm touch.

“Hey!! At least warn me before you grab me” He whines, looking more flustered than before. He couldn’t believe you were just placing your hands all over him without asking. It was hot but still caught him off guard!

“Sorry, I was just wondering if I could also touch you” You rub his side for extra measure and then placed your hands to grab at your cotton bed sheets, awaiting for him to initiate some sort of conversation.

“So.. um.. can I still stay in your house?” He asks awkwardly, hoping your answer would be yes. He winces at the painful silence in between your response, assuming that it was a negative one.

“Fine, but no more touching me in the middle of the night” You look at him, folding your arms as if you were scolding a dog for going through the garbage for the 50th time.

“Stop saying it like that!!!” He whines again, embarrassed by your choice of wording, he felt like it sounded more inappropriate then what he was actually doing.

He sighed after you laughed at his tone and expression, realizing you’d continue teasing him. He was just glad you weren’t creeped out from his lovesick actions. Now, he had to get used to the fact he could touch you but not as intimately as he wanted it to be.

It would take a bit before he could win your heart.

#yxami’s yam #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #pls request #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere male #yandere ghost #ghost yandere #yan ghost #Halloween yandere #dead yandere #yandere boy #yandere x reader #yandere x willing reader

[toxicanonymity]

I really think raider joel is my favorite. He’s the worst, he is such an awful person, but he’s so sweet and tender and I really believe he would protect me and keep me safe and just make me his sex prisoner, but in a really cozy domestic way. He’s so hot I can’t think straight. I’d shoot Jack myself for more raider Joel.

Stash House

850 | raider!Joel x f!reader | masterlist

mood board by @milla-frenchy

Requested: @ess-perspective-blog this is your request hope you like it. @swedishscumfuck for the manhandling. @xdaddysprincessxx for the javi clip.

WARNINGS: I8+ dark!Joel, kidnapping, blindfold, very dubcon exhibitionist P in V, violence (toward men), humiliation, Reader can sit on Joel. This is third. Can read alone or Raider Masterlist.

You’re sitting in Joel’s lap in a van full of raiders on the way to their stash house. He didn’t want you sitting next to anyone else.  You're blindfolded so you won’t know the location. Joel's hardness is already digging into you. Then, when they take a dirt road, the terrain bounces you and he swells harder with a deep inhale. His stiff cock vibrates you with the rough ride.  You’re throbbing, so wet you might soak through your pants. Joel holds you firmly on his lap, tight against his chest and belly.  He rests his nose against your neck and inhales. You ride in silence.  The other men obviously have a problem with you being there but are afraid to say anything and rightfully so.  

The van comes to stop and Joel takes off your blindfold.  They start getting out of the van and unloading.  

Finally, one of the men speaks up. 

“Should we really let her in-”  

Joel isn’t having it. “She stays with me and I’m not gonna tell you again.” From what you’ve seen so far, this feels like a generous warning. The man goes quiet. 

Joel wraps a big arm around you and wrangles you inside with your feet occasionally dragging on the gravel.  He doesn’t bother trying to hide his arousal.  He’s like an animal - his virility and ample size are part of his display of dominance.  

-

At the stash house, there are some men who weren't on the raid that day.  Joel forces you into a room that has some old, tattered furniture, contraband and stolen goods strewn about, and a few dirty cots.  Men are milling around talking to each other.  A few faces you haven’t seen before are sitting on the forlorn couch and chairs.  They turn and stare at you like a piece of meat. 

“Nice souvenir,” one of them says and they all stand up. They’re like sharks in the water and you’re chum. Joel’s nostrils flare as the one who spoke approaches. 

He shoves you onto a cot and says “stay put, sweet pea,”  then gets between you and the men and decks the cheeky one in the face, sending him stumbling.  Joel picks him up and holds his shirt while he punches him again then lets him fall to the ground and beats him until his face is bloody. 

“Don’t even think about touchin’ her.” 

You sit on the cot watching, still turned on from the ride.  Joel starts walking back to you, unbuckling his belt, chest rising and falling with rage.   He wraps a strong arm around you and grabs you by the waistband,  manhandling you onto your stomach.  Then he rips your pants down.  

He slides his fingers against your dripping seam and inhales sharply.  “I’m comin, sweet pea hold on” The swollen tip of his cock notches at your entrance, then he slams into you and your mouth falls open with the stretch of his girth.  He backs up half way, then pulls you back on his cock as he plunges further into you and bottoms out with a grunt. 

The men watch, and you try not to look at them, terrified of what Joel might do to you.  You focus your eyes on the haunted stains beneath you.  Joel's massive hand holds onto the edge of the dirty mattress for leverage, another hand on your shoulder as he rails you for the third time today, harder than ever.  Each time he buries his cruel length inside you, the knot in your core tenses more.  

He grabs you by the back of your neck and manhandles you up on your knees, your back arching.He pulls your shirt and bra up over your tits.  “Close your eyes, baby.” You pinch your lids shut and he angles you just slightly toward the men. 

“Fellas, take a good look ‘cause it's your last." 

He gropes your breasts as he brutally pummels you from the back harder, faster, grunting and breathing heavily as his thick cock pistons into you.  One of his hands comes to your clit, then he flattens that hand against you for leverage as he holds his other arm across your breasts.  He slams into you with more power and speed than you could have imagined and his breath becomes ragged. He tightens his grip with both arms, bringing you as close as possible so his power doesn't send you flying.

With a long shudder, he begins to erupt inside you. He slows his pace but plunges into you just as hard, grunting with each pulse.   The pulsation of his cock and the sound of his pleasure sends you over the edge and you fail to suppress a moan.  Your face gets hot with shame, but your climax doesn't stop.  You clench around his hard cock as he fills you with his seed, and these terrible men watch it all.

You catch your breath. He inhales your neck and his hands gently rove your breasts and abdomen as you briefly recover.  He kisses your neck with his mouth closed and whispers, "you did great, baby." 

He fixes your clothes and his, then addresses the men again. "Don't even look in her direction. Understand?"

They murmur their agreement then cower away and Joel lets you rest on the dirty mattress facing away from everyone while they unload their new spoils. 

-

Next: shooting practice drabble; Raider 4: Failed Escape

Thank you for reading and engaging!! Y'all are the best. Also, a couple of other raider Joel requests have def been consistent with where I see it going, it's just that idk if we're there yet so hang tight 😉.

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fic #toxicanonymity ☠️ #possessive!joel #joel miller fanfiction #raider!joel #raider!joel miller #OG!raider☠️

[inoreuct]

punkflower where hobie loves the morales family, loves how they’re becoming HIS family.

still, the first time jeff calls him “son”, he has such a visceral reaction.

he knows it’s coming from a good place and he knows he should be touched, but he’s only ever been called son in a condescending way. in a “know your place beneath me and stay in it” way. he feels so sick all of a sudden, nausea roiling in his gut, and his knee bangs against the underside of the table as he screeches his chair back and mutters a shaky “’scuse me”.

he hears rio’s concerned call of his name, sees the confusion and dread on jeff’s face right before he turns and leaves. he doesn’t stop until he’s up on the roof, ducking into the bottom of the water tower and collapsing into a corner.

stupid. it’s so stupid, and it pisses him off how tears are burning down his cheeks.

hobie scrubs them away with the back of his wrist even as he hears the door to the roof creak open, hears the familiar gait that he knows belongs to miles. he keeps his face turned away as his boyfriend appears in his line of sight, stepping gingerly like if he moved too fast hobie would break.

the punk sniffs angrily, the spikes on his cuff poking his cheek as he wipes his tears again. a hand brushes his against the ground as miles sits down beside him, close enough to touch but not quite.

he waits. for miles to say something, anything; to ask for an explanation, or offer words of comfort that will ultimately only make him feel worse.

in the end, it’s him that breaks the silence.

“i’m sorry,” he offers, and cringes. his voice is thick like rusted metal, scratchy in his throat. it’s scraping up against old wounds that never really healed, pulling at scabs to draw fresh blood, and it stings. “m’sorry, i just— he’s—” it feels damning to even say these words, but it’s the truth, and hobie’s never been a good liar.

doesn’t mean it’s not eating him alive, though.

“he’s still a cop, miles,” he chokes out, guilt winching around his lungs like a parasite, “and the last time a cop called me son—” hobie’s breath shudders out of his lungs as miles crawls into his space, ducking his head beneath hobie’s arm to press the punk’s face to his chest.

“i know,” miles murmurs, wrapping his fingers around hobie’s nape as hobie scrunches a desperate fist into the back of his shirt. “i know. i understand.”

hobie doesn’t think he really does, but that’s okay. if hobie has any say in it, miles will never have to go through what he did and understand what it’s like.

his voice is meek as he asks, “are they mad?”

“‘course not.” miles clicks his tongue, gently admonishing, like it’s a fact hobie should know by now; his fingers trace gentle circles into hobie’s skin. “just worried. hope you know my mama’s gonna feed you thrice the usual serving of tres leches when we get back.”

that gets a chuckle out of him at least, but the look on jeff’s face still haunts him, burned front and centre into his mind’s eye like an afterimage. “and your dad?” he feels miles go still, doesn’t resist as his boyfriend pulls back to look hobie in the eye. his voice is terribly gentle.

“he understands. it’s okay.”

hobie doesn’t think it’s okay. it doesn’t feel very okay. jeff had disliked him at first and reasonably so; he’s nothing like a person anyone would want their kid to be with.

and yet the captain had let him into their home, accepted him as miles’s person, given him a place at the table. of course rio would have sat him down and shoved food into his hands regardless, but still—

“hobie.”

miles calls his attention back, and he looks up into wide, dark eyes. his heart burns.

“he knows what you’ve been through. he knows how much you’ve grown.” miles huffs a soft laugh, rubbing his thumb against hobie’s hairline. “do you remember that time we went to your concert?”

hobie nods; he doesn’t think he can speak just yet.

“you were so nervous about what he would think, but he was stressing about looking like an old man in front of your friends. he literally said that as your boyfriend’s dad he had to out-hip all the other guys his age.”

something twists in hobie’s chest. “he’s the coolest old man i know.” he pauses, frowning. “maybe after peter b.”

miles laughs again, quietly. “he cares about you.”

hobie doesn’t doubt that. he’d let jeff and rio learn about him piece by piece, and with every sliver of information jeff had softened more; he might be the captain of the PDNY, but he was also a father.

hobie’s never really had a father.

not until he was asked about whether he preferred waffles or pancakes. until he was consulted for advice on what to wear to a pride parade. until jeff only looked at his blue laces with a tentative expression and he was hesitantly slipped a phone number to call if he ever got into trouble in this dimension that he couldn’t get himself out of, a helpline should he ever need it.

so he gets up, takes a deep breath and hauls miles to his feet. his boots clomp down the stairs; he takes care not to fling open the door and when he sees jeff and rio hovering in the living room, he holds out his arms.

rio reaches him first. she’s shorter but fierce, pulling hobie down to hug him tight, and he feels like crying again.

miles slips close to cling to his back, arms sliding around his waist, and hobie watches jeff meet his eyes with something almost anxious.

hobie’s lips twist in a smile. an i’m sorry and an it’s okay wrapped in one.

and maybe it really is okay, because when jeff comes around to squeeze them all together, hobie can’t help his relieved sigh as he thinks, this is what family’s supposed to feel like, certain as the next deep breath he takes and comforting like the broad hand that squeezes his shoulder.

fin.

#punkflower #hobie brown #miles morales #across the spiderverse #atsv #flowerpunk #miles x hobie #spiderverse #i love them so fucking much #jeff and rio care so much for this scrawny boy their son loves #hobie’s probably never had a proper father figure but as soon as jeff accepts him BAM #he’s getting dragged into talk about football and elections and the system #and he’s absolutely gobsmacked bcs jeff CARES about his opinion #rio and miles are peeking at them from around the corner and high-fiving

[moonit3]

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ❉ TWO FOR ONE ❉ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

➽ context warnings: yandere themes, noncon, teasing (like the male yandere touches your genitalia, but isn’t explicitly which type of genitalia) (receiving), blackmailing, cursed words, public sex, non consensual recording, isolation, gaslighting, unwanted touching, implied male masturbation, forced undressing (from reader’s part), implied future marking on reader.

➽ word count: 1.6k

➽ synopsis: coming back home for the summer break wasn’t the brightest idea, not when two people came to see you after giving you the worse experience of your life.

➽ yandere! twins x gn! reader

➽ a/n: it took a while, didn’t it? honestly it is my fault as i got many ideas for this one and write it over and over and over. but today i bring you this piece with not on, but two yanderes! also, keep in mind there is no romance between the twins (no incest at this blog!) , rather them working together to have reader to become their since they share. enjoy today writing, my dear! and happy christmas to those who celebrate, if not a happy Monday!

returning to your hometown feels nostalgic, seeing relatives that keep bothering you about how you still don’t have a significant other get you a little uncomfortable, but still nice to hear they carry about your lonely when away from them.

hearing about their life makes you wonder how the town changed when you were away, former classmates are already married while others started working overseas. it’s sounds amazing to see that everyone is following their life and you hope the two people you have in mind have changed, but you don’t want to seem them anymore…however you didn’t expected mother to invited them.

kai and kori, twins who were once your best friends from kindergarten and throughout high school. your family love them and the people from the town see them as the most beloved, however that doesn’t change the fact that you distance yourself from them when you went to study abroad and they are the main reason you choose to go to college somewhere far away from here.

their presence at your parents’ home makes you feel uneasy, everyone is laughing with them and happy about having two childhood friends of your around. nonetheless, when family went to rest after finish cleaning the dishes, you were forced by the twins to go outside with them.

sitting underneath the large tree, kai lays his head down at your shoulder with his hand caressing your hair while kori doesn’t want to leave your lap no matter what, although she is aware that your legs are getting numb anytime soon.

“a-ah, could you guys please let it go away from me?” you can’t move away from them, not when they are purposefully pressing their weight on you. “for real…i-i don’t…ugh…want to b-be around the t-two of you!”

instead of a reply, you hear kai snoring on your shoulder and your eyes observe kori drooling at your lap, luckily she isn’t dirtying your pants. however, that doesn’t change how your body is negatively reacting to them.

cold sweat dirtying your hair, body trembling whatever kori’s head got heavier in your lap or when kai’s grip got tighter, resulting in whines coming out of your mouth. they are pretending to be asleep to not let you go away from their touch, even though they are awake of your uncomfortable state.

the breeze hitting your face makes your skin crawl, going inside home to stay away from them and laying down with the fluffiest blankets are the ideal, in fact, coming home was the worse idea. your mind begs for you to get up and ran away and don’t look back at them. however with twins holding you down, your body fails to get away from them.

trembling and shaking of fear, you were ready to panic and call for help to the people inside home. yet, that never happened when kai’s hands reached for your neck and it brought you to unconscious instantly.

“one day, you will have to choose one of us, you know?” kori’s words haunted you. always whispering you that whatever she and kai came home to play with you, making you feel awkwardly around her. “and I know you are going to choose me~”

her smile, despite being a gentle one, often making you apprehensive about the mask she wears in for the people who come around. everyone sees her as the embodiment of perfection, a girl who stolen the heart of many and yet, she rejects them over and over. her heart already having an unwilling owner, you.

throughout high school, she forced convinced you to enroll in the same classes, always sitting close to you with hand closer to your body. her intentions were clear: isolating you from the rest of the students, preventing them from befriending you and leaving no chance from leaving her. after all, in her twisted mind, she is the only one who deserves your friendship.

when the class graduate, you thought it would the end from kori’s influence on your life with you leaving to attend a college overseas and she would study at the local one in the town. however, things didn’t go as planned when she made you come to a dinner at her house, with her family and most importantly, her twin brother.

you’d never really spoken to kai, not directly though. most of the time, his response were limited to nod and hum when you tried to talk with him. his silence attitude towards you made it hard to read him, making his presence enigmatic and slightly uncomfortable.

the first directly interaction with kai happened during a dinner before you left the town. he took the seat next to you, while kori settled in front of you with that classic smile of her. their parents discussed the result of their college admission exams, happy to have both been accepted into the local university. however, you couldn’t be happier, not when the twins’ presence made you uneasy.

amidst the family dinner, kori and kai were touching your body underneath the table, your discomfort being hide by the tablecloth.

below your fake smile, kai’s finger reaches the fly of your jeans and zipped down, ignoring the whines and protests coming out from your lips when his parents weren’t paying attention at you. behind his stoic face, he couldn’t be happier by feeling your lower area, taking his time to explore your sensitive genitalia.

when you felt one of his digit teasing the head of your genitalia, your immediately met kori’s eyes, ready to beg her to kick her brother’s leg with her high heels or do something to help you get out of this situation, but she didn’t. instead of being a helpful friend like you hope she should, her nailed hands reaches for her phone, already recording your violation under the tablecloth.

the dinner ended earlier when you gained enough courage to step up, ignoring the confuse looks from their parents when tears came out of your eyes, both asking if you were okay. you didn’t replied —instead, you quickly left their house in the middle of the night to never visit their house again.

unanswered calls from the twins, messages full of threats they would release the videos without your consent and how it would ruin your life if you didn’t obey them.

“what do you think your parents would tell you? seeing you being touched by kai so intimately and whining like a bitch?” kori was the most meaner between them, always sending those voice mail full of cursed words and calling you names that no one should. her status of being a popular girl around the town result in you become a outsider to everyone else, rumors of you being mean and rude to her made you become the evil person in the story. “you are going to willingly come crawling back to me. i know you will, after all, you are nothing without me.”

“you did like it. don’t be stupid, [name].” there was profanity sound in the missed call, his voice falling sometimes with wet sounds between his words. “a-actually, why don’t you come home? it been a while since you visit me and i-i really need to—fuck! i-i need to f-feel you…” it easy to say that you blocked their numbers after a while, completely hopelessly they would apologize for it.

the idea of going to the police and report them was your plan, but whatever you step closer to the station with the courage to speak out always ended when they started sending the video from unknown numbers and recently taken photos of you. realizing they were watching you daily, your couldn’t bare to tell the police about the incident nor anyone else, after all, who would have believed you?

when a letter from a college overseas accepting your request, you didn’t waste any second and left the town in the middle of the night, only saying goodbye to your parents. you wouldn’t never return to this place, no one sane would, but hearing mother and father begging you to visit them during the summer break hurt your heart, so you came home for just a day or so.

however, you never expect to them inviting the two people responsible for the greatest tragedy of your life.

as your nightmares dissolve into a realm of consciousness, a source coming from the blinding light of kori’s phone jerks you away from a deep sleep and you couldn’t understand why she is doing it.

with your vision slowly adjusting to the dark sky and the camera flash, you realize that kai was holding you restraint at his lap and your arms tied behind your back. a duct tape covering your lips, preventing you from screaming for help like the previous time.

“you are doing great, my love.” his breath at your neck makes you nauseous, it doesn’t help when you realize that you are nude in his lap. there is nothing covering your genitalia and nothing to hide your face from the photos. “after this, we will go somewhere more comfortable to take more photos, okay?”

his words doesn’t comfort you, it only make you struggle more for freedom when another picture is taken of you. this time kori is more closer to you, but not to take a photo of you like you expected, rather she just smiles at you.

her eyes stares into yours, making you unable to face another direction when her presence comes into your mind. it’s unbearable, but you have no options than following her eyes going down at your thigh, is she planning something?

“i think this will be the perfect place to mark you, [name]. so anyone who dares to touch you will see who truly owns you.”

@moonit3 writings

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere writing #yandere man #yandere woman #yandere girl #yandere male #yandere female #yandere boy #yandere headcanon #yandere hcs #yandere x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral insert #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #yandere smut #yandere noncon #tw: noncon #tw noncon #my oc kori #my oc kai #➥·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ moon writings

[sapphire-writes]

A Second Chance

pairing: Aemond x Reader request: Hello! Sorry to bother you but i have a little idea that came from all the reblogs you recently made! basically Aemond is away so Alicent requests that reader! Comes back after a long time to the red keep because she wants to see her boy happy 🥺 of course its just a simple start but would love to see nice Alicent helping his baby ~ anonymous

warnings: none! this has the tiniest amount of angst but mostly fluff word count: 1.4k note: loved this, loved writing emotional Aemond & your messages are NEVER ever a bother! 💚 masterlist

“I was ever so sorry to hear of the death of your lord husband, Lady (Y/N),” Alicent said, giving you a look full of a mother’s compassion, “and so unfortunate he should leave you so quickly after you wed.”

You take a sip from your cup. The Queen had invited you to the capital and you had been delighted to return. Ever since you arrived your eyes had been searching for Aemond.

You had both left on such harsh terms those several years ago when your betrothal had been announced. You had been missing him for years, feeling as though a very piece of your own heart had been missing. 

“Thank you, your grace,” you tell her, speaking softly.

Your lord husband had been a kind man. Married to you as an alliance for your families and that was all. He was nearly twice your age, but he had been sweet to you. 

“My son has missed your presence,” Alicent tells you. 

“I was hoping to see the prince,” you said, heart rate increasing. 

Alicent nods, looking off to the side. Your smile falters as the realization washes over you at her hesitant glance.

“Aemond does not know I am here,” you tell her. It is a statement, not a question. 

Alicent struggles to keep the smile on her face. She brought her hand to yours, squeezing it gently. 

“I thought perhaps we shall surprise him,” she says softly.

“I do not think he wishes to see me,” you tell her, and feel a slash of pain in your heart. The wound is still fresh, though the years had passed. 

“Tell them not to let me go,” you had begged him, chasing him down an empty corridor. 

The one-eyed prince had stopped his long strides turning to face you. 

“Tell them you wish to marry me,” you had begged.

Aemond had been silent for many moments. 

“I cannot tell them what is not true.”

You remembered it as though it had happened yesterday. The cold look in his eye, so unlike that of which he usually awarded you. None of the kindness you had grown to love. 

“He does,” Alicent insists, “he has been terribly lonely these past years. Growing more resentful each day. I worry about him.”

In truth, you had never stopped thinking of Aemond. He plagued your thoughts at every moment. 

You blink away the tears that gather in your eyes.

“He shall be returning soon,” Alicent tells you, “join us for supper tonight, please.”

Her thumb continues to stroke the back of your hand, a hopeful look is in her eyes. You nod in agreement. 

Aemond remembered watching you go, the way your eyes had filled with tears. The look of betrayal on your face. That most of all. That has haunted most of his days since your departure. 

In truth, he had wished to marry you. But duty is often in conflict with matters of the heart. And duty demanded he remained unwed. 

And though it pained him to do so, he had to let you go. 

Aemond walks quickly to his chambers, eager to bathe and dress before joining his mother for dinner. The days have been long, and there is no feeling like that of being home. 

He hisses as he lowers himself into the tub, the hot water nipping at his pale skin. Aemond wishes to be done quickly, he doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts. He finds himself constantly training, reading, researching, and doing anything to distract himself from the constant thoughts that plague him.

You. 

It has been years since he last saw you since you last spoke. He supposed you must have several children by now. This did not make him sad, he hoped you had children to brighten your life. 

Aemond readied himself before making his way to his mother’s chambers. It was to be a small affair for supper that evening, as Aegon was entertaining some guests from the west. 

“Aemond,” Alicent said, as he arrived. She embraced her son whom she had not seen in several months. 

“It is good to see you, mother,” he said.

“I have missed you,” she told him, “I have invited a guest for dinner..”

“A guest?” Aemond questions, as the door opens. 

He turns and his breath catches in his throat as he sees you in the doorway. Your eyes are wide as you take him in. Aemond looks good, taller perhaps if that is possible. Leaner, the entirety of him is ropey muscles. He is handsome as ever, eyepatch securely covering his ruined eye. Aemond’s lips part.

“Hello Aemond,” you say softly smiling. 

“Lady (Y/N) has agreed to join us for supper, isn’t that lovely?” Alicent says, placing a hand on her son’s arm. 

Aemond jerks his head in a nod causing Alicent to smile. 

“I shall be but a moment,” she says, starting toward the door. She stops to caress your cheek, before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her. 

You inhale a shaky breath. 

“Are you well?” you ask as Aemond continues to stare, a rather innocent expression on his normally harsh face. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice hoarse. You wet your lips wringing your hands together. 

“Your mother invited me to the capital,” you tell him, “I did not know you had no part in the invitation.”

“My mother?” Aemond said, shaking his head. Of course, his mother. The hopeless romantic who always wanted more for her children than the hand she had been dealt. You nod. 

“She wished to offer her condolences,” you continue, walking towards the fireplace. You reach for a grape that lays on a golden tray. Aemond’s brow furrows.

“Condolences?” he asks, watching you pop the grape into your mouth. You chuckle.

“Shall you speak in questions all evening, my prince?” you tease before answering his question.

“My late husband has passed,” you inform him. A moment of pause lingers between you. 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Aemond says, “I do hope your children are weathering alright?”

You meet his eye, a blush beginning to creep onto your cheeks. Aemond wishes he could place his hands upon your cheeks, to feel the burning that resides underneath your smooth flesh. 

“We were not blessed with children,” you tell him, “my lord husband was not well, for the majority of our marriage.”

“Did he treat you well?” Aemond asks, voice turning to a tone of concern.

“Oh yes,” you assure him, “yes, he was very kind to me. But-”

You find yourself struggling to speak, struggling to find the right words.

“He did not love me,” you decide, “he did not desire me. It was a quiet marriage.”

Aemond is watching you carefully. How foolish he had been to let you slip from his fingers. The gods are good, they must be repaying him for his suffering in some way by returning you to him. By offering him a second chance. 

“I would,” Aemond says softly.

He walks over to you until he stands directly before you. 

“I would love you, I would desire you,” he tells you, “I do, I always have.”

Your eyes fill with tears and you shake your head. 

“You don’t have to say that-”

“I do, and I was a fool,” he continues, taking your hands in his, “I was a fool to let you leave when I loved you. I have loved you and continue to love you.”

The tears are freely flowing down your cheeks, dripping past your chin and onto the stone floor.

“There has not been a day that goes by where I do not think of you,” he continues, “there is not a corner of this world I could fly to where I did not see your face. In every passerby, in the light of the moon. You are everywhere. You are all-consuming.”

“Aemond,” you beg, not sure exactly if you wish him to stop or keep speaking. 

“I love you,” he insists, fingers digging into your waist. 

You bring your hands to his chest, pulling him towards you and connecting your mouths. The kiss is desperate and passionate, making up for the lost time. Aemond can feel the coolness from your tears caressing his face, and you start to laugh against his mouth. 

He kisses you again and again, swallowing the happy laughter that pours from your sweet lips. 

Queen Alicent stands outside the room, back pressed against the wood of the door, listening to your whispers, and laughter. She places a hand against her heart and closes her eyes, happy that her son has found the love he so longed for. 

note: hope you enjoyed I love me a good love confession, especially from our fave one-eyed prince 🥹

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targrayen x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond fluff #aemond angst #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond stannies #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd

[tripleyeeet]

IF THOUGHTS COULD TEASE (3)

SUMMARY: At the tiefling party, Astarion uses his Illithid powers to offer you another memory.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,771

WARNINGS: Unresolved sexual tension, heavy petting, Illithid abuse at it's finest. Sort of contains spoilers for Act I?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, welcome to day three of Haunted Hoedown! The prompt I chose was why do you keep following me? but I used it pretty loosely to be honest, so... whoops?

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The inner parts of the grove are bustling. Filled to the brim with celebratory bodies, everyone’s huddled up in their respective groups, talking amongst themselves over endless sloshes of ale that dizzy your brain. 

As the bonfire burns, you and the rest of your group glance around with interest. On either side of the party, merchants stand alongside tables of trinkets, grinning and guiding heavy pockets to their nicest wares, while, in the centre, a group of bards play joyous songs, singing along with a group that glides around in circles, dancing in patterned steps that onlookers like you can't help but watch.

“Gods, it’s such a rarity.” Pulling your attention from the dancers, Astarion sips a bottle of wine, turning to face you with a grin. “The whole… heroism thing.”

Narrowing your eyes, you give him a curious look, watching the way his gaze shifts between you and the bards, his lips only extending their excitement. “I guess being helpful has its benefits.” 

“Mm, like this free wine.” He nods —takes another long, careful sip, then smacks his lips. “Although, it’s certainly due for improvement. Tastes a bit of vinegar.” 

Standing at your other side, Wyll peeks around your frame to look at the both of you; a sudden look of interest filling his features. “True, but who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth?” 

After speaking, he offers Astarion a smug expression. One that the silver-haired elf reciprocates with an eye roll before he steps away, discarding any sort of verbal response in favour of moving further into the depths of the party. As he leaves you can’t help but snort, watching as Wyll chuckles and shakes his head, knowing exactly what he’s done. 

“Behave, Wyll. You know he isn’t fond of kindness,” you say, taking a sip of your own bottle. Inside, an amber ale tickles your lips, making you sigh in slight relief as the cool liquid slips down your aching throat.

The battle fought earlier had been rough. An ambush within the goblin camp’s prison had proved tougher than you anticipated, earning yourself a nasty lash to the throat that Shadowheart subsequently healed, still earning yourself a fair bit of bruising. 

Hours later, it still aches with every breath. Stinging with each sound that reverberates through your vocal cords as you pause to hear Wyll speak. 

“He doesn’t seem to mind your’s though.” 

While taking another sip, you raise your brow at his comment, watching the way he merely stares back, waiting for you to clue in. To realize that, despite attempting to hide your ever-growing niceties towards Astarion, it’s somehow become noticeable. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Fangs,” he reiterates, pointing towards one of the merchant tables —towards Astarion who’s still chugging his wine as he eyes up some wares. “You’ve gotten close.” 

“Have we?” You feel the aching of your throat uprise as you speak. Immediately feeling the pain send you into a fit of coughs, prompting Wyll to scoff. 

“You’re not very good at hiding it. Not like he is, anyway.”

As frustrating as it is, you know he’s right. Your deceptions are average at best. In the heat of a tense moment you can lie and cheat no problem but when it comes to Astarion and the way you’ve slowly grown more fond of his presence, it’s difficult to cloak.  

Humming in response, you take another sip of ale, hoping to wash away the pain before letting out a heavy breath. “I’m not hiding anything.” 

“No?” 

Offering the same smugness he gave Astarion just moments before, you quickly find yourself pushed to the edge, scrambling to find your footing within a conversation you never anticipated having.  

Sure, perhaps over the last few days it had become increasingly obvious that you and Astarion had grown rather close. Opting to choose each other’s company over everyone else’s, you could see the assumption brewing behind curious eyes. During raids, it wasn’t odd to see the two of you working together —you posing as the distraction while he went in for the kill from behind. And while looting, it was common knowledge at this point that the two of you would wander away to look for traps.

But obviously, it was all a symptom of continued happenstance. A build-up of time spent together without even realizing it. You weren’t friends by any means. Yes, you were fond of him in a way but, if anything, it was as if you were coworkers at best, working together when need be but still bickering off the clock. 

“I’m only nice to him because he’s nice to me.” It’s a childish answer. One that has Wyll grinning so wide it looks as if he might split in two, making you frown in response. 

“I’m just saying,” he says, pausing to raise his hands in innocence, even though he’s anything but. “The two of you seem to be connecting more and more at the hip as of late.”

“What, like you and Gale?” Your tone is uncharacteristically defensive. At least for Wyll. If it were Astarion you were speaking to the elf would hardly bat an eye. More than likely he’d just wave it off —change the subject and forget, but unfortunately, Wyll isn’t like that. 

“I didn’t realize you’d noticed,” he says sarcastically, watching the way you huff under your breath, taking one last sip before storming off, too tired to entertain the conversation further. 

It’s one thing to be teased by Astarion —with him, it’s practically expected. What with the way his voice carries within a conversation. Regardless of the subject matter, there’s always an inkling of sass in his words. A gentle beratement that often fills you with rage each time you’re at the receiving end of it. 

It’s the same feeling you get as you leave Wyll behind. Glaring forward while wandering the party, drinking your way through the outer rim, knowing it’s all futile. Now that Wyll’s seen the side of you that looks at Astarion as anything other than an annoyance, you’re doomed. Fated to hear a constant onslaught of questions and comments about your blooming camaraderie.  

As you trade your now empty drink for another, you scan the party until your eyes land on Astarion again, watching him slide up to a particularly tall tiefling who smiles at his presence. The two of them chat for a while, both of them leaning in, appearing more interested the deeper the conversation gets. 

It makes you smile seeing him almost happy. Considering that he’s almost always in a sour mood, it’s strange seeing such obvious enjoyment. To see his face light up amidst all the shit you’ve been through over the last few weeks. 

The only other time you’d seen him that happy was after he fed. After he tore his teeth from your sensitive flesh; a newfound energy coursing through his veins. The euphoria laced within his features was nothing short of breathtaking, and now that you know him a bit better you’re aware that when he spoke of the moment being a gift, for once he wasn’t lying. 

“You know it’s rude to stare, darling.” 

You nearly leap at the sound of his voice. Feeling its tone nestle into the crook of your neck, shamefully a soft yelp hurtles from your lips, causing him to laugh just as you turn on your heel. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

Immediately he shakes his head and brings his wine to his lips, giving it a lengthy taste before licking his lips. “Just came to see what you want. Seeing as you’ve been relentlessly following me around with that little gaze of yours.”

“Have not,” you scoff, a little too quickly. Your eagerness to lie painting your true intentions in the dirt beneath you. 

“So your eyes haven’t been looking upon me and that gorgeous tiefling over there?”

As his brow quirks up you find yourself scrambling. Searching through your thoughts for some sort of excuse. Perhaps you could simply say that you’re tired. That the alcohol you’ve consumed has managed to perforate your brain —that you’ve lost all sense of vision as you awkwardly blink and force out a yawn. If the performance is good enough you’re sure you could pull it off…

“Sorry, I’m just a bit tired.”

Somehow still amused, Astarion watches as you replace your words with a drink of ale, gulping down a hefty portion that has him smirking through the edge of his lips. “You know I’m joking, right?”

“Hm?”

“About being rude,” he explains. “In fact I’m happy to welcome all sorts of gazes. The more the merrier, my dear.”

Your face screws into a confusing stare that has him narrowing his eyes, looking back with the kind of interest that has your tadpole slithering back and forth.

It’s been a few days since you last felt it move this much. The last being when you and Shadowheart were communicating during a particularly rowdy fight with some ogres. Back then, all it felt like were a few simple twitches back and forth. A moment of confirmation between two parties before the feeling was erased and you were fit to return to normal. Said moment didn’t take up space within your thoughts. All it was was there and gone in a flash, so for Astarion’s occupancy to feel so different suddenly interests you. 

“Is there a reason you’re trying to get inside my head?” 

You raise your brow while he shrugs his shoulders, both of you then standing in silence while the party rages on, wondering what will happen if you let him in. What you’ll see once you inevitably give in to curiosity and open the gates. 

“There’s always a reason.” 

“Care to tell me what that reason is?”

He ponders for a moment, dramatically glancing around the grove before honing his gaze onto the aforementioned tiefling who offers a wave. For a moment, both of them share a look, one that appears almost like a warning before Astarion refocuses on you.

“Isn’t the whole point of these things to show instead of tell?”

He has a point. An unfortunately, stupid and fair point that has you releasing an annoyed breath and nodding your head.

The power of the Illithid, while still greatly unknown to both of you, at base level is just another form of communication. A way to discreetly speak to one another in the form of offered memories. 

“Sure, but having an actual conversation works too, you know.”

Astarion scoffs then, taking another sip that has him licking the points of his teeth before running it along the seams of his lips. Overall, the sight is… nice. The way the organ in his mouth glides across the tips of his canines, threatening to spill his own blood before circling out. 

Even you have to admit it works in winning you over to some degree. 

“Aren’t you enjoying such powers?” As he speaks, he takes a step closer, his base of frame bumping ever so gently into your shoulder as he leans down toward your ear. “Does it not interest you, seeing the world from someone else’s eyes?” 

You crane your neck to look at him fully. To see the teasing expression take over and match the tone of his voice —how it ghosts the shell of your ear. Upon impact, it makes your breath catch inside your sore windpipe, threatening a cough you’re quick to suppress by swallowing another sip of ale.

“Because personally, I think it’s well worth the price of discarded conversation,” he continues. “Why bother wasting my time with words you might not understand when I can just push my thoughts into yours?” 

At that point, you’re actually confused. Lost in translation just as he predicted. You’re not sure what he means by claiming your lack of understanding but you don’t admit it. Instead, you merely just take a step back, eyeing him with suspicion as you slowly let the creature behind your eye accept his message. 

When you do he smiles against the rim of his wine bottle, staring you down with half-open eyes that project the feeling of hands. Soft palms cascading across bare skin. 

A violent shiver runs up your spine almost immediately. The air within your lungs once again catches in your throat as your brows knit together, trying to place where the hands are going. At first, it feels like they’re starting at your hip. For a moment, there’s a rough press —a tightened grip that wraps around the bone, filling the space with a bit of pressure before it slides down your thigh, drawing new patterns. But then you feel it on your other thigh too, tiptoeing across the top before it finds purchase at the outer edge.

“What are y—“ 

Still unaware of the exact intention of the memory, Astarion interrupts your questioning with a simple gesture. An index finger raised to his lips, signalling a silence you reluctantly obey as you feel the hands hold both sides of your thighs, their thumbs ebbing to and fro.

Swallowing hard, you twitch against their movement, pushing your legs together while Astarion watches, his eyes fully immersed in your reactions. The way your face nervously twists once the arrival of hot air cascades between your thighs. How it wafts across your skin like heavy clouds moving through an electrical storm.

The longer it goes on, the more obvious it becomes that he’s amused. That your ongoing discomfort is nothing more than a form of entertainment. A method of his own personal, sadistic torture that has you threatening to sever the connection. 

“Oh, don’t be such a puritan,” he says then, clicking his tongue as he moves a step closer to bridge the gap. “I’m just showing you what I plan on doing later tonight.”

“Tonight?” 

Before he answers, there’s a kiss placed to your inner knee. A needy smack of lips and teeth that drag upward as you stand.

In response your mouth falls open without you realizing, a soft gasp coming out that makes Astarion snort.

“Yes. Are you hard of hearing or something? Distracted maybe?”

You grit your teeth, trying to withstand every sensation that overtakes you. The way the hands drift and the mouths feed —both of them working in tandem as they travel to the same spot you can feel aching within you. 

“It’s alright if you are. I understand. Such feelings can be overwhelming when it’s been a while.” 

Breathing through your nose, you watch as he smugly downs the final sips of his bottle. Throwing his head back, he exposes his neck in a way that makes you tighten your lips together, trying your best to remain calm as the hands that fill your mind continue their ascent, eliciting twitching flesh in their wake. 

At that point, you know you should call it quits —close the doors and lock them up never to be opened again. But something is stopping you. Something pulsing at the back of your mind, filling you with interest.

It’s always been blatantly obvious that Astarion’s friendship has been nothing more than a ruse. A farce carried out only to keep you close. When he treats you with kindness there’s a hidden agreement that looms in the shadows. An unofficial contract that states his affections will be met with trust. With a loyalty that he’ll more than likely never return. 

From the beginning, his intentions have always been ill and you know this. You see it wherever he is —whenever you speak. You can feel its falseness itching your skull each time he touches your skin or calls you pretty names.

It’s what he’s doing now with the Illithid. In the caverns of your mind, he’s showing you the benefits of his allegiance. The potential perks you’ll receive if you’re able to prove your worth, and to put it simply, it’s tempting. And not just for the sake of sex.

Suddenly, there’s a finger that strokes you gently as you stand before him, questioning his authority in the form of a raised brow that’s returned by him discarding the memory. 

Once it’s gone you can feel your breath slowly begin to return. Every thought in your head is clearer, not necessarily crystal, but with fewer distractions you can finally see the hefty rise and fall of his chest. 

“I hope you have fun with your tiefling,” you say then, letting yourself grin in such a petty way that you see his jaw shift ever so lightly before you turn on your heel and walk towards your tent.  -

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo @jjkchk (if you'd like to be added to the taglist fill out this form)

#if thoughts could tease #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

born to die - m. murdock

a/n: IM NOT DEAD i am very busy with finals but this has been rattling around the old noggin for a while now. i took a lot of inspiration from @ellephlox 's fic strawberry rhubarb which i 100% reccomend bc its better than most fics including this one! hope you enjoy! as always reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 warnings: oh boy. torture (cutting, burning) some sexually suggestive talk (nothing happens but it's not consensual) readers dad abused her, nightmares, lots of major character death (but not permeant) ANGST!!! but with a happy ending! kidnapping, medical stuff, cursing, and if i missed anything, let me know! word count: 4.8k summary: as matt murdock's wife, your life is rather full of surprises. getting kidnapped by wilson fisk takes the cake as the worst one. pairing: matt murdock x wife!reader now playing: born to die - lana del rey "choose your last words, this is the last time/'cause you and i, we were born to die"

You would think after patching him up too many times to count, five years without him, and countless sleepless nights worrying if he was alive, you would think you’d be used to Matt Murdock and his world of surprises.

And then you get kidnapped, so maybe you’re not so immune to surprises.

It’s really such a shame too, because you’re storming out of the apartment, too angry to take notice of your surroundings.

Silly, foolish, ditzy you.

Because it isn’t like Matt hasn’t told you time and time again that you need to be careful, especially when you go out alone at night. But he’s so angry that he doesn’t even think about the potential dangers of Hell’s Kitchen at three a.m. when Daredevil has been tucked away for the night and Matt Murdock comes back out to play.

He’s been taking more and more patrols because with Fisk being out of prison he can’t help but be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

How silly he was to think that maybe he could have it all—A successful law firm, good friends and a loving wife.

Silly, foolish, ditzy Matt.

But after a week of nonstop patrols, you’re both fed up and tired, and above all, you’re yearning for each other. Neither of you allow yourselves to be totally happy all the time. It would just make everything too easy.

So, after yelling at each other over, what? Patrols? Cases? Burnt dinners? You’re freezing on the streets, and you get about five blocks before you stop and rub your eyes.

This is dumb, you rationalize. Of course, you’re both stressed out and tired, but you’ve gotten through rougher times before, and you both made an oath. To each other, in front of his God, to love each other no matter what.

You realize you left your wedding ring on the table, the ghost of the metal around your finger haunting you. You were dumb for leaving and Matt was dumb for telling you to go. You’re made for each other.

You turn around to go back to your shared apartment, and then, someone grabs you from behind. Your first instinct is to yell for your husband, but you don’t get the chance to before you’re knocked out, by what you can only guess to be a gun or maybe a large fist.

• • •

You wake up in this dingy room, the lighting not suitable for much of anything except to make you afraid. The set up is almost comical and in a fucked up away, stereotypical for a kidnapping. You’re tied up to a chair, and the lights shine only bright enough so you can see shadows and rats scurrying along.

The air is this weird musk of salt and earth, and you realize you’re near the docks, and that’s about all you know about your current location.

Your head is still pounding from whatever it was you were hit with, but you can see another chair a few feet from you and a wooden table with various weapons laying on it. You don’t feel good about this one. Also on the table is an old school record player. You have no idea what the intention is with it.

You try to keep your cool, knowing that wherever you wander, your husband will not be very far off. That whatever is happening, he will be coming to find you no matter how upset he is for whatever it was you were fighting about earlier.

And then, out of the shadows, there he is. 

But he’s too big to be Matt, and he has a man standing next to him.

Frank, maybe?

And then you realize who this man is.

He’s Wilson Fisk, the kingpin who has done nothing but torture and kill people, shoving it in Matt’s face for years. Matt only met you after Fisk was put back in prison, and you know at some point in the five-year blip without Matt, he had escaped prison.

So, this is the first time you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Fisk. When he meets your eye, you do nothing but stare.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock. It’s a shame we must meet under these circumstances.” He tells you, taking a seat in front of you. His henchman stands behind the chair.

“It’s regretful to say the least.” You tell him, not intending to make any more of an enemy out of him than Matt already has, not right now.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your wedding. I remember my own, it was a rather special day.”

You know that was the day Matt took him down. The night that he, Karen and Foggy took him down.

“I’ve heard stories. It seemed like a lovely day.”

“You’re a much more gracious guest than your counterpart.”

“Well, I’m sure people say similar things about you and yours.”

He seems to consider this for a moment before nodding.

“You’re probably right about that, Mrs. Murdock. I wanted to tell you I’m terribly sorry these are the circumstances in which we are finally introduced. But it seems Mr. Murdock has been interested in finding out more about my endeavors. And you see, we simply cannot have that. I made a promise not to hurt Miss Page or Mr. Nelson but it seems you were not included in that deal.” Of course not, it had been a long time before you showed up. “So, you’re how we’re going to send Mr. Murdock a message.”

Huh.

So, this is how you die.

Well, you might as well go out with a bang.

“You see, Mrs. Murdock, When I was a boy—”

“I’m going to stop you, Mr. Fisk, because your sob story is rather dull. I know who you are. You were beaten by your father, just like I was. The difference is that I don’t use that as an excuse to murder my way to the top of the food chain. And you can torture me, assault me, whatever you feel you need to do. But if you think for a second that I’ll forget who’s coming to stop you, you are sorely mistaken. And if you think he’ll ever stop trying to find me, you do not know my husband very well.”

Fisk stares at you for a while, his gaze hardening into a glare.

“You’re right. You do know who I am. Because we’re rather similar.” He stands up and nods to the man nearby. “If Murdock can hear her far from here, make sure he hears her screaming.”

Then Wilson Fisk walks away, and you are left with the sickening gaze of a man who has no good intentions.

 The man goes to the record player and starts to play a song you recognize quickly as “Fly Me To The Moon” by Frank Sinatra. As he does this, he speaks,

“Hello, Mrs. Murdock. I’m John.” You stay quiet, and he just enjoys the song.

He picks up a knife from the table and goes to you, this grin on his face that makes you sick.

But you remember a trick from not only your childhood, but also from Frank who told you the key to remaining strong under torture—Distraction.

You stare straight ahead, trying not to mind as the man runs the knife over your skin. You think about Matt. You imagine him in his wedding suit, the smile he had on as you approached him down that aisle. You think about when he asked you to marry him, and—

A sharp pain slashes down your arm, cutting open the shirt you’re wearing. You yell in pain, before moving in to try and take deep breaths.

You can do this. Matt will be here soon.

You continue to breathe through the anxiety and the pain, trying not to think too hard about when John hums along to Sinatra’s voice, guiding his knife around your skin. Another cut finds itself on your shoulder.

This goes on for a while, with the classic song looping over and over again. John never seems to tire of it, no matter how badly you will for it to end. As the song ends in one particularly good loop, John hits your face hard, and your nose starts bleeding.

You try to think of Matt’s voice. You don’t listen to John’s torments, knowing it will only egg him on further. You just want him to burn at that point.

By the end of… Countless Frank Sinatra serenades, you have cuts littered around your body, dry blood on your face from your nose and tears running down your face. When he’s eventually done, two men cut you out from the chair and drag you along to a smaller, darker room. You are left in there with a small meal, and you just huddle against a corner, nearest a barred window out of your reach.

And then, you begin to speak for the first time since you saw Fisk.

“Matt,” You whisper, “I’m by the docks.” You tell him, not sure if he can even hear you. “Please, I’m sorry for everything, please just come find me..” You mumble, too tired and aching to try and do more.

• • •

The next day, or what you presume to be the next day since you have no way to tell how much time has passed, you’re woken up by a loud banging on the door of your.. cell..?

The same two men enter and drag you back to the room, where John waits for you.

“How are you feeling today, Mrs. Murdock?” He asks.

You glare.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

“What happened to the polite young woman Mr. Fisk and I met yesterday?”

You’re filled with unprecedented anger.

“I said, Fuck you!”

He wastes no time, grabbing a lighter off the table and starting the record player again. Once more, Frank Sinatra’s voice fills the room, and you’re pretty sure once you’re done with John, and then Fisk, you’ll bring Sinatra back from the dead just to kill him again.

You’ve never really been a violent person, but you suspect that it lives in the worst parts of you, just as it did with your own father. You’re much better at keeping it all at bay. Besides, it does you no good to be violent while you have Matt. He’s plenty angry for the both of you.

Oh, Matt..

This is how time passes for you. While John tortures you, burning you or carving into your skin, you think about how great it will be to choke the life out of the singer… And you think about Matt. When you’re in your dark little room, you talk to him. Even if he can’t hear you, you must hope that he’s looking for you.

• • •

Days pass. How long have you been here?

One night, you have the following dream:

It starts out as a memory. A memory of you and Matt. You’re lying in bed with him, and the sunlight is hitting his face just right. You love this memory, it’s one you recall often. He just has this angelic look to him.

Yeah, most people who encounter him, especially at night, meet the devil. But occasionally, you get glimpses of the angel you know he is. He’s sleeping, and you think in this state, he is the most relaxed you’ll ever see him.

Then, before your eyes, the dream shifts and you’re in this black void, on the ground.

Foggy, Karen, Frank, and Matt stand around you. You run to Matt but hit a clear shield keeping him from you. You bang on the glass, well, maybe it’s glass, you don’t know. You try to scream, but your voice never reaches your ears. You begin to look around, looking for a way out.

An eerie version of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ plays as you glance over to Foggy and watch in horror as his body begins to turn to ash, just like Matt and Karen did when they were blipped. You scream, banging against the shield, but your screams are silent.

You glance back and see the same thing happening to Frank. No, no, no! It was never supposed to happen this way! Frank and Foggy, they lived! They got their time! They don’t die like this!

And then Karen starts too. You start sobbing, not wanting her to go. You had missed her so much, and you only just got her back. But soon enough, she’s gone too, and you’re left in front of your husband.

His hand comes up to rest on the forcefield and he frowns softly.

He says your name gently, and then adds, “You know it couldn’t last forever, right?”

And then just as quickly as before, he is gone again. You remain there in that void, sobbing and screaming though no noise reaches you. This can’t be it! You just got him back, you needed him! You couldn’t take being alone for another five years… Or more…

The dream transforms and you’re in this grand ballroom. People are dancing elegantly and you’re in this.. obnoxious ball gown. But across the room, you can see Matt. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, with a red masquerade mask covering his face. The mask has little red devil horns on it.

Now, the orchestra plays their rendition of Sinatra’s romantic classic. And you step towards Matt, attempting to make your way towards him, only to be met with a masked man, beginning to twirl you around.

You jump from man to man, until eventually, you’re dancing with a man in an all-white suit, a man you quickly recognize as Fisk. No matter how hard you try to escape his grasp, he holds on tighter. The two of you stop dancing now, amid the crowd of moving bodies.

Fisk grabs your chin and tilts it in Matt’s direction, just in time for you to see him bowing to another woman, kissing the back of her hand. Your eyes widen and you think, this can’t be real.

“When I kill you,” Fisk says, “He’ll move on. You’re easily replaceable, Mrs. Murdock.”

And then, in an instant, the woman with Matt pulls out a dagger and plunges it deeply into his abdomen. It’s then that the other dancers, besides you, Fisk, Matt, and this mystery woman, disappear. Matt turns to you and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach.

He tries to crawl to you, blood seeping onto his hands and the beautiful ballroom floor. He yells your name, and the woman stabs him again from behind, and you watch as your husband dies. You hear him screaming, hear him yelling your name. But Wilson Fisk keeps you in place. You can do nothing but watch as Matt Murdock meets his end again, unable to save him. You start to scream, thrashing against Fisk, ready to claw your way to Matt.

You wake up screaming, the nightmare haunting you. A guard bangs on your door, yelling at you to keep it down.

It was just a nightmare, you tell yourself. Maybe Matt heard your screams.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You force yourself not to listen to the voice in your head that says that.

• • •

One day, Fisk visits again, only this time, He’s covered in blood. That damn song is still playing.

You just stare. They have long since stopped tying you up, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to try and fight back.  He has this sick grin on his face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Murdock.” You say nothing. “Have you been enjoying your stay with us?”

You glare.

“I hope Matt kills you when he gets here, because it will be a lot less painful for you if he does it instead of me.”

Mr. Fisk just laughs at this and tosses something at your feet. You get down off the chair to see what it is.

Your face goes pale with realization. You pick it up and slip it on your thumb, with it being too big for your other fingers. Matt’s wedding ring. You know it’s his, it has your name engraved in braille on the inside. How did he get this?

As if reading your mind, Fisk speaks again. “I took it off his body after I killed him.”

Your head shoots up to him. What did he say?

“No.” You deny. “Fuck off, I don’t—I don’t believe you.”

“Your husband is dead, Mrs. Murdock. I killed him with my bare hands because he was stupid enough to come after you. Your friends will mourn you and Matt Murdock for a while, and the city will come to the realization that Daredevil did nothing but harm. I win, Mrs. Murdock.”

You feel tears start to fill your eyes, and you realize, no. He hasn’t won because you’re still alive.

Maybe not for long, but you are.

You gather the rest of your energy and leap up, lunging at the large man covered in the man you love’s blood. And there’s a part of you that gets it. Okay, universe, you win. Most people don’t get a second chance like the two of you did. And now he’s dead, and soon you will be too. You can at least try to kill Fisk.

But you barely get a scratch in, yelling and screaming obscenities at him, as John grabs your arms from behind pulling you away. Fisk laughs and shakes his head again.

“It’s been lovely knowing you, Mrs. Murdock. I’m sorry you’ll have to die, you had so much potential. John, when you’re done doing whatever you’d like to her, kill her.” You hear him say it, but you’re blinded by rage, by grief.

John laughs behind you and forces you back into the chair, tying you back up once more. He looks at you, enraged and grief stricken, and just shakes his head.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun.”

He leaves for a few minutes, and you realize this is the first time you’ve been left alone in this room. You tug at the knots and realize that while John is a gifted torturer, he’s not much of a knot tier.

So you manage to wiggle out of the rope, approaching the table in front of you. You don’t have much time. Okay, maybe you won’t be able to kill Fisk, but John will do. You take a golf club off the table in front of you and turn to the record player.

You begin to smash the thing in, angrily cursing at it as Frank Sinatra’s voice fades off into nothing. When the song ends, the lights turn off. And then, red flood lights turn on in their place.

A back up generator. Lovely. You think that your smashing of the record player couldn’t possibly make the whole building’s power go off, but you don’t really care at that moment.

You’re tired. You won’t make it far, but you need to try. You grasp the club and open the door, being greeted with a man you don’t recognize. You smack him in the face with the club hard enough for him to fall to the ground.

The red lighting adds an eerie tone to the hallways as you creep around, concussing various henchmen that Fisk has working for him. You don’t mean to kill these ones, only John.

But you’re running out of stamina, peeking around corners. And that’s when you see him. John is just standing there like he knows you’re there.

“Come out to play, Mrs. Murdock?” He calls, approaching the corner where you are waiting on the other side.

You focus on his footsteps, taking a swing around the corner when you know he’s close enough. You hear a sharp crack! As he falls, and you can’t see the blood in this lighting. Good. You begin to hit his head in, sobs mixing with yelling. You hate him. You want him to die before you’re killed.

But you don’t get the pleasure, because a pair of arms are pulling you off him, and you begin yelling.

“No!” You yelp. “No, Fuck you! Let go of me! Stop!” You think it’s another one of his goons, and you just want to be able to finish the job before you die. The figure forces you to drop the club. “Please, stop, don’t hurt me—”

But he’s saying your name and turning you around to see him. You know that voice.

“Sweetheart, hey, it’s just me—” He pants, his hands going to your cheeks. “It’s me, It’s just me. I’ve got you.”

And you can’t believe your eyes.

“Matt..?” You whimper, not able to believe it. “No, you’re dead, this has to be—”

And then, Matt does something he wouldn’t do for anyone who wasn’t his wife. He pulls off his helmet so you can see his face. Oh.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He says softly, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

That’s when you start to sob, falling against him, no energy left to carry yourself. His arms wrap around you, and you say it again.

“He told me you were dead..”

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know how he got my ring but we’ve gotta get you out of here.” He tells you.

You’re so tired. You’re slumping against him as you try to walk, the warmth radiating off his body just drawing you to sleep.

The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Matt’s voice, begging you to stay awake.

• • •

You see flashes. Your parents, your dad. Nightmares of Fisk killing Karen, Foggy, Frank, and worst of all, Matt. You see John’s sickening grin on the body of spiders, and you’re chased by his cruel laughter.

But the dreams are filmier compared to what’s happening around you. You know Claire shows up at some point, and you’re thankful to her. Karen sits next to you sometimes, petting your hair, or sometimes it’s Foggy, talking your ear off.

You have fever dreams of Frank in full military gear, tormenting you.

“Not so tough now, huh, girl?” He teases. “You really thought you’d kill the big bad wolf? Solve all your boyfriend’s problems?”  

You say to him, “Husband, He’s my husband.”

• • •

Even in your dreams, where you were slashed and burned aches, and you long for the pain to end.

You wake up only once throughout these dreams, and it’s when Karen is playing music to try and calm you from your insistent nightmares.

Only one song snaps you out of it, and you hear it clear as day.

‘Fly me to the moon,” Sinatra sings, “Let me play among the stars,’

He only gets through a few more lines before you’re sitting up on the couch, screaming.

“No! Stop, please!” You cry, and in an instant, Matt’s arms are around you. “Matt, please, don’t let him hurt me, please! Please don’t die, don’t let him keep hurting me!” You beg, in a hazed, frenzied state.

“I’ve got you, No one’s going to hurt you..”

Karen turns off the music somewhere deep in the apartment.

“No..” You begin to grow tired in his arms again. “Matty, please.. You can’t die, please..” You whimper out, continuing to mumble out pleads as you fall back into your weird dream state.

• • •

You really wake up two days later. Matt’s hand is clasped over yours, and he’s just.. Sitting on the floor next to the couch, praying into your clasped hands.

Praying for what, you don’t know.

Your body aches. But something in you tells you you’re safe.

“Matt…?” You whisper gently, and his head shoots up.

“Hey..” He says softly, one hand leaving yours, coming up to brush your hair out of your face. “There she is..”

“You’re alive..”

He seems a little concerned you still had some doubts about this.

“I am. Fisk lied to you.. He never even touched me.” You nod.

“Did I kill him? The man you found me..”

“No. He’s just in a coma, I checked. He’ll be brought to justice.”

“I only wanted him dead when I thought you were too..” Because really, you would have nothing if Matt wasn’t there. Nothing to live for. When he was blipped away, you had the hardest time readjusting to life. Now you know if he died again, you’d probably go off the rails.

No love story is saved more than once. You used up all your luck. Now it will be doomed if he’s ever killed again.

“I know.” He said gently.

“How long have I been out? How long was I in there?”

“A week, and then you were out for four days here. They got you good, baby..” He says gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”

You frown softly.

“You did find me though. That’s all that really matters anymore.” You know you’ll be nursing scars for a long time. Physical or not.

“Still..” He said gently, and he brings your hand up to kiss it gently. “And I’m sorry I told you to leave that night. I was just upset, but this past week and half.. I feel like I’ve been going crazy without you. No matter how mad at you I am, I never want to spend another night without holding you. Knowing that you could have been…” His voice breaks, and he just sighs, taking a moment to lean his head on your hand. “I love you, so much.” He kisses your palm again.

How are you so tired again? All you’ve done is talk to him, but it feels like you just ran a marathon.

“I love you. It’s why I married you. Because you and I, we were always meant to be with each other. No matter what.”

He smiles weakly and reaches over to the coffee table to grab something. He slips it on your finger and for the first time in over a week, your wedding ring is back where it belongs. You see Matt is wearing his. Your Matt. Your husband. The only one you were ever meant to be with.

“Did Claire patch me up? I remember her being here..” He nods softly.

“Yeah, we.. we really owe her one. She was a huge help..”

“Karen and Foggy were here… And Frank?”

“No, no, Frank’s still in Illinois, I think?” You nod softly. “You were mumbling to him, though. I heard you… you were telling him you had a husband.”

You would laugh if it didn’t hurt.

“He called you my boyfriend. I had to correct him.” You grin.

“That’s my girl.” He hums. Matt gently lifts you so you can sit up and drink some water. Then, he climbs onto the couch and brings you close. His arms wrap around your freshly wounded skin and you have a rare moment of gratefulness for his blindness.

You sit in silence for a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

You think about it all. The torture, the cuts, burns, the small room. Fisk’s laughter, John’s grin. But something sticks out to you.

“Fisk said I was just like him.”

“What?”

“We.. We grew up similar, Matt, I mean.. What if he’s right? What if the only thing separating him and I is one bad move?”

Your husband frowns and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, you are the.. the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re the complete antithesis of Wilson Fisk. Yeah, you grew up like him, but you’re living proof that you don’t have to go down the path he did just because of his background. You and I both know that there will never be a world where you end up like him. Especially not with me.”

You find comfort with his words. Not only did you make every choice not to be like Fisk, but you must’ve also made all the right decisions if in the end, you ended up with Matt. Oh, it won’t be easy, you know that for sure. You’ll never be able to listen to Frank Sinatra, and your upcoming nights are filled with nightmares and hauntings.

But one day you’ll be okay. One day You’ll be able to sit in the silence without thinking about it. One day you’ll get the image of dead Matt out of your head. You’ve spent many nights wondering about who will go first, you or him.

And then you realize the best-case scenario is that the two of you die at the same time, never living another moment without each other.

How would there ever be a world where you and your husband weren’t with each other, even just for a moment?

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil fic #netflix daredevil #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock hurt/comfort #matt murdock my beloved #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending