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softlyspector · 8 months

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Moss & Mushrooms

Written for Haunted Hoedown !

Prompt(s): animal shapeshifter au + "he's a monster" + "he's perfect". With the additional prompts of "I accidentally called you into this world" + gothic au

Summary: You are alone, always. Then, one day, a beast emerges from the forest you've never dared to go into.

Pairing: shapeshifter!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~4.2k

Warnings: toxically co-dependent, unhealthy, literal nightmare relationship, body horror (also shapeshifter transformation type of things), graphic descriptions of violence, lots of blood, smut, marking, pain kink, light choking, intense biting, possessiveness, devotion and loyalty that threaten to go too far, mentions of death, suicidal ideation, intense loneliness, the reader wears a dress, the reader is described with having scars, bruises, only very lightly edited

A/N: I wanna say thank you to @psychedelic-ink and @inklore for hosting the Haunted Hoedown writing challenge because this really got the creative juices flowing and it was also just a lot of fun to write. Anyway! I'm throwing this into the void and running away. Thanks for reading!

Something monstrous looms.

It has claws and teeth, bristling fur.

It emerges from the shadows with a growl, from the depths of the ever whispering forest, the ever murmuring leaves.

Wind whips the trees back as darkness encroaches on the garden. You stand on the edge of the balcony, the widow’s walk, and watch it emerge from the forest, the writhing mass of dark trees, battered by the brewing storm, the thorny, irritated air.

The wind sears your skin, so cold it burns, so violent it tears.

The sky churns violet, navy, midnight. White moonlight cuts through the clouds, fingers of forked lightning spear through the roiling mass.

The creature writhes.

A wolf the size of a moose, you realize. Larger than any beast should be.

It’s nails dig into the earth, a howl like a thousand years of pain wrapped in velvet echo across the yard, across the churning ocean that crashes against the seawall on the other side of the house.

Your belly knots up, a thrill tingles at the base of your spine. You are alone on the coast. Your nearest neighbor is miles away. At least, they used to be, anyway.

A storm is rolling in, the power flickering already in the ruinous house you call home, gothic and stately and in utter disrepair.

It’s falling apart. Any moment it may fall to the ground, it may sink into the sea.

The wolf’s howl breaks off, cracks, snaps.

What if it prowled closer to the house? What if it came onto the porch below? What if it threw itself against the door, shattered its way inside? What if it attacked you? Consumed you?

All the blood in your face rushes down, gathers hotly in your chest. It thrills you, the thought of being trapped by the beast, the thing crawling closer to the house, lithe body sleek in the moonlight, in the gathering storm. It thrills you to think of it snapping you open, prying you apart, ending your misery.

You have the urge to go downstairs, open the door and invite it in. It could carve your heart out with its teeth, you could eat it together. Blood dripping from your chin, it’s maw.

You would no longer be alone on this stretch of coast beneath you, threatening to consume you and leave your bones behind, like all the others that had come before you. You could live inside the wolf.

The cracking, snapping continues. A howl begins again, then chokes off. The smooth coat of fur jostles. The creature stumbles, falls halfway across the garden. The noise continues, like twigs snapped and rocks thrown.

You watch the grotesque movement, fascinated, blood pumping, heart racing. The howl transforms into a moan, and then, the cracking, writhing stops. Your eyes are wide open but in the space of a blink the monster is replaced with a man.

Before you can really consider what you’re doing, you fetch up the lantern by your elbow and fly back through the double doors to the staircase that winds down through the many floors of the ancient house.

Something laughs, but you don’t pause to find out what. The fluttering wings of cobwebs and dust chase you down, down, down. Moss and mushrooms sprout from the damp of the walls, watching with hungry eyes.

You know as your bare feet hit the main floor and the white of your dress swirls around your ankles, that even if you had paused to think it over, you’d still be here, pulling open the back door as the electricity flickers out and the rain finally comes crashing down from the sky.

The lantern falls from your hand and you bolt out into the rain.

The beast, the man, is beautiful.

You can tell even through the sleeting, hammering rain blurring your vision.

The whole world is dark and wet. The whole of the earth is soaked in chilled blood. And you and the creature are the last of the warm bodies to stand atop it.

You curl one hand under his naked bicep and pull.

The man is nude. He’s hard to make out in the dark and the rain and the howling, snarling wind.

He follows you though, follows the touch of your hand, the press of your fingertips, like you are a glow of light in a dark tunnel and he the moth.

The earth squelches beneath your feet, mud squeezes between your toes and tugs at the hem of your dress.

He follows you up the decaying back stairs, straight through the still open doors, gauzy curtains fluttering in the storm winds, ripping at their fastenings.

As soon as you’re inside, the din of the rain is muted. The air is heavy with salt, like blood is in the air, like a sea of red has spilled across the dilapidated floorboards.

All you want is to look at him, but violence breaks loose from the monster turned man.

His hands are large, veiny and thick and crushing when he backs you into a wall.

He is naked in his entirety, and you can’t stop your eyes from spilling down his body. He cages you against the wall, thick forearms and biceps pressing you in tight. His chest is broad, littered with a smattering of wiry, dark hair. Scars criss cross his arms, his shoulders. Broad shoulders lead to a tapered waist and strong thighs.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, half hard and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. He’s big, thick.

You should not want this monster, this man without a name that has been gifted to you by a storm that seemed to be conjured right out of hell.

But he has been. He is yours.

He has been gifted to you.

Not the storm, you think. The forest. The dark green, solid black interior, has given him to you.

You can feel him, feel his soul, like fishing line connects you, is tied to the ventricles of your heart and his. If you pull away, it will tear, it will rip.

Your thighs ache. Tingling wanting sweeps from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. There’s a hollow space inside your belly, growling, hungry. Your pussy clenches and you almost reach for him.

The force of the wind blows a window open, slams it into a wall where it shatters with the impact. You glance into the stranger’s face, your eyes jerking up to his. He’s dripping with rainwater, hair slicked back from his forehead, black and gray in the moonlight, in the darkness of the storm and the house and your heart.

He looks, for all the world, like someone you once knew.

You can’t place who, water dripping into your eyes.

One hand curls around your throat, and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation. You shudder when your heels leave the floor. He lifts you until you’re left on your tiptoes, gasping.

You’ve never been lifted before, not in any kind of way, and certainly not like this. He’s strong, much too strong.

His eyes are dark, swallowed by black pupils. His teeth pull back from his lips in a snarl, white teeth flashing.

Maybe you don’t recognize him after all.

The darkness in his gaze makes you want to sink into the blank spots flashing in your vision. You force yourself to suck in a breath, force yourself not to get lost like a little lamb.

“Why did you call me here?”

His voice is deep and gritty. It’s a voice you would like to plunge your hands into, tweak into a melody, or something far more sinister.

“I didn’t,” you say. “How could I?”

He has crinkles by his eyes, the tops of his cheeks. His forehead is wrinkled with tension. His beard is mostly gray, his lips pink, like the only spot of color.

He’s beautiful.

And you want him so bad, you would let him pluck the veins from your body one by one if it meant he would keep looking at you, if it meant his attention was on you alone.

His gaze slides from your face to your body. Your dress is plastered to your frame with rainwater, wet and sticking. The white has been made transparent and there’s nothing left to his imagination. You may as well be nude. Goosebumps race across your skin.

The monster releases your throat and instead leans into you, his body so hot it burns. He inhales against you, his nose just below your ear. All you can do is hang on, dig blunt nails into the flesh of his shoulders. You feel the twist of muscle beneath your fingers, the sinewy pull of tendon along his spine.

The scent of rain and earth surrounds you, blood and pine. Like the forest just bore him into the world, like he is new.

Your taut nipples brush against his chest, lightning careening through your body. The ache between your thighs grows steadily, makes you twitch forward into him.

His stiff cock presses against your center, and you feel him inhale against your throat, bitten off in a growl that rocks the floorboards of the old house.

The earth shakes, like it’s thinking of cracking open to swallow you both down.

When he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder and throat, you groan. His bites so hard, your vision blurs with the pain. Your pussy clenches hard nothing and your hips rock forward into him, seeking pleasure to go along with the pain.

“This what you wanted?” He asks when he pulls his mouth away, hips rutting against yours. He licks over the wound, breathes you in again.

The wet fabric of your dress does little to dull the sensation, does nothing to protect you from the fire that looms inside.

You had it wrong, you are not a flame to his moth. You are a raindrop against a forest fire.

“I can fuckin’ smell what you want.” Blood sweeps down your neck in a heady rush, it soaks the front of your dress. His lips are red when he pulls back.

You tilt your chin back and nod, drunk on him, on the storm lashing at the house. “I missed you,” you say, and somehow it’s true. The twine that connects you to him pulls tighter and harder until you cry out, and you have to wonder if you did call him from some dark otherworld, if you made him from clay and darkness and saltwater and now he’s yours.

His eyes are familiar, the amber ring so small his eyes seem black.

Iron hot hands grip your hips, jerk you against him.

You’re nothing in his hands, incorporeal, like a ghost, like the world ended a long time ago and you’ve just been waiting to be found again.

Moss blooms on your soul, overtakes your lungs and your heart and your ribs, it consumes you and the house and the whole world.

There’s a tenderness in the way he lowers you to the floor, rotting planks of wood pressed into your spine. Your dress is rucked up around your waist.

The bulk of him settles heavily over you, his tongue sweeps against the mark he left on your shoulder. Something agonizingly loud chases the gods across the sky when he growls at the taste.

“We’re going to drown,” you breathe, air caught up in your chest. You clutch him closer, feel the bare press of his cock against your cunt for the first time, strong hands cradling your thighs, your hips. A shudder rakes up your spine, slices you open at the throat.

The monster answers, “Missed you, too.” He tugs down your bloodied collar, gaze sinking into your skin, sticking like a knife in your ribs. One huge hand passes over your breasts, pinches your nipples between rough fingertips until you cry out.

He’s inside you in one thrust. It hurts but that’s okay, because it means you aren’t alone. It means someone is finally at home with you.

He sets a brutal pace, grips you by your hips and then your ribs. Clawed fingers sink into your ribs, carve out pieces of your flesh, until more blood blooms. It's beautiful, like flowers opening in rain.

He covers your mouth with his when you scream and the whole world breaks apart.

He doesn’t know your name. He doesn’t want to know it. Doesn’t want to know what to call such a lonely little thing. Doesn’t want to know what to call something so powerfully alone, something so lost in loneliness it called him from one world into the next.

The rain hasn’t stopped. It pounds against the side of the house, against the weathered, creaking wood.

You carry a candle, body and hair and clothes dry now. The flame whispers gently, gutters between your fingers. Hot melted wax trails over your knuckles.

“Is there something I can call you?” You crouch and tilt your head, kneeling next to him where he lies on the floor.

He thinks he’s on the third floor, the hallway. He doesn’t remember how he got there.

He’d give you his name if he remembered it.

The side of your neck is bruised with his teeth, the outline of his mouth indented in your flesh. The sight makes his cock jump.

He feels like he knows you, but maybe you just feel familiar because he’s broken you from the inside out.

He doesn’t answer and you don’t seem to expect one. Your warm hand touches his shoulder.

He wants to have you again. He’s hungry for the nectar of your flesh. You taste like the sea, like the gales that blow against the creaking, ancient house. Like salt and rainwater and lightning. He wants to dig his hands into you, into the meat of your lungs so he can feel you breathing, into the chambers of your heart so he can feel which direction your blood flows.

He wants to be the one to stop your heart mid-beat, so it could always be his.

Breaking open your ribs, sucking the marrow from the interior, taking a bite from your soul—he thinks you’d thank him for something like that.

Your scent has mellowed out a little. You smell just like you taste, and now it's undercut with him, with the muskiness of him and the lingering want between your legs.

Thunder cracks overhead, splits the world in two. You don’t so much as flinch and he covers your warm hand. The storm seems to perpetually hover right above the house. It’s been days, and it’s still there.

He’s still coated in mud and you, his bones still hurt from the transition from beast to beast.

You’re tempting, lit in lamplight and the reflected glow of the moon.

He wonders if the sun ever rises here.

“You can stay,” you say. “I don’t know how you’ll get home.”

You voice is like a song that reminds him—

Joel. The name comes to him with a flash of lightning.

“Joel,” he tells you. He wants you to know.

“Joel,” you repeat.

His name sets off something dangerous in his mind, kicks something possessive and protective alive.

His.

His, his, his.

You belong to him.

He twists, and pushes you back. The candle in your hand tumbles to the floor and goes out. “Joel,” you coo again. “Joel.”

He pushes your skirt up, sees the shine of want on your pussy, your pretty cunt, still puffy from the last time he fucked you. Your thighs are rubbed raw from his beard.

He licks you there, sucks your clit between his lips. You moan, your hips buck, and he doesn’t stop. He wants all of it, that musky taste of you in his mouth forever.

You taste like crystal seas, like blackened skies and fire and darkness.

“Joel,” you say his name, you pant his name. Fingers tangle in his hair, yank so hard he snarls against you. “I want it to hurt.”

So, he makes it hurt.

The water in the bathtub is warm. He can see the steam rising around you in drafts.

He likes looking at you, softly bruised on your thighs and hips, perpetual bite mark on your shoulder.

Joel likes watching the way you move. He likes the soft curves of your body, the peaks of your tight nipples, the elegant curve of your waist and neck. Your body is like a music note, or a question mark.

The house feels swollen, waterlogged and dense. Laughter and voices twist behind doors that lead to nothing and nowhere. Fungi and moss and creeping vines claw at the walls of the house, rotting wood threatening to give out with agonized moans. There are moldering photos and paintings in the halls and bedrooms that he can’t quite look at. Rainwater seeps through the cracks in the ceiling.

“It used to be beautiful,” you say to him about the house, running a pristinely white washcloth reverently over the bite on your shoulder, then the scratches over your ribs. His scratches, his marks. “The sky was always blue. Everything inside was clean and light and everything outside was green and fresh.” You look at him, sitting in the dark beside the bathtub. “But that’s all over, now.”

The thread coiled around his head gives a twinge. “You were married,” he says. He knows things about you that he shouldn’t and he wonders if he really came from otherworld, or if you created him with grief and love and loneliness.

“He died,” you confirm. “The world ended. And then the rot crept in.”

Joel stands and your chest hitches as you stare up at him. He pushes down the trousers you gave him, that fit him just right, and climbs into the water with you.

You gasp and then tears are sliding down your cheeks. You must be wondering the same thing—if you called him here or created him.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that you open your legs and let him fuck you again, water spilling over the side of the bathtub, soaking the floor.

What matters is that you are his and he yours.

Your eyes flutter closed, your lips part, when his hand closes around your throat.

The house is like a prison, but you make it into something livable.

The moon and sun do rise, here in this foreign, familiar place. Candles weigh down every surface, and the lights stay off. Neither of you seem to want them on.

The sea crashes violently against the seawall, the sharp teeth of jagged rocks jut up from the bottom, like the mouth of Charybdis. You loom in the window some days, watching the swirling water with lust in your eyes, like you’d like to dive into it.

He can’t help but notice the widow’s walk is on the wrong side of the house. It faces the forest, not the sea, like the house has turned its back on the world, too. The forest whispers, trembles.

He always pulls you back from the edge, fucks you until you can’t take him anymore, until you’re crying and limp and the wire tied up inside him goes loose.

You ask him to leave once. You tell him he could figure it out, how to go home, but his devotion to you is total now, his loyalty is to you alone. Home is here, in the house swelling with moisture, with you picking herbs and sliding your fingers along the crowns of fungi like they’re beloved pets.

You are his altar, his god; the vision, the future.

Even thinking about leaving causes something in his chest to pang so hard he doubles over, that thing tied to you.

“Are you still lonely?” he asks, when his cock is inside you and his mouth leaves a new bite on your bicep. “I enough for you?”

“You’re everything,” your eyes roll back, slip closed. He cups your breast in his hand, sucks your nipple into his mouth and thinks of the straits of his heart. Your chest heaves against his lips. He still wants to break you, to tear open your chest, just to live inside it.

Devoted.

It’s a good word. He’d keep you safe, even from himself.

Your pussy twitches around him, clenching weakly. “Am I enough for you?” You make him lift his head, hands cupped under his chin. “Could I ever be?”

You don’t know. You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know.

You don’t know how devoted he is. That he would kill for you, die, that he wants to live amongst your bones now.

The ancient house gives a groan, the rain comes down harder. He thrusts into you and you whine. “Will you leave?” Your voice is pathetically small.

The house trembles, like it’s afraid too and is threatening to crumble into the sea with both of you inside.

“Never.”

One day, the rain goes light and foamy, the sky turns slate gray. It's almost a sunny day.

Someone else emerges from the woods.

Joel turns to you. You’re still on the bed, snaked through with vines and green, naked, covered in him. His spend shimmers between your thighs, on your cunt. Sweat shines between your breasts and at the base of your throat and he wants you again.

“What did you do?” He snarls.

“Nothing.”

He watches the man, not beast, stumble closer.

Jealous heat rises in his chest. You’ve called forth another man. Consciously or unconsciously, he’s there.

“What d’ya want me to do?” Joel sounds desperate and he doesn’t care.

You don’t answer, you rise from the clean white of the sheets and go down the steps in all your naked glory. He follows, watches the jiggle of your ass, the movement of your back and waist, the weight of your breasts. The scars his nails left on your ribs reassure him.

You belong to him, he is yours. He would kill you both, to keep you safe from others.

No stranger would change that. Whatever your heart needed, that had conjured something else, another man, from the deep of the shimmering, knowing, rustling woods, he would become it, give it to you.

The man is kind and soft.

He needs help.

You talk to him, and Joel watches him lean in, eyes never straying from yours even though you are bare to the cold wind. “Is he hurting you?” The newcomer asks.

Joel doesn’t hear your answer. He feels the wire around his heart tug, the sharp echoing sting makes you gasp and clutch at the railing. The new man has no reaction and all the jealous possessive feelings immediately settle. If his heart wasn’t tied to yours, he wasn’t meant to stay.

He was a lesson for Joel.

The man’s eyes go to Joel then to you. “He’s a monster, miss.”

You shake your head. “He’s perfect.”

You turn and walk back to him. You touch Joel’s shoulder, curl your fist into his t-shirt. “Joel,” you say softly. You touch his cheek. “I know why he came.”

“I do too.” He stands there a moment longer, kisses your fingers when you press them against his mouth. “What d’ya want me to do?” He asks again.

You glance over your shoulder, then back into his eyes. “I want you to kill him, Joel.”

You watch the beast kill the man.

Then, you watch the beast break its bones, reform its skin, to come back to you.

And when he does, he tells you that was his lesson.

His hands are stained red, blood seeps into your skin. Joel pushes into you, soft and slow. He doesn’t hurt you, even when you tell him to. “You need a kind hand, girl,” he tells you. “You’ve lived by the sea for too long.”

Tears come first, pleasure without pain for the first time in years comes second.

He touches you with red printed fingers. The sheets are covered in the blood of a stranger that taught you a lesson. “Are you hurt?” You ask.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

He looks at you with those eyes, dark and knowing and loyal. He would never admit to that. Instead, he says, “I would do it a thousand times.”

You stroke his cheek. “Do you think it was real? Do you think he was real?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Because I’m real, too.”

The forest gave him to you, to each other, so it must be real.

Joel must be real. You settle against him, and decide that’s true.

But don’t you ever wonder, you want to ask as you kiss his bare chest, what is in the forest? What is in the sea?

Don’t you wonder, you want to ask him, why you look so much like my husband?

💕 Thank you for reading! Comments, replies, and reblogs are so appreciated. 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #haunted hoedown

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lovebugism · 10 months

Note

I need the next part to the costumer’s always right like yesterday. The roller coaster this story is sending me through is insane. :’)))))

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | family vacation

summary: the gang takes a brief break from the chaos of hawkins and spends a weekend at lake lemon. you and eddie find that it's difficult to be in love and babysit at the same time. (10k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: experienced!reader, idiots in love (road trip edition), newly established relationship, r's nickname is peach, eddie wants to kiss you but the kids think it's gross :(, the fluffiest chapter yet i dare say, steve in his babysitter era, the gangs all here! TW probable typos, very brief mentions of abusive relationships, briefer mentions of b*lly h*rgrove, talks of sexual/romantic insecurities

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˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

It’s t-minus seven minutes until spring break, and you’re spending it with Steve The Hair Harrington.

The parking lot of Hawkins High is relatively empty, filled only with vacant cars and whipping wind that carries the scent of mowed grass and blue skies — the promise of a soon summer. Without your friends and other strangers to fill the quiet with their resounding laughter and booming voices, the strip of concrete is sleepy and silent.

You and Steve turn it all to velvet.

On the hood of his Beamer, you sit with your chins tilted to the sky. Puffy white clouds glide eastward against a blanket of sapphire, and the two of you try to make shapes out of them. Giving meaning to globs of disfigured marshmallows in the sky is a lost art, if you had anything to say about it.

“Aw, that one looks like a heart!” you awe, feeling like a child again as you point to the pretty cloud for Steve to see.

He doesn’t find as much joy in the mundane as you seem to. He only agreed to do it because you asked so nicely — “Wanna watch the clouds with me, Stevie?” you’d said, followed by a drawn-out “Please?” when he initially denied you.

Besides, it was a pretty alright way to pass the time. Steve always said he lacked the organ that produced patience in other people; seven minutes tend to go by like seven hours for him. Especially when there’s nothing to do but make things out of a bunch of clouds that don’t look like anything to begin with. It’s like a test with no wrong answers that he’s failing somehow anyway.

The boy follows your finger and squints at the sky. “I don’t know. Looks sorta like a penis to me.”

“Steve!” you scold, shoving him with a halfhearted hand. Your brows pinch in horror like he’s just tainted your innocent fun.

His face twists in confusion. “What?”

“That’s obviously a heart.”

“No,” Steve insists like a bickering older sibling. Despite his initial lack of enthusiasm, he presses his shoulder into yours and points his own finger toward the vaguely shaped penis-heart cloud. “That’s the tip right there, see? And those are the balls,” he explains, somewhat crass, as he traces the rounded top of the heart you’d identified.

He scoffs like he can’t believe you can’t see it. “I mean, seriously, Peach. You should see it more clearly than I do.”

“Why?” you challenge with a squint.

Steve only rolls his eyes in response. He knows where this is going. You’ll never pass up the chance to take the piss out of him.

“Because I’m a slut?” you continue, obviously joking, but with a perfected look of offense twisting your features. “Is that it, Steve Harrington? You think I’m a disgusting wh—”

“Alright! That’s enough.”

A giggle spills from your mouth at his scolding. As funny as it is to mock him, it always feels a little rewarding to know he doesn’t find it as amusing as you do — or the rest of Hawkins, for that matter.

He huffs, impatient and irritable. “God, you’re so annoying…”

“I know,” you lilt with a too sweet smile as you tilt your head to your shoulder.

The fleeting thought that you can’t wait to annoy him on your weekend getaway passes the plane of your mind, and you remember to ask— “Wait, you packed your shit, right? ‘Cause we definitely aren’t going to make it to Lake Lemon before dark if we have to spend three hours helping you pack your hair products, Stevie.”

“Yes, I packed my shit. Mom.”

Your brows raise, not believing him. He’s rarely ever so responsible on the first go around. Not without a little push from someone — you mainly, Robin on occasion, and his parents whenever they care enough to check on him.

“So you have enough socks and underwear to last until Monday?”

“Yes.”

“And you brought the booze?”

“Yep,” he nods, popping the p. “The alcohol was the first thing I packed, actually.”

“And you have your toothbrush and deodorant and shower stuff?”

He opens his rosy mouth to answer in the affirmative but shuts it again, quickly like a fish. His brows furrow and his lips jut softly out as he thinks to himself. “…Shit,” he answers without really answering.

“At least that’s sorta stuff you can buy on the way there,” you tell him, giggling. “Won’t have to drive three hours back from Lake Lemon for your Farah Fawcett hairspray— ‘cause I absolutely know you would, so there’s no use in arguing with me.”

He doesn’t

Instead, he fiddles with the silver Zippo in his right hand and changes the subject. “Speaking of Lake Lemon,” he singsongs, his sheepish gaze flitting between the lighter and you. “It’s not, like, super weird that I invited Nancy, is it?”

Your brows furrow. An awkward giggle tumbles from your mouth. “No?”

“It’s just— you invited Max and her friends, and I figured Eddie was coming too because, you know, you’re…” His face screws up as he tries to think of the right word. You lean in closer to him, an anticipatory smile on your lips. “Canoodling or whatever. And I just didn’t want Nancy to be left out of the loop. That’s all.”

“And why would that be weird?”

“Well, because— I don’t know, okay? I just wasn’t sure if you guys have spoken since… everything.”

He says it like it was an armageddon or something similarly catastrophic that changed the course of the history of the world. Maybe not the world — just yours. His, too, in a way.

For a while, it ruined you. The thought of never being truly loved ate you alive and left hardly more than bones and strips of flesh in its wake. You found Billy after it spat you out, and god, you thought you were finally becoming whole again. Really, though, you were just holding onto the absence in your heart as though it were another life.

Then everything from before just kept on ruining you.

But now you’ve got Eddie.

And Eddie kisses you even though you taste like heartache. Eddie makes you feel like your lips shouldn’t be anywhere except his mouth. Eddie is the golden sunlight that streams in through an open window, and you stand amid the flaxen streams — safe and warm and whole again.

Now, you exist in two places — where you stand now and wherever Eddie may be. You don’t belong to the past anymore. Tragedy isn’t your religion anymore. Instead, you pick your teeth with the shards of bone agony left behind and find new faith in the crooks of Eddie’s body.

The everything from before stops feeling so heavy. It’s still cold at times, but in the spring sort of way. Now you love so hard you could weep.

“That was a long time ago, Steve,” you assure him, smiling. He’s almost surprised by its sincerity. “We’ve all moved on since then. It’s not weird, okay? I promise.”

“Okay…” the boy wavers, nodding with a grin that doesn’t meet his eyes.

You wonder if he just doesn’t believe you. Or if he hasn’t entirely moved on.

The bell rings. It’s harsh and shrill, even from where the two of you sit across the parking lot. The muddled voices of a sea of teenagers come muffled at first before breaking into an all-out swell of a thousand incoherent conversations. Kids flood through the front doors in packs.

Steve’s kids, namely.

Dustin is the first of them. His voice is distinct as he migrates through the masses to where your car is parked next to Steve’s on the other side of the lot.

“This is gonna be the best spring break ever!” he shouts, smiling with a mouthful of braces.

It makes you smile, too. How could you not? This curly-headed boy is practically sunshine incarnate.

Steve, who’s gotten too used to the yelling to find it as cute as you do, only rolls his eyes in return. His sneaker-clad feet scuff against the concrete when he descends from the hood of his car.

“Alright. Take it down a few notches, okay?” the boy grouses, waving his hands in front of him. “I’m not driving three hours to Lake Lemon with your hyper ass in the back the whole way.”

Dustin’s grin fades into an unimpressed deadpan when two of Steve’s fingers tap the blue brim of his Thinking Cap.

“Well, I’m riding with Eddie, so...” the younger boy trails off, flashing his middle finger and a sugary sweet smile.

Steve’s brows pinch, almost in offense. “Wait— then, who’s all going with who?”

“Me, Lucas, and Max are going with Eddie and Peach. And Mike and El are riding with you and Robin.”

“Oh, great. I get the lovebirds,” Steve monotones, hands rising and falling at his sides in exasperation.

A deep, feminine, and familiar voice pierces the jumbled sounds of the forming crowd. “It’s better than suffering two hours in Eddie’s van,” Robin quips with a rouge-tinted smirk as she appears from the horde alongside the boy himself. The two walk side-by-side with duffle bags slung over their shoulders.

Eddie Munson fakes a pout and nudges the girl with a leather-clad shoulder. “Rude.”

A beam breaks out on your face at the sight of the boy, like sunshine to rain clouds. You hop down from Steve’s hood and rush to him without thinking. He nearly topples over at the force you launch yourself at him with. His arms wrap around you to keep you pressed against him.

His laugh fans against your cheek. “Well, hello to you, too, sweetheart.”

Your nose nestles into his umber curls as you embrace him. He smells like cigarette smoke and floral hair detangler — familiar like a house you’ve lived in all your life.

“How’d it go?” you ask once you’ve pulled back from him. Not enough to let him go, of course, just enough to see the smile he looks at you with.

His grin widens and his chocolate eyes swim with a boyish excitement that makes your chest swell. “C plus, baby,” he singsongs lowly. “Ms. O’Donnell thinks if I can pass the final, I might actually graduate.”

“That’s amazing, Eds!” you beam, laughing in pure mirth as your hands reach for his glowing cheeks. “I’m so proud of you!”

You smack the most innocent of pecks upon his rosy mouth.

Robin groans from where she’s planted herself at Steve’s side. “God, I am so glad you graduated already. I could not suffer this for eight hours every day.”

You roll your eyes at her dramatics, then look back to Eddie with a quieter smile. “I’m so proud of you,” you repeat, just for him to hear.

He tilts his head to his shoulder, somehow both shy and smug at the same time. “Thanks, babe.”

The rest of the kids file out shortly after. Max comes first — the redheaded raincloud she always is — and Lucas follows later with Mike at his side. The former boy sports a bright green letterman jacket, while the latter wears an obviously unwashed Hellfire Club tee.

The seven of you crowd around Steve’s Beamer, anxious to leave the parking lot and the rest of Hawkins behind — even if it’s only for a few days.

“Alright,” the oldest boy announces as he claps his hands together. “Everybody ready to go?”

“I have to drop by my place to get my bag,” you tell him.

He squints his honey eyes at you. “You were just bitching about me not packing, and you don’t even have your bag?”

“I have to drop my car off anyway, dork.”

“Hey,” Eddie interjects with furrowed brows. The arm around your shoulder tightens. “Turn down the dirty talk, okay? There are kids present.”

With pale arms crossed over her chest — always on the defensive, just in case — Max tucks a rogue piece of auburn hair behind her ear and turns to you. “My mom packed some of my stuff this morning,” she tells you and doesn’t explain anything further.

It’s not like she has to, anyway.

Her sneakers sit by your door every night, and her jacket gets hung up with yours. Her spare clothes now sit in a folded-up pile by the couch, and you wash her laundry along with yours and Eddie’s. Your tiny apartment, which certainly wasn’t built for three bodies and a cat, has become more of a home to her than the one on Cherry Lane ever was.

No one else needs to know that, though.

“I’ll swing by and get it on the way,” you promise.

She nods with a tightlipped, barely there smile. You take it as a silent thank you.

When no one else comments about a missing bag or any other hiccup that might give Steve an aneurysm, Dustin grins. “Alright, gang,” he beams, clapping and rubbing his hands together. “Divide and conquer.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Steve protests when everyone starts to split up.

Dustin, Max, and Lucas are already headed toward Eddie’s van. The former’s hand stills on the handle at his words. Robin, who’s already rounded the maroon Beamer for the passenger side, hears him but ducks into the seat anyway.

“Wheeler. Where’s your sister.”

“Uh, the newspaper… I think,” he answers with the practiced ambiguity of a teenage boy. He shrugs. “There’s some stuff she has to care of. She said she’d drive up when she got done.”

Steve huffs, feigning exasperation to cover his bleeding heart. “Why am I the only one ever ready for these things?”

“You’re not,” you tease with a laugh. “You forgot to pack, like, the most important shit a person is supposed to pack.”

“Yeah, well, no one asked you, Peach,” Steve squints in the place of any actual response.

“Wow. Great comeback, Harrington.”

“Bite me—”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie grumbles at the bickering. It’s harmless banter more than anything — a couple of venomous-sounding words coming from sincere smiles. The boy tightens his grip on you and leads you toward his van. “Stop flirting.”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

It feels strange, being back on Cherry Lane.

You haven’t been here since the last code black a while ago. You never had a reason to be. You weren’t exactly looking for one, either. But now, here you are, standing on the doorstep of the guy who broke your heart and ringing his goddamn doorbell.

A sickeningly familiar feeling knots the pit of your stomach. It’s like you’re walking back into the war he put you through, even though you’re still cleaning the bloodshed off your hands — just like you did every time you took him back, over and over and over again.

You’re grateful that it’s Max’s mom opening the door and not her brother. More so that she’s already got the duffle bag in hand, so you don’t have to come inside.

The white of the canvas tote has gone brown with time. The pink strap of it is faded and missing a couple of sequins. The girl’s name is written on the front in hand-drawn block letters, doodled all over with the finesse of someone much younger than she is now.

“Hi,” you smile, just to be polite. It shakes at the edges.

Susan smiles back, tightlipped and pink-mouthed. “Hey,” she mutters kindly back as she steps onto the porch with you. The screen door clangs shut behind her. She tucks an amber strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand when a spring breeze rolls through.

She looks a lot like Max. Freckled face, strong jaw, pouted mouth. She’s pretty in the way her daughter is pretty, too — effortlessly so, without even trying to be.

Even in baggy jeans and frizzy hair, something about Susan is still so beautiful. It’s not even the simple kind of beauty, either. It’s the kind that forces you to stand in wonder of it, unworthy but unable to look away. It’s the kind of beauty that seems almost sad — like a bright flame snuffed down to only embers.

You don’t need to question whose boot crushed her spirit.

“I think everything’s in here,” the mother explains as she hands the bag over. “I packed her a few extra clothes just in case— oh, and tell her that her Stuffy’s in there, too.”

“Stuffy?” you echo with furrowed brows and a curious smile.

“It’s a stuffed rabbit her dad got her when she was born. She’ll probably hate me for putting it in there, but I know she still sleeps with it sometimes, so…”

You realize, then, that so much of what you learn about Max hardly comes from the girl herself. She’s too closed off most of the time. If you really want to know her, you have to care enough to look. But even then, it takes a sort of X-ray vision.

You know when she’s fighting with Billy again, not because she ever tells you, but because she’s got a Kate Bush tape in her walkman. If it’s a particularly bad fight — the red and orange kind — you know it because Running Up That Hill is playing at full volume.

You can tell when she’s lying when she can’t look you in the eye. You can tell she’s happy when stars twinkle in the ocean blue of them.

When she can’t stand physical affection, it’s because she’s had a particularly shitty day — but when she’s touching you, it means she’s excited about something or another.

You know her dad bought her the skateboard she rides like a baby blue Cadillac because she patches it up with duct tape instead of buying a new one. Their identical initials — M.M + M.M — are carved into the bottom, too, though faded with time.

And you always assumed she slept with a stuffed animal because she sleeps with her arms crossed like she’s used to holding something in them. You’ll often find her on your couch in the smallest hours of the morning, using Bowie as a replacement for a piece of her childhood.

God, you love learning new things about Max Mayfield.

Especially the things she’d rather die than tell you.

“Okay,” you nod with a terribly fought-back grin. “I’ll let her know.”

“And you’ll be back on Monday, right?”

“Yeah. Probably sometime early. I’ll call you.”

Susan nods despite still looking a little apprehensive about the whole. She crosses her arms over her chest. Her manicured nails fidget against the oversized flannel she wears.

“Can you ask her to come over when she gets back?” the mother wonders with a grimace like it’s much to ask. Her brows pinch and her anxiety-bitten mouth forms a tight line. “I know she probably won’t want to — and I don’t blame her, but…” she huffs and runs a hand through her hair, pushing back her bushy auburn bangs. “If you could maybe give her a little push, that’d be great.”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try,” you promise with a wavering grin.

Both of you know that Max is too stubborn for any sort of push — the big or the small variety. You also know she’s too terrified of Cherry Lane to come back to it just yet.

“And just, you know, look out for her while she’s gone, okay?”

“Of course.”

Susan scoffs, shaking her head at herself like she’s just stuck her foot in her mouth. “That was— That was stupid of me. You’ve been watching over her this whole time. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

You smile, more sincerely this time. A look of sympathy melts your features. You find the woman’s supposed blunder more beguiling than offensive.

“It’s fine. I get it.”

“I know you probably think I’m a terrible mom—”

“Not at all,” you argue, meeting her sheepish grin with a look stern in its kindness. “I think you’re a person in a situation that’s hard to get out of. I know... I know what that’s like.”

The both of you share smiles of understanding that only two people who’ve weathered similar circumstances can muster. The snuffed-out embers, deep black rainclouds, and the like.

“Remind her to call me when she gets there,” Susan pleas, tilting her head to her shoulder. “I know she’ll forget otherwise.”

“I’ll tell her,” you promise.

Because you do know that. Max often needs to be reminded of most things — not because she refuses to do them, but because her mind has a way of distracting her. Her consciousness seems to float every which way, making it much more difficult to focus. Sometimes you think she lives in her head more than in her own house.

You wonder if that’s how her mom is surviving Cherry Lane and the Hargroves.

God knows that’s how you did it.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie’s van is already parked in your apartment complex, right by the stairs that lead to your door.

It’s more strange for it not to be there these days. You expect it, in fact — in the same way you expect your house to feel like your house. It’s comforting because it’s familiar. When Eddie’s not there, it’s like something is out of place. Missing. And even though you can’t quite tell what, you can feel it.

When Eddie’s not there, it’s not home.

He and the small group of kids he chauffeured fill your tiny apartment with their bustling bodies and animated conversation. It’s hardly more than muddled cross-talk, though. They all make comments over one another, each louder than the one that came before it, in attempts to be heard.

It’s all muffled until you open the door.

It practically slaps you in the face right after.

Max is cradling Bowie on the sofa. Just behind her, you can see Lucas and Dustin in the kitchen. They laugh over themselves at a joke you hadn’t heard. Eddie must’ve been the one to tell it because he’s got this proud grin on his face as he turns on his heel to meet you at the door.

“Make yourselves at home, I guess,” you singsong to him — like your full apartment doesn’t make your heart feel a thousand times fuller.

When you spend enough time shutting yourself out from the rest of the world, you forget what it’s like to be in it. Eddie’s reminding you all over again. Max, too. And all of their strange little friends you’re starting to learn more about.

“Sorry,” he apologizes not-so-sincerely. His umber curls bunch at his shoulder as he tilts his head and scrunches his nose. “Had to take a whiz.”

“I was just teasing,” you giggle.

You smack a kiss to his cheek and head to your bedroom for your bag, dropping Max’s at her feet along the way. “Dustin wants to know if he can have some snacks,” the redhead tells you as you walk by her.

“Shut up, Max!” the curly-haired boy calls from the kitchen.

“Of course,” you answer. “Take everything. I don’t care.”

Eddie laughs as he follows you down the hallway. “Do not say that, sweetheart. Because he will take everything.”

Two bags wait for you on the edge of your mattress — a rucksack complete with clothes and bathing suits and spare shoes at the bottom, and a tote full of toiletries. Neither is completely full, but you’ve checked them a million times to know they weren’t lacking anything, either.

If there was anything you were, it was an efficient packer.

Well, maybe slut first. Then human being second. And then maybe Eddie Spaghetti enthusiast third. But efficient packer was a close fourth.

You strap one bag over your shoulder and curl the other in the crook of your elbow. “Well, I don’t want him to be hungry. This drive is gonna be hell enough as it is. That’s exactly why I made us sandwiches, so make fun of me all you want—” Your absentminded rambles are halted when you spin on your heel and find Eddie’s mouth on yours.

His fingers grip the sides of your shoulders as he ducks down to kiss you. His rosy mouth engulfs your own and you freeze, shocked by the sudden affection. You melt into him a moment later with a sigh against his cupid’s bow. Eddie’s smile curls against your lips accordingly.

It’s certainly not a peck, but it’s not obscene enough to be described as anything more. It’s innocent and passionate, as most of his kisses tend to be. He uses them to say words he can’t voice out loud. — sort of like his ringed fingers do when they strum his guitar. Eddie kisses you like music.

Your eyes flutter slowly open when he pulls away from you. “What was that for?”

“Because I know I’m not gonna be able to kiss you for a while,” the boy grieves with a sad, crooked grin. His wide palms rub the sides of your arm up and down. “And I’m a little afraid I might die.”

“Well, we better make the last one count then, huh?” you tease, grinning as you curl your free arm around his waist.

The boy beams.

He kisses you breathless a second later.

After one last look through your apartment and several goodbye kisses to your begrudging cat, you lock up and head downstairs again. Steve pulls in, then, with one more passenger than he had before.

El Hopper sits in his backseat. You’re almost sure she’s never been outside of Hawkins before, but you know for certain she’s never been without her dad.

Jim was less than willing to let her go. Cabin in the woods, no parental supervision, all alone with her boyfriend? It’s quite literally a recipe for disaster. But he trusted you to look after her just like you trusted him to check in on Bowie (though, according to him, the comparison wasn’t at all the same).

You told him not to worry. That he should be more concerned about booking a flight to California and stopping Joyce from moving across the country. You told him he needs to convince her to stay before she’s in too deep to listen.

“…How the hell am I supposed to do that?” he’d groused across the table at Enzo’s.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “You did it for me before. You could do it again.”

His iceberg resolve nearly melts. “Alright, don’t get cute. I already said El could go. You don’t have to keep trying to win me over.”

Steve gathers the now nine of you in the parking lot. You form a measly half-circle around him, neither of you particularly caring about his assured rant but allowing him to get it out of his system anyway.

“Okay, every pay attention, alright? This is serious. I’m responsible for you little shits — if something happens to you, that’s on me. So, listen up—”

Eddie lingers just behind you, warm and reassuring. The leather-clad arms he’s crossed over his chest brush against your back when he leans closer to you. His breath fans against your jaw as he whispers in your ear. “All he needs is a fanny pack and some sandals. Then he’d be in real dad mode.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, unsmiling. “I’m talking to you.”

You swallow down your laughter.

“Dustin, Lucas, and Max — you’re riding with Eddie and Peach. Mike and El, you’re with me and Robin. And no canoodling in the backseat, understand? That’s an order.”

The raven-haired boy chuckles as the girl tucks her smile behind his arm. She embraces the lanky limb most ardently. “Canoodling?” Mike echoes in a scoff.

Steve, unimpressed and totally serious, only glares. “I swear to god, I’ll tell Hopper, alright? If you wanna make out, wait until we get there.” He points a stern finger in the boy’s direction, then turns his attention to the rest of the group.

“We’re taking 870 to avoid city traffic which means it’s gonna take us a little longer to get there. There’s a rest stop at one of the exits, so we can fuel up and use the bathroom and get something to eat. So don’t ask when we’re stopping, ‘cause we’re not, Henderson.”

Dustin raises his middle finger in response.

“See?” you lilt quietly to Eddie. “This is why I brought sandwiches…”

The boy huffs. “Yeah. I probably should’ve listened to you when you said he’d be all… like this.”

“You know I’m never wrong,” you tease.

A sly smile tugs at your lips. It takes everything in him not to kiss it.

“—And Eddie, drive the speed limit, okay? It’s not the Indy 300.”

“Indy 500, dingus,” Robin corrects. She leans coolly against his car, sneaker propped up against the backseat door as she picks at her chipping maroon-colored nails.

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t divert his tirade.

“If you get pulled over, it’ll just make the drive take longer, and we’ll miss the check-in time, alright? Peach paid half, so if she isn’t there on time, we don’t get the keys, and we’re living like bums in the woods for three days.”

“Yes, sir,” Eddie singsongs, obviously insincere, as his arms wrap around your shoulders. He embraces you loosely at the neck and presses his cheek into your temple. “Get Peach there in one piece,” he reiterates. “I think I can do that.”

Steve huffs. His unsmiling honey eyes flit to you. He points to Eddie and talks to you like he isn’t standing behind you. “Keep him on a leash, alright? No way I’m going the whole weekend like this.”

“Ooh. A leash?” the wild-haired boy lilts with a mischievous grin. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs something only you can hear. “I like that sound of that.”

“I’m sure you do, perv,” you joke in response. Your elbow digs into his ribcage, jabbing him softly to part from him. He rubs at his side as you head towards his van. You call to the rest of the group on the way: “We should head out now before Steve loses his mind.”

Eddie’s shoes scuff the pavement as he follows behind you. “I, for one, would love to see that.”

“Good thing we have all weekend, then, huh?” Max deadpans with a playful glint in the blue of her eye.

“I heard that!”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

The first half-hour of the drive goes by like nothing.

You’re a bit embarrassed to know you spent its entirety gazing so longingly at the boy in the driver’s seat.

It was only supposed to be a glance — a small peek at his profile and his ringed fingers thrumming against the worn pleather of his steering wheel before turning away again and grinning to yourself like a schoolgirl at how cute he was. Now you’re nearly halfway-halfway into the drive, and you spent it all ogling.

You’re not sure what was so beguiling about Eddie nodding his head to The Cure or what was so attractive about his pale hands drumming to the beat and the way his metal rings glimmered beneath the setting sun. You only knew that you couldn’t look away from any of it.

“This is stranger than I thought…” he sings to himself, not exactly trying to sound great but not sounding bad either. You can only hear him if you watch his pink mouth croon each word. You do a terrible job of pretending not to be staring at him. “Six different ways inside my heart…”

Dustin pokes his head between the front seats so suddenly it makes you jolt.

His round face conceals your view of Eddie as he sets his elbows beside the headrests.“Can I have one of those sandwiches you were talking about earlier?” he asks.

“We’ve only been driving for forty minutes!” Eddie laughs.

“I’m hungry,” the boy argues with his brows pinched together. “Sue me.”

“Of course, you can,” you lilt quietly as you reach for the clear Tupperware at your feet.

You don’t miss the taunting look Dustin gives the boy next to him in return or the hand Eddie pushes against the younger boy’s cheek to force him backward.

You sit the container of napkin-wrapped sandwiches on your lap. You only packed two of each kind. All are labeled in scribbled sharpie. “Okay, I made PB&J, turkey and cheese, and cucumber and lemon—”

“Cucumber and lemon?” Eddie echoes, features flooded with horror. His wide-eyed gaze flits between you and the near-empty interstate ahead of him. “What the hell kinda monstrosity is that?”

“It’s cucumber, cream cheese, and lemon juice, and it’s actually very good, Eddie Munson.”

Dustin requests the peanut butter and jelly, Lucas takes the turkey, and Max wants the cucumber and lemon — the said monstrosity you made because you knew she liked them. You hand them their sandwiches, and they settle again in the back of the van — amid the plethora of blankets and pillows Eddie had tucked away.

You turn to the pretty boy in the driver’s seat. “Which one do you want, Eds?”

“Whatever you’re having,” he shrugs. “‘M not picky.”

He grimaces when you hand him your half of the cucumber and lemon — because, of course, you remembered to cut them into triangles.

You watch the boy take a rather begrudging bite of the sandwich. His cheek juts out as he chews through it, and you don’t know why it makes you smile, only that you’re beaming directly at him. His face is emotionless in that his features are filled with so much of it you can’t tell what he’s trying to express.

There’s a slight furrow to his brows, a scrunch to his nose, and a glint to his eye. He manages to look disgusted, inquisitive, and pleased all at once.

Your smile widens when he takes another bite.

You fight the urge to tell him, ‘I told you so,’ and instead lean over the center console to smack a kiss to his cheek.

Lucas and Dustin gag through their mouthfuls simultaneously.

They share a look after — a boyish glance of excitement, as though to say, ‘I can’t believe how in sync we are.’ It quickly turns into a game of who can make the most realistic retching noise, quieted by a single look from Max. It’s not a glare on her freckled face but a scrunched scowl of disgust as she slips the headphones of her walkman back on.

The two boys’ laughter fades all at once.

The van goes quiet again.

You shut your eyes and focus on the faint sound of Eddie’s humming. His hand is wide and warm when it settles on your knee. His thumb drums softly to the beat on the outside of your thigh.

We’re on the road to nowhere, come on inside—

The cerulean sky turns into varying shades of lilac and orange-gold. The highway to Lake Lemon is long and merciless. Two hours feel like two days when you’ve got nothing to do but sit.

Eddie, with his hands and mind sufficiently occupied, seems to be less of a victim of the unrelenting pavement. He’s slumped against the ragged pleather seat, still humming to the low radio.

Lucas and Dustin spent several minutes arguing about who was taking which blanket and whose legs got to go where. Now, however, they snooze with their backs against the van and their shoulders pressing into each other’s — heads back, mouths open, eyes fluttered shut.

Max is a lot of the same. She sits across from the boys, tucked into the corner of the wall and the driver’s seat. There’s a pillow behind her back and a blanket thrown over her lap. Her eyes are shut, but you can tell she isn’t sleeping. Her head sways in time with the song spilling from her headphones.

And you, with your feet kicked up on the dash and your gaze pointed in the direction of the setting sun, are bored out of your mind.

Eddie squeezes your thigh. “I think we’re about fifteen miles away from the stop.”

“Fucking finally,” you huff. You rest your head against the seat to look over at the boy beside you. “My ass is killing me.”

“Well, I would be happy togive you a massage at the rest stop, babe.”

Your eyes widen as you shift to glance at the back of the van. You’re relieved to see none of the kids paying attention. You swat at Eddie while he winces at himself. It’s been quiet for so long; he forgot they were still back there.

“Sorry,” he whispers, to you and to the sleeping kids who hadn’t heard a word.

“I have a feeling I’m gonna have my hands full with you on this trip, Munson.”

“I could very easily turn that into a sex joke—”

“Eddie.”

“—But I won’t,” the boy concludes. His head tilts to look at you. “See? You didn’t let me finish.”

“I don’t think they would’ve heard, anyway. They’re totally knocked out.”

“That after-school nap is no joke, sweetheart. I mean, seriously, I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I graduate.”

“You can still nap, Eds,” you counter, giggling.

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.”

You concede with the shake of your head. “Sure.”

“Do you think I’ll miss high school when I’m gone? You know, as the graduated one?”

Your brows furrow. “You’re asking me if I think the freak of Hawkins High is gonna miss getting bullied five days out of the week?”

“But I won’t have Hellfire. And I’ll probably lose clients, too — ‘cause, you know, I won’t be able to deal at school like I usually do,” Eddie explains, growing suddenly somber about the whole thing. “I’ve been in school since I was five, you know? I’ve been going to Hawkins High for six years. And change is… gross.”

The whimsical existentialism of high school seniors makes you sigh in reminiscence.

“You’ll be okay, Eddie Spaghetti,” you assure him, squeezing his hand on your thigh. “It isn’t so bad. I promise.”

“Do you miss high school at all?”

“Hell no,” you answer without thinking.

A laugh sputters from his mouth at the swiftness of your reply. “Not even a little bit?”

“A negative amount, actually.”

“I thought you liked school!” he argues.

“No one likes school.”

“You were good at it!”

“I was okay. And that’s only because I had this weird complex about getting good grades.”

High school for you, at its core, was all about approval. You weren’t sporty, so you had to be smart. You had to be noticed in some way so you weren’t suffocated by being invisible. Maybe if you had gotten therapy for all that before you turned fourteen, you wouldn’t be the way you are now.

“Do you think we would’ve dated? You know, if we knew each other back then?” Eddie asks you out of the blue. The faintest hint of a smile tugs at his pink lips. “Like… Would you have liked me?”

You grin softly to yourself as you think sincerely about his inquiry.

You don’t think you would’ve felt too differently than you do now — head over heels with no hope in sight. But your heart was different back then, tender and unbroken. God, Eddie Munson would’ve been the best thing for you back then.

“Teenage me would’ve loved you. And you would’ve hated me.”

That makes him scoff. “No way.”

“You shouldn’t sound so sure, babe. I was a mess back then.”

“I would’ve liked you for the same reason I like you now.”

You shoot him an arched brow to egg him on, but he doesn’t move to explain any further. It leaves you wondering — why he would’ve liked you back then, why he likes you now. You don’t have an answer for either.

You figure it doesn’t matter, anyway. Eddie Munson likes you, and you’re grateful beyond comprehension that you can say it with so much certainty. Never with anyone else have you been more sure of where you stand.

“I think you would’ve been good for me,” you confess, focusing on the pine trees that whip by instead of the boy beside you. Your fingers absentmindedly begin to fidget with his own, entwining and weaving with his without you ever noticing. “‘Cause you do this thing where you, like, understand me better than anyone ever has before.”

Eddie chuckles, then shrugs to humor you. “Yeah, we’re just soulmates. No big deal.”

“And I think I would’ve saved myself a world of heartbreak if I’d found you first instead of—”

You cut yourself off.

Eddie turns to you, expecting to see you saddened by the sudden change of conversation. He’s surprised to find you smiling.

“Whoa,” you marvel with wide eyes. “I don’t know how we got there. Sorry, that got… way too deep.”

Eddie twists his wrists so he can hold your hand back. His metal rings press into the sides of your fingers as they intertwine with yours. He smiles briefly at you. The road takes too much of his attention to gaze at you the way he’d like to.

“It’s okay. Let’s not think about any of that now, yeah? Let’s just have fun.”

You nod.

“I’d love to, but suffering through these conversations is making it real hard,” Max monotones from the backseat, eyes still shut.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” you joke.

“I’d love to, but being surrounded by lovebirds is, like, the least cozy thing ever.”

Lucas and Dustin snore a loud, synchronized snore in response. Lovebirds, indeed.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

There’s only one working sink at the gas station. It sputters cold water before hesitantly dripping the warmer kind. Robin jams the soap machine like an absolute maniac — and when she gets more strawberry-scented liquid than she bargained for, she smears some onto your palm. The two of you stand side-by-side, fingers occasionally bumping into the other’s as you wash your hands.

“How’s driving with Steve?” you ask her with a knowing grin.

“The worst,” she answers with a groan, just as dramatically as you imagined she might. “He’s acting like a total dad, obviously. But he’s letting me man that radio, so that’s a plus.”

“Ah, so it’s less Bruce Springsteen and more The Runaways this time?”

Robin’s ocean eyes go wide at the reminder. The last trip where Steve was in charge of the radio, it took two weeks to get “Born in the U.S.A.” out of her head. She shivers at the memory.

“Yes. Thank god,” she huffs and turns off the faucet. You pump the lever at the paper towel dispenser and hand a napkin over to her. “How’s driving with Eddie?”

The teasingly lilted name doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Why’d you say his name like that?” you giggle.

She squints. “You know exactly why.”

You do.

“It’s fine, I guess,” you shrug instead of telling her you’ve spent the entire drive staring at him. You still haven’t yet decided which is prettier — the pink and purple sunset or the way Eddie looks beneath it. “He’s not driving like a total maniac with the kids in the car, so… It’s not too bad.”

You open the door with your shoulder.

“You haven’t heard from Billy, have you?” Robin asks as she walks out ahead of you.

Your eyes widen at the sound of the boy’s name. The realization that you’re not the only one who shudders at the mention of him is equally daunting. You look over your shoulder and towards Max’s stall, where she’d walked in a few minutes after the both of you. You shut the door behind you and wonder if she heard.

“No. I haven’t,” you answer, then plead. “And can we please not talk about him? Especially not in front of Max?”

“Well, tell that to Stevie because he won’t stop asking me?”

Your brows pinch. “Why?”

Robin makes a vague ‘I don’t know’ sound as she shrugs. She roams the snack aisle and eyes the vibrantly colored chip bags. “He probably doesn’t want to bother you about it. And also, he probably thinks you wouldn’t tell him if you did hear from him.”

“I wouldn’t,” you scoff.

“See,” Robin drawls with her head tilted to her shoulder. “That’s the problem!”

“Well, considering the last time I told Steve about Billy, he almost died, I think I’m doing him a favor.”

“…Touché.”

“I haven’t heard from him, okay? And I’m not going to because we’re gonna be three hours away from Hawkins all weekend.”

“Unless he’s stalking you,” Robin argues mindlessly. When her own words dawn on her, she gasps and looks at you with her features gaping in horror. “Oh, my god. What if he goes all Jason Voorhees and starts slaughtering us one by one—”

“Robin!” you shout, unsure of whether or not you should laugh.

“I’m just saying! That guy is crazy, okay? We should not put that maniac shit past him,” the girl agonizes. She walks a few short steps over to you and holds onto your arms with a grip most desperate. Her eyes are wide and pleading as she stares at you. You feel a bit like she’s looking into your soul. “Just please promise me you and Eddie won’t have sex while we’re on vacation.”

Instead of telling her that most certainly won’t be a problem, you’re left surprised at her out-of-the-blue words. “What?”

“The couple having sex is always the first to die in the movies!”

“Robin. I love you,” you remind her with your hands over her jacket-clad arms. “But you’re insane.”

She sighs with exasperation when you turn away from her. You hear her mutter under her breath behind you: “Looks like I’m gonna be the girl that gets killed ‘cause no one listened to her about the crazy serial killer dude…”

You get Eddie food at the connected McDonald’s, even though he told you he wasn’t hungry.

“Those sandwiches are too good to waste, Peach,” he’d said right before pressing a kiss to your cheek. You think he just didn’t want you spending money on him when he was too busy getting gas to catch you. You do it anyway. ‘Cause you love him and everything.

“We talked about this!” Eddie grouses when you meet him at the pump. He taps the nozzle against the van a few times, getting every last drop he can before sticking it back into the stand. “I was really lookin’ forward to that PB&J, sweetheart.”

You smile before popping a fry into your mouth. “Want me to drive?”

“No. I’m good. Probably gonna sleep like a baby when we get there, though,” he tells you, half-joking as he stretches out his tired back. The bottom of his thrifted Stars Wars tee rises to reveal a sliver of his stomach. He catches you looking and grins. “And when I do, I expect to be held like one in compensation.”

You know he’s joking, but you nod anyway. The sack of burgers gets squished between your bodies when he takes you in his arms, palms wide along your waist.

“Happily,” you grin, already leaning in for a kiss. The tip of his nose smushes against the side of yours when your lips meet. It’s longer than a peck. Softer than one too. He tastes sweet, like lemons.

You hear the kids coming back before you see them. Their chattering melds with the scuffs of their shoes. You and Eddie part from one another, thinking you might’ve gotten away with your fleeting touches before any of them could see. A chorus of groans tells you otherwise.

“See?” Eddie protests with his brows raised, hidden behind his curly bangs. “This is what I was talking about!”

You shake your head with a sympathetic smile. “We’ll be there soon, Eddie Spaghetti,” you promise. The “I’m gonna kiss you silly when we get there” goes unsaid.

He hears it, though.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Soon, as it turns out, was actually another hour. It’s full of huffy teenagers, and ‘are we there yet?’s, and Eddie trying not to lose his sanity between it all. You do your best to keep his mind off of the never-ending highway, but hand-holding and mindless conversations only go so far. By hour three-and-a-half of the relentless drive, the trek was beginning to show on you too.

Lake Lemon was worth it, though.

The view of sparkling water beneath a velvet purple sky made you forget about your aching back and the extra twenty minutes Eddie spent trying to find the place (and getting lost in the process). The cabin was a quaint two-story thing, wedged between lake and forest. It was old, which meant it was cheap, but it wasn’t any less beautiful. And, for a couple of kids who rarely get the chance to get out of Hawkins, it might as well be Heaven on Earth.

“This place is massive!” Dustin marvels.

It’s not that big, really. It’s certainly not bigger than the Harrington home — which you know he frequents from time to time. You think it may be just because of the wide-open kitchen connecting to the living room and the spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

“Alright,” Steve huffs from behind the group of you as he drops Max’s duffle with a low thud. No one volunteered him to get the bags, but he didn’t object to doing it either. “I think that’s all of ‘em. If you little shits make a mess when you unpack, you better clean up after yourselves. I’m not your maid.”

“Sorry, Stevie. I can’t hear you over this view,” Robin lilts from the other side of the house. She stands at the sliding glass door in the kitchen. Just outside of it is the lake. The water looks black in the night, shining beneath a set of twinkling stars.

“Can me and El take the bedroom upstairs?” Mike asks you, far nicer than he’d ever ask Steve. El hangs on his arm. You’ve got a feeling she’ll stay there all weekend.

He told you recently that he was trying to grow his hair out to look more like Eddie. Now you can’t look at him without smiling. He’s not nearly as intimidating as his structured features make him seem.

“Well, I don’t want Hopper to kill me, so there’s no way I’m giving you guys the master bedroom,” you laugh, tilting your head down to your shoulder. You meet the teenager’s identical pout with a shrug. “But if you wanna share one of the bunks, knock yourselves out. What I don’t know, I can’t tell Hop, so…”

“But shouldn’t the couples get the bigger bedrooms?” Mike argues.

Steve materializes behind your shoulder. “You kids are taking the bunks, alright? That’s final.”

Mike scowls. “You guys are no fun, you know that?”

“You’ll survive,” the older boy deadpans with the roll of his eyes. “Peach and Robin can take one room, Nance can take the other when she gets here. I’ll take the couch and…” Steve trails off and looks over at Eddie. He winces. “I think there might be a spare tent outside for you, Munson.”

Eddie scoffs out a laugh. “Dick…”

“Everyone say ‘thank you, Steve’s dad,” Robin singsongs as she walks back to the living room for her rucksack. Despite her obviously joking tone, everyone else choruses ‘thanks, Steve’s dad!’ in return as they scramble for their bags.

Steve huffs behind you. Sure, his dad put the downpayment on the place, but he didn’t need to be reminded of that. Besides, he paid for everything else.

You turn on your heel to face him, arms crossed over your chest as you smile up at him. “Thank you, Steve,” you lilt in the same too sweet tone as everyone else.

“You don’t have to think me,” the boy scoffs. “You paid for half.”

“Not nearly half.”

“Well, you made up for it by booking the cabin. You did all the work I was too lazy to do, so—”

“So call it even and stop flirting,” Eddie monotones as he slings your bags and his bag over his arm and shoulder.

You roll your eyes with a smile, canting your head to look over at the darker-haired boy. “Wanna go unpack?” you ask.

“If it’ll stop you and Harrington from making out, yeah.”

“Those jokes stopped being funny the first time you told them, Munson,” Steve grouses.

You walk to Eddie and take the hand dangling at his side. You trail behind him as he leads you up the wooden, unusually coiled staircase.

“Is this what rich people do when they build houses?” he comments. “’Cause this feels really dumb and unnecessary.”

“I assume you know a lot about those things,” you joke drily.

“Rude.”

At the top of the stairs, and for the first time alone, you smack a kiss to his mouth.

There are four doors to choose from on the second story — one is the bathroom, the other a storage closet.

Of the two bedrooms, you and Eddie pick the door at the very end of the carpeted hall on the right. It’s got a better view of the lake and is on the furthest side of the house — in that, it’s not just above the kids’ room. In that, maybe it’ll be quiet enough for the two of you to pretend that you’re just here by yourselves for a moment or two.

The walls are made of slatted wood, and the slanted ceiling is painted a deep green. There’s a stone fireplace and a dresser with a small television on one side of the room, and a balcony overlooking the lake to the other. It’s not huge but isn’t small either — the perfect size for a girl who loves being close to her boy and a boy who loves to let her.

Neither of you bothers unpacking. You make a silent agreement to live out of your bags for the next couple of days to save the pain of having to pack all over again when it’s time to go. Rather than spend the next half hour hunching your aching packs to organize clothes into drawers, you spend it flopping into bed beside one another.

Like muscle memory, you take the right side and Eddie takes the left. “It’s the side closest to the door, anyway,” he tells you. “And men always take that side. For some reason.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s to defend their wives in case someone breaks in,” you say, giggling.

“Well, that’s dumb. What if they come in from the window?”

“…I don’t know how you haven’t graduated yet, Eds. You’re a genius.”

Now, Eddie lies on his stomach with his face smushed into the pillow. Fatigue radiates from him like steam. You smooth a mindless hand up and down his back. Between dealing, going to school, and driving three hours across the state, you know he’s drained.

“What time is it?” he mumbles into the cushion.

You look over at the clock on the nightstand and then back at him. “Almost ten.”

“I’m so exhausted I think I could peel my skin off…”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “I don’t think that’s exhaustion, Eddie Spaghetti.”

His head perks up. His button eyes go wide and hopeful as he looks at you, almost shy. “Wanna hold me?” he murmurs, still half into the pillow in case you reject him and he has to hide again.

“I’m offended you’re even asking me that,” you scoff. “That answer’s always gonna be yes, Eddie Munson.”

You roll onto your back. Eddie squirms against the mattress until he’s close enough to lay his head on your chest. His curls tickle your neck and jaw. Your arms wrap around each other, holding one another like you haven’t spent several hours squished into a van together.

The moments you should be tired of each other, your love just seems to get bigger.

You don’t know if you’ve ever experienced that before, or if it’s the first time it’s ever happened in the history of the whole world. The butterflies in your stomach make both feel equally true.

“Did you have a good day?” Eddie mumbles into the t-shirt you’d just changed into. He’s obviously tired, but he doesn’t want to quit talking to you.

“The best,” you sigh, content and finally still. One hand curls into his hair. You scratch softly at his scalp. “And it’s gonna be even better tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. He doesn’t know if that’s totally true, but he’s found that’s a lot like what your relationship is like — perfect and getting better all the time. So he figures you must be right.

Silence settles within the four walls of the small bedroom. It feels soft like cotton candy, a blanket that’s been tossed over the both of you. You think you could stay like this all night — holding each other and never saying a word.

Eddie, however, has never met a quiet he doesn’t want to break.

“…Wanna fool around?” he jokes out of the blue.

“With kids downstairs and Robin right next door?” you laugh. “I think I’m good.”

“I’d be quiet,” he promises, leaning his chin on the swell of your breast to look at you.

“You don’t know how to be quiet, Munson. Besides, we shouldn’t fool around while we’re here anyway…”

The boy’s brows furrow at the teasing lilt in your tone. A smile curls at his lips. “…Why?”

“‘Cause Robin said those are the first people to die in scary movies.”

“She’s not wrong,” Eddie offers with a laugh. “I mean, she’s crazy, but she’s right.”

You sigh, smiling. “That’s Robin Buckley for you… She’s a total dork.”

“Guess that’s why you guys get along so well, then, huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie singsongs, too cute for his own good. “I just think everyone made a mistake calling you the slut of Hawkins, you know? Like calling me the freak is spot on, but you? You’re totally the dork.”

You snort. “Right…”

“Peach, The Cute,” Eddie lilts like he’s testing it on for size.

“Yeah? Is that what my name would be in your game?”

“Peach, The Adorable,” he continues. “Peach, The Precious, even.”

“Munson, The Annoying,” you croon in the same tone he’d used, though obviously joking and obviously not doing the best job as him. “Eddie, The Guy That’s About To Sleep Outside Tonight.”

Eddie beams. “See? You just proved my point. You’re too adorable for your own good, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” you hum as he moves off your chest and onto the pillow you’re lying on.

He props his head on his arm and nods. “So cute it makes my chest hurt a little bit.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize with a soft grin that says otherwise.

“’S okay,” he assures with a softer smile and a twinkle in the chocolate of his eye. His hand rises and toys with the fraying hem of your shirt. “Do you remember what we were talking about in the van earlier? About, like… knowing each other in high school?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I’m really glad we weren’t friends back then.”

Your heart wants to break, but you don’t let it. You don’t know what this boy is going to tell you next, but you’ve got a feeling it’s going to kill you and bring you back to life again. “Why?”

“‘Cause I don’t think you would’ve let me get to know you. Like, know you, know you.”

Not the way everyone else knows you, he wants to say.

“That’s not true,” you reject just because you feel like you should. Both of you know he’s right.

To put it simply, you would’ve loved to fuck Eddie Munson back in high school. Back then, he was just the weirdo who sold the cheapest weed — not the sweetheart you’ve gotten to know him as now. And the two of you would’ve had sex, and it would’ve been fine, but it wouldn’t have meant anything to either of you.

Sex is just sex until you decide to give it meaning.

And for you — and for a really, really long time — it didn’t mean shit. It was just a dumb way to pass the time when you ran out of words to say. A cheap way to get the validation you’d really been looking for the whole time. Intimacy stopped meaning something because no one touched you the way Eddie touched you.

He makes you feel held. Wanted. Loved.

You didn’t know either of those things existed when you were seventeen.

But you’ve found them now, in your old dealer who used to give you free weed for helping him study. You’re glad you meant him when you did — after heartache chewed you up and spat you out, left you soaking wet and shivering.

Eddie came to you like a warm blanket and a home-cooked meal. You wouldn’t have been able to appreciate him before now.

“Well, thanks for letting me know you anyway, sweetheart,” Eddie says with a lopsided smile.

Something about it is so strangely tender. More intimate than a thousand I love you’s.

You smile. “Thanks for letting me know you, too, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut #stranger things imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson #st oneshots #eddie spaghetti oneshot

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wasjustred · 1 year

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ahhh iloveyourworkssomuch!! 💖 i'd like to request something along the lines of sugar mommy!larissa (maybe with smut, who knows *wink*) 'cause she's all i can think about these days... anyways, happy early new years!!!

Easy Does It - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: Larissa spoils you beyond comprehension. Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x f!Reader Warnings: Smut. A lot of it. (Cunnilingus, fingering, strap-on — all Reader receiving) Word Count: ~4.7k

Author’s Note: I hope this meets your expectations, anon! I originally intended to make Larissa way more domineering, but once I began writing it just didn’t feel like her——I tried to stay true to her character where I could. As always, feedback is welcome ﹠. appreciated! ♡ (un-beta-ed as per usual!) ╱ AO3

The arrangement you and Larissa have has been smoothly gliding along for about six months now: you meet for dinner every weekend, in a town about half an hour outside of Jericho. You wear an outfit she’s picked out for you, she pulls your seat out, you share conversation and good - expensive - food and drinks, and you end on the stoop of your apartment, leaning into the kiss she places on your cheek, with a weekly allowance in cash in your purse. It’s the perfect set-up, nothing you’d dare protest, but sometimes you honest to god wish she’d just break her own rules and rail you ‘till the bed breaks.

Tonight you meet her at The Aviary, draped in a black satin dress with a deep slit up the leg––one of her favorites. Larissa helps you into your seat as she usually does, but before she takes her own, she places a long velvet box on your empty appetizer plate.

“Ooh, what’s this?”

“Open it and see.” A small, proud smirk turns her lips, eyes sparkling. You run your fingers over the velvet and lift at the seam, features going slack with surprise when you realize what’s hidden inside: a collar necklace, glittering diamond-cut, softening into a single falling arc of gems which ebbs, finally, into a small, shining teardrop. Light from the restaurant’s fixtures seem drawn to it, gleaming to and fro in a scattered stream of reflection. Your gaze snaps back to hers almost immediately, heart pounding.

“Larissa, I–”

“Do you like it?”

“I– Of course I do, it’s– it’s so beautiful..” Your voice softens and tapers off as you return your attention to the box before you. It’s probably the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given to you, but you stop short of admitting this. “Help me put it on?”

Larissa’s smile grows as she gathers the box in her hands, lifting the necklace from its cushion. She moves to stand behind you and tenderly brushes your hair aside; her hands are as soft as anything, so gentle in the way they handle you, securing the piece around your neck. Your own hand raises to rest atop the new weight at your clavicle, and when she sets her palms along your shoulders and squeezes, you shift your hand up to capture hers.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one?” Larissa presses her lips to your cheek from behind before she retakes her seat, arching a brow in challenge. The answer is no, of course; this is how you work, special occasion or not. She always manages to keep you on your toes, though, far more thoughtful and intimate than any other ‘financeur’ you’ve ever humored in the past: Tennis bracelets set with gemstones which perfectly match your eyes, a new coffee bar set-up when you mentioned off-hand that Starbucks had discontinued your favorite drink, a signed first edition copy of your favorite book she ‘just so happened to come across’ while out of state. Much more than the simple, routine bank deposits and luxury brand pieces that were never quite you which you received from others. Larissa’s gifts have always been astoundingly personal.

You’ve never told her this, but you stopped dating altogether once your little dynamic began. How could anyone else compare? She makes you feel important without ever having to work for it ––– like you’re lovable, worthy, because you exist, and nothing more. You’re breaking your own rules, being so enamored with her, but you refuse to dwell on it.

“No, you don’t…” You trail off as your food arrives, ducking your head in thanks as the waiter sets everything out before you. Any discussion of her gift to you ends there on Larissa’s own accord, swiftly and advantageously moving on to a new topic as soon as the waiter has left you. The rest of the night is spent sipping expensive wine and musing instead on all of the high-culture goings-on you never get to discuss with anyone else: Art, ballet, classical music. Larissa’s a delicious trove of knowledge and opinions and she impresses you with each turn of a new topic. You often find yourself wondering - not just tonight, but many nights whilst basking in her presence - why she’s chosen you. You can hold good conversation, of course, and have an appreciation for the finer things in life usually reserved for those older and/or wealthier than you, but what’s always been curious, what’s always given you pause, is that she never asks for anything else in return. You have no choice but to ask yourself what it is you possibly have to offer to a woman like her––but you almost always fall short of a satisfying answer.

She’s talking you both through an analysis of the most recent play she brought you to when you take one of her hands in your own, tracing the lines of her palm as you listen. Larissa stumbles over her words at first contact, a rare occurrence for her, and blushes pink at the sensation. When you glance up at her in question she quickly averts her gaze and carries on, moving to smooth her thumb over yours as you continue. You love her fingers: they’re long, delicate, awfully reminiscent of the Greek statues she enjoys waxing poetic about. It’s an instance in which you’re reminded art, very often, echoes us in a continuous cycle of give and take.

You don’t say a word when you notice her face darken another shade as you press a kiss to the inside of her wrist before moving on to dote upon her other hand.

She’s not once explicitly told you, but Larissa’s never expected you to take a physical liking to her. She set the rules she did early on for a reason, knowing she could live with looking and not touching, taking care of you and watching your face turn alight with each gift or special night out without ever ending the evening by your side. No sex necessary, no physical affection expected. But here you are, fawning over her, and she’s never been more conflicted.

To assuage the feeling, she convinces herself it’s the wine that’s made you this way––a good bottle will go a long way, thus your touch must be the product of inebriation, not genuine affection. You’ve both long since finished off your meals when Larissa pays the bill and drives you home as she normally does, to an apartment she partly finances (not fully, at your own insistence that there are some things you should take care of yourself) and walks you to your door, stooping to kiss your cheek. Routine.

She is right about one thing, however, and that’s the potency of the house wine tonight. Not on your reasoning, but your self-control. You spent the car ride home admiring her profile in the passing streetlamps and traffic lights, studying the way each red light cast itself across her, how the passing headlights of opposing traffic bathed her in a cinematic glow you associated only, appropriately, with Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire. Ghostlike, almost. Ethereal. And at that same wine’s behest, you lean further now into her goodnight kiss than you’d normally allow yourself.

It’s as she prepares to leave that you decide - anchored by the weight of the diamonds around your neck - that this is the night you’ll throw caution to the wind, fervently hoping it won’t backfire and end with her rejection and a ruined arrangement that you’d both worked to preserve over the past six months.

“Do you want to join me for a nightcap? I know we don’t usually, but.. I’d like you to. If you’d like to, of course. If you don’t that’s–––”

“Y/N,” she interrupts. You can hardly tell but her heart’s just about burst out of her chest. There’s an inner battle waging right on the precipice of her ribcage and your bright, hopeful eyes staring up at her aren’t making it any easier to parse out. Do you feel obligated somehow to pay her back for the necklace? She knows you know she’d never ask that of you, that your arrangement is not a traditional one, but has she unknowingly pushed the bounds all the same? Did you simply imbibe too much and don’t really have a clue what it is you’re saying?

Or, perhaps.. Most dangerously: Do you mean it?

“I don’t want you to feel as though you have to… ‘pay me back’ for tonight. That was never my intention.”

She volleys her own inner turmoil dead straight in your direction and stares down at you with what might be, if you squint hard enough, a nervous expression.

You lean sideways against the door and cross your arms over yourself, appraising her. Does she really not want you? What the hell does she get out of this if she doesn’t? You just can’t wrap your head around it, and while you insisted to yourself you’d never outwardly question the bounds of your relationship and why they’ve settled where they are, you’ve put yourself at a crossroads.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

She balks.

“What? Of course I do. What does that have to do with anything?” Larissa’s expression is a mixture of incredulity and apprehension. You decide to bite the bullet then as she lingers uncertainly beneath the moonlight.

“I don’t understand what you get out of this. Am I not–– you think I’m pretty but you don’t want to touch me? You pay for my livelihood but you don’t want anything tangible in return?” You both purse your lips simultaneously and you’d laugh if the situation weren’t so dire all of a sudden. “You confuse me, Larissa.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a small cloud bursting forth as she sighs.

You fucked it, didn’t you? Fucked it right to hell, and now she’s never going to speak to you again.

“You’re an idiot, do you know that?” The air goes still.

…

It’s news to you.

Larissa suddenly pushes forward and traps you against the front of your door, hands leveled at your waist. “I’ve always wanted you,” she grits out, her arms tensing at your sides. “I just didn’t want you to feel as though you had to. Return the sentiment, that is. You’re too precious for that.” Her voice is low and rough in your ear, strangled. You grab hold of her forearms to keep yourself upright when her tone shoots right through you, breathing heavily. You gradually lift your gaze, poring over every curve of hers as you do, and meet her eyes. They’ve nearly gone black with lust, and a subtle quiver in her lip tells you everything you need to know.

“Kiss me.”

Larissa groans, which is admittedly not the reaction you’d expected, and presses further into you, her nose brushing against your cheek. You can feel the heat of her grow, ensnaring you in perfect contrast to the cool night air.

“You have to tell me you want it, darling. I need you to say it.” … Oh. A new wave of arousal surges through you as you turn your head ever so slightly, her lips hovering just out of reach. The shared breath between you has become fraught with possibility, with the overwhelming, unspent energy that’s been collecting over the last six months without either of you quite noticing. Of course this is what she needs: confirmation, not that you’re hers but that she’s yours, by choice and choice alone.

“I want you, Larissa. Please,” you whisper, squeezing her arms in an attempt to ground yourself. She says nothing in return, instead immediately closing the distance and engulfing you in a desperate, searing kiss. Your cheeks burn and it’s all you can do not to melt into her fully, sucking in a sharp breath as her tongue slides against your bottom lip. This, this, you realize, is exactly what you’d imagined: Feeling her against you, wrapped up tightly in her arms, being drawn in and freed all at once, struggling to contain the desire you feel pulsing within yourself. It’s like Larissa’s split open your mind and picked through every thought there, coming away with only the most indecent imaginings and putting them to use as her hips pitch forward and her hands grasp achingly at the roundness of your thighs.

“Open the door,” she husks, suddenly ripping herself away and turning you at the waist to face the door. You fumble for your keys as she scores your neck and shoulders with hot, open-mouth kisses, running the tip of her tongue along the muscle that pulls taut there.

“F-fuck.” The chuckle she gives in response to your whimpering, shaking when you can’t fit the key into its slot, only weakens you further. Larissa must know her effect well as she wraps an arm around you to hold you upright, the other grabbing the key from you and swiftly unlocking the door in one go.

“Trust me, I’m trying.”

Laughter follows you both as you take the stairs one at a time, pausing every few to take her tongue in your mouth and run your hands along her front. You bypass the living room once you reach the landing - a feat in itself - and lead Larissa straight to your bedroom, kicking one heel off in the hall and the other at the threshold of your room.

She stops you just before you reach the bed and holds you steady for a moment: “Hold on, I want to look at you..” You hair is mussed, curls losing their hold in the heat of your entanglement, chest heaving and red. Larissa steps forward to brush her thumb over your lips, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

She doesn’t find any.

“Christ, you’re a pretty thing,” she hums. The pad of her thumb pulls at your bottom lip and you acquiesce, tilting your chin up before taking her finger into your mouth, rolling your tongue against its tip, watching her with wide eyes that imply an innocence you don’t possess. A hiss escapes her when your teeth come down around her knuckle and she scowls, gripping your jaw with an intensity that rivets the surrounding atmosphere as she rips her hand away, smashing your lips together once more.

In the next second the backs of your knees are buckling against the edge of the mattress and you squeak; Larissa had slipped a hand over your sternum and shoved, launching you down hard into the bed. Wet heat urges your hips forward as she crawls over you, but her hands swiftly come down to force them back into the mattress, trapping you there.

“Patience, darling.” You scoff as she begins the journey down your body, placing lazy kisses to your lips, cheek, jaw, chest while her fingers deftly work to pull your dress from you. You lift your back so she can snake a hand around and drag the zipper down to its end at the top of your hips, wriggling free and moving to pull at her own dress–––but she grabs your wrists, pinning them above you with a devious smirk.

“Ah, ah. Let me spoil you,” she murmurs into the crook of your neck, one hand traveling to cup the dampness between your legs. Electricity cracks against your spine at her touch; you’re sweltering and freezing all at once, watching her eyes rake over you with a hunger you’ve never seen on her before. Her fingers draw idle circles around your clit as she works her way down your body, leaving a trail of wetness in her wake where tongue meets flesh, nipping at the precipice of your hip bones, glancing up at you before she licks you through your panties. There’s no helping the whine you turn free when she all but purrs at the taste she gets of you from the soaked fabric.

“Larissa, please,” you huff, lifting your hips up to meet her mouth. She takes three steps then in quick succession: chuckles into the skin of your inner thigh; pulls your panties down and off of you; and presses a series of messy, teasing kisses to your bare sex. Your fingers clutch at the top of your duvet as she finally begins to devour you, breath hitching as her tongue circles your entrance and delves into you. In a moment of white hot desperation, you hook your legs around her, calves flexing against her back as you shudder into her touch. She’s ravenous, consuming you with long, uninterrupted strokes that ride on the flat of her tongue, lapping your slickness up and winding into you all at once. The coil is tight within you already, pulsing with every movement of her mouth. You’re almost worried it’ll be over before it scarcely has had the chance to start, but a quiet, bemused voice in the back of your mind ridicules you: Larissa is nothing if not generous.

“You taste divine,” she breathes, before returning her ministrations to your clit, sucking and popping with the filthiest fucking moan you’ve ever heard. The feeling of her tongue against that tight bundle of nerves prompts your eyes to roll back, eyelids fluttering, and imbues your hands with a mind of their own, working them swiftly into her hair and pulling her as close to your cunt as you can get her, hips lurching in an unsteady rhythm. You can feel her amusement at your desperation as distinctly as you feel her mouth, but it’s quickly forgotten when she slides two fingers into you with an ease that makes you lightheaded. The sound of your wetness is sinful, and you have to admit it only spurs you on.

“Fuck me, fuck me, pleasefuckme––” Larissa’s grinning against you as she pumps her fingers, curling into you with a startling accuracy that leaves you breathless and aching. You press your cheek to your shoulder in a feeble attempt to keep yourself above the threshold dividing pleasure and bliss, useless as she slips another finger into you and flicks her tongue against you, quickening her pace as she follows the mounting tone of your pleas. Every touch spreads a warmth through you impossible to ignore, stirring a frantic need beneath the surface of your skin.

“Cum for me, darling, cum for me, that’s right.” Larissa presses the heel of her hand into the space just below the swell of your stomach and the coil snaps suddenly, sharply, sucking all of the air out of you at the same time that you yelp and tense with equal force, clamping around her face as your orgasm tears through you. She continues to lap at you even as your hands push at her, holding fast to your thighs to keep her place. Your legs shake as she builds you up in the same breath that you’re coming down, a second orgasm already rearing its head.

“I can’t,” you keen, but Larissa shakes her head and unlatches briefly to disagree.

“Yes you can, Y/N––be a good girl for me.” It washes over you when she lowers her face again and wraps her lips around your clit, sucking with an unfazed firmness that shocks you to your center. You’re tingling over every limb, pacing your breaths to ride you through this second crest. “That’s it..” Larissa coos, running her hand over your leg comfortingly. You can hardly breathe as the shockwaves roll through you one after the other, and the darkness of the ceiling above you seems to double in size as you stare in a daze.

Your muscles melt into the mattress one by one, sinking deep as Larissa finally pulls her head away and crawls forward to kiss you; you can taste your slickness on her tongue, familiar and tangy. When you part, gasping for air, you wrap a hand around the back of her neck and press your foreheads together, gazing up into her eyes with the softest look you can muster after so thoroughly falling apart in her hands.

“My turn?” She laughs loud and heartily at your doe-eyed demeanor. You’re itching to touch her, to taste her, and she knows it.

“Mmm, maybe.” Larissa shrugs and rises up from her position over you, sliding off to the side of the bed where you can’t reach her––and not for lack of trying. A whine catches in your throat when she shoots a withering look over her shoulder, patting the space beside her. “Help me with my dress, darling.”

You waste no time in flipping over onto your knees, shuffling over to her and grappling with the zipper of her dress. You flush when she laughs both at your inability to get it down in one swift motion and the frustrated little growl that bubbles up from your chest.

“Not funny,” you complain, gritting your teeth as she shifts and the zipper gives, revealing the smooth, snowy expanse of her back. Instilled with a renewed sense of hunger, you push the fabric away from both of her shoulders and continue the journey down and around to her breasts, thrilled she’s forgone a bra tonight as you palm the supple flesh there and roll her nipples between your fingers. The sigh she expels is a ragged one, her hands dwarfing yours whilst her head falls back against your shoulder. You revel in the sight of her lip caught between her teeth.

“I want to fuck you.” You just barely catch it in between her labored breaths and your own thunderous heartbeat, but you do, and you turn to glance at her curiously before her meaning hits you square in the face.

“But––”

She cuts you off. “I want to destroy you, Y/N. You can taste me later,” Larissa mutters, pivoting without another warning and capturing your lips again. You wouldn’t complain if it weren’t for the utter distress you felt to get your hands on her. She doesn’t give you a chance to rebut, however, as she slips out of her dress and climbs over you, guiding your hands to grip her ass. “Later, I promise.” She pulls back to appraise you, taking a rigorous inventory that she’ll commit to memory if it’s the last thing she does: Your flushed skin, the way you can’t keep still under her touch, the unmistakable shine of desire in your eyes.

“In th-the nightstand,” you stammer. Suddenly the realization that Larissa is here, in your bed, and you, at her mercy, is too much at once. You’re trembling with need and anticipation. She tilts her head at you, one second, two passing before she follows your guidance and pulls the drawer open, grinning wickedly at what she finds there.

“Harness?”

You nod vigorously, propping yourself up on your elbows and directing her through another drawer of your dresser. The slow, methodical way in which she fastens the leather around herself surely burns itself into your brain, and you can’t help the shameless moan that seeps out when she smooths an indulgent layer of lubricant along the silicone from base to tip, a delicious sight between her legs.

Larissa approaches with an emphasized swing to her hips, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to your lips before she nudges you to scoot back into the middle of the bed, positioning herself above you with a hand on either side of your head. She dips her face down into the hollow of your throat.

Her voice vibrates against you despite her hushed tone. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

Your brain short-circuits at her words, imperfect timing. God, she’s fucking hot.

She lifts her head again to catch your gaze and smirks, nibbling on the tip of your chin. “Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, I’m ready,” you rasp, drawing your nails down the broad expanse of her back in anticipation.

The moment she slides into you is pure ecstasy: your toes curl and you haphazardly clamber for purchase upon her skin as she buries herself deep within you, stalling for a few moments to give you time to adjust. The way Larissa groans into the motion draws out an amusing - filthy - rumination about her being able to feel every stroke as with her own body, delighting in your wetness. She fills you seamlessly, snapping her hips against you before slowly drawing herself back, only to repeat the pattern and plunge into you as deeply as she’s able. It’s bruising and pleasurable all at once, how she brushes up against your walls and the ridges of the toy hit what your mind insists is every nerve-ending within you.

You rock together desperately, bodies moving as one as if you’d been doing this for centuries, mapping each other out and bringing each other to your peak. You savor the novel, tangled scent of sweat and arousal, a newly formed association with the sound of Larissa’s broken whimpers now frozen in your psyche.

A startled breath leaves you as Larissa abruptly anchors her weight to one side and pulls you on top of her, flipping your positions. Her arms wrap tight around you, looped at your back and around your shoulder as she fucks up into you at a crushing pace. You whine into the crook of her neck and realize you’re on the verge of tears, an overwhelming wave of pleasure and desperation wracking your body. Quiet grunts accompany her each thrust, slowing just so until it’s a steady pattern you can count to like clockwork, brutal and sharp at every buck of her hips. Your knees are aching, folded as they are, but the tight, coiling sensation within you overrides any and all discomfort, merely a quiet nagging in your brain; your focus is settled precisely on the angle of her cock and how her nails dig into your skin as you grind against each other. She’s close, too. You can feel it. It’s there in the shallowness of her breaths, in the urgency of her pelvis against yours, in the subtle arch of her back. You try to meet her where she’s at in your muddled state, pitching your hips backwards and down when she thrusts upwards––and you know it’s worked when she gasps and her hands scramble to lock together at the small of your back.

“Yes, that’s it darling. Just like that,” Larissa pants, using the leverage of her hold on you to help you fuck yourself. The only sounds permeating the room are that of your mingled breaths and her cock driving into you with a consistent, almost unforgiving rhythm.

“Pleasepleaseplease, ohfuck––”

“Y/N–––”

She tenses with you and cries out as your orgasms hit you both at once, ravaging you beyond reason. You’re hyper-aware of the way her breasts feel pressed against you, the way one of her hands flies up to bury itself in your hair as you ride her through your climax. Larissa’s hips stutter as she whines into your shoulder, sinking her teeth into you, and you marvel at the feeling of her muscles clenching around you, from the sinewy stretch of her arms to her thighs rested between your own.

Everything you’d hoped for. Fantasized about. Greedily deliberated again and again whilst watching her across the table in another fancy restaurant in another unfamiliar town.

Larissa is careful as she pulls out of you, slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the tenderness there. You remain curled on top of her but she doesn’t complain, rather rubbing your back in long, languid movements and whispering affirmations in you ear, a sweet mixture of ‘breathe darling, I’ve got you’ and more headily, ‘you did so well for me, you’re so good, you took me so well’. When you allow yourself to fall to the side of her, she shimmies out of the harness and tosses it somewhere off the edge of the bed, ignoring its clatter as she wraps you up in her arms. You burrow yourself further into her warmth and sigh at the feeling, content.

“Now is it my turn?” you ask, voice low and raked over with exhaustion. The belly laugh she gives is worth all the weariness in the world. “You’re incorrigible!”

#i also tried not to dive too deep into any specific kinks since there was no request for any #i think what i’m gonna do is add to my masterlist what kinks i will and won’t write and go from there!#that way ppl can request as they please :)#if anyone has any constructive/technique-specific comments on the smut pls send them my way!!#i have a tendency to be super explanatory/forward in a way that i don’t think always works for smth so intimate #so i’d love any help i can get!#ANYWAYSSSSS enjoy #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x f!reader #principal weems x reader #larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems x you #principal weems imagine #larissa weems reader insert #larissa weems smut #answered (request)#wasjustred

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samandcolbyownme · 4 months

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Summary: anon request - “hear me out… first christmas with colby or sam?”

Warnings: NONE

Word count: 930 | not edited

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

It was Christmas.

But not just any Christmas. This was your first Christmas with both Sam and Colby.

You were excited, yet super nervous because you always got anxious about gift giving. You loved giving gifts, but you always worried it was too little or too much.

As you rose from your bed, you heard a clatter downstairs. You smiled to yourself as you remembered in the wine drunk haze of last night, they promised to make you breakfast.

You threw on a sweater, glancing down at the matching pj pants as you slip on the Christmas slippers they got you to match them, too.

You make your way over to the steps, quietly walking down as you listen to them laugh and talk about how happy they are to be doing this with you.

You slowly push open the kitchen door, making your way in, “Good morning, and merry Christmas.”

They stop, both looking at you with huge smiles, “Good morning.” Sam smiles and walks over, antlers resting on top of his head and presses a kiss to your cheek, “I hope you’re hungry, we made you…”

You look over as Colby slides a plate in front of you with three pancakes ranging from small to large and chocolate chips for eyes, “Snowman pancakes.” Colby smiles and you shake your head, “This is so cute. Thank you.” You look down at the plate and sigh, “You guys are the best.”

Colby walks around, moving his Santa hat out of the way before kissing your head. He lays an arm over your shoulder, “Anything to make this day as perfect a magical as you want. Merry Christmas, baby.”

After breakfast, you’re nestled on the couch with a Christmas movie playing in the background, “So.. who wants to go first?”

“I think.. you should.” Sam stands up, walking over to the tree and grabbing a small neatly wrapped box, “This is from both of us.”

He sets the box in your hands and you smile, “Okay.” You unwrap it, biting your lip as you await to unwrap what’s inside. You open the box, gasping at the beautiful diamond necklace that’s resting perfectly on the velvet interior, “This is absolutely beautiful.”

“You think? We thought that was the one that suited you best.” Colby smiles and you look between both of them, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You take it out, turning around for one of them to help you clasp it around your neck. You turn back and stand up, “Okay. Your turn.”

You stand up, grabbing two gifts, one with Sam’s name and the other with Colby’s name.

You hand them to them and sit down, nervously waiting to see their reactions. Sam unwraps his first and smiles, “I remember this day. This was our first investigation together. The first time we actually met instead of just texting and stuff.” He stares at the picture and chuckles, “I swear you were going to pee your pants.”

“Wanted to. But I didn’t.” You smile as you sip your hot chocolate and look at Colby, “Your turn.” You smile as you watch him opens his gift.

“This was..” he sighs as he smiles, eyes scanning over the picture of you and him, “I remember telling Sam that there was something about you and he agreed to keep having you come back.”

“I was scrolling through all of the pictures we have together and I really kept going back to those two and the one of all of us.. which..” you get up and grab a wrapped gift that has both their names on it, “Here.”

They unwrap it together and their mouths drop open.

“Y/n.” Colby looks at you and shakes his head. Sam pouts, “You got us a new camera?”

You nod, “I did.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Colby shakes his head, “This is.. this is amazing.” Sam moves over to your other side, gently pressing his lips to yours a few times, whispering thank you’s between each kiss.

Colby leans over, doing the same, “Thank you so much.”

“I love you both so.. merry Christmas.” You smile and Sam pulls you in for a hug, “I love you! Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Colby moves next to you, joining in on the hug as well, “You have no idea how much we love you.” You smile, laying a hand on both of their arms.

After opening the rest of the gifts and messing around with what you all got each other, you’re finally laying with them on the couch, watching another one of your favorite Christmas movies.

Laughing, talking, eating Christmas cookies you spent all hours of last night making.

You truly felt at peace.

You were happy. More happy than you ever thought you could be.

Sam’s fingers gently rub your thigh and Colby’s arm is around you with his hand resting perfectly on your shoulder.

You honestly couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas.

Last night was perfect and today is even better. You were happy to be spending Christmas with the two people who loved you most in this world.

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to those who celebrate. I hope today is the best it can be and just remember that you’re an amazing human being. I know today is tough for some people, but you are loved, and if it doesn’t feel like it, just remember that I love you and I appreciate you being here. 🤍

#samandcolby-ownme #sam and colby #sam and colby one shots #colby brock #sam golbach #sam and Colby fluff #solby fluff #solby x reader #solby one shots #sam and colby x reader #Christmas edition #Sam and Colby Christmas #merry christmas #happy holidays #sam golbach fluff #Colby Brock fluff

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dirtybg3confessions · 5 months

Note

Mods you’re a real one for finding all the screenshots and editing together all these posts that takes a lot of effort and I respect you all immensely for being such dedicated curators of horny

The scene opens in a library, with high ceilings and overflowing bookshelves just as tall. Candlelight casts a warm glow on the various plants and mushrooms lovingly placed on shelves, and on the red velvet sofa that sits in the corner. Mod tri enters the scene, and sets an envelope on a large and cluttered desk. A knife cuts through the wax seal, and they pull the slip of parchment from inside. i wana eat asstarions a55hole Mod tri ponders the message a moment, gears turning over in their brain. Suddenly- it strikes. They snap their fingers- "I know just the thing!" Mod tri peruses the volumes on the shelves, before carefully selecting and pulling a dust covered tome. They place the tome on the desk, coughing as the dust clouds around them.

They flip through the pages quickly, looking for something before stopping abruptly on page 69. "Yes," they muse, gazing upon the image of Astarion clad in Lae'zel's underwear and a cowboy hat. "yes, it's perfect!" They tear the image from the book and grab the parchment with the sacred words, rolling them together as they whisper the unholy words that makes them join. Mod tri then takes the finished project up a ladder, to the window that was not originally in this narrative but is now for convenience. They carefully tie the message to the waiting chicken's leg.

Mod tri gathers the chicken in their arms. "Go forth! Water the people!" They throw the chicken, who promptly falls to the ground and begins pecking at the message attached to their leg.

"Perfection."

#anon ask #not confessions

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ofpolitics · 1 year

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youtube

if y'all would like to know a potentially unlikely influence to my portrayal of tenel ka, it's this absolutely glorious ride of a movie. it's the heartbreak but throwing oneself into it anyway, the constant introspection, the determination, the love of a mother for her daughter, but the ability to let her go...

#· ooc » entranced by navy burnout silk velvet #this is one of those movies that makes me sob every time #and this edit is PERFECT

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queers-gambit · 1 year

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It Feels Like (the Very) First Time part two

[ part one ]

[ series masterlist ]

prompt: your husband finally shows you all of him.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

fandom: House of the Dragon

word count: 7.4k+

warnings: cursing, smut, Aemond has more emotion than he knows what to do with, Ewan Mitchell with horses - yum. small angst, large comfort. more filler, more fluff, more of author avoiding responsibilities!! what is editing? i don't know her!!

"What's this?" Aemond whispered through sleep, cracking his eye open in confusion as you settled on the bed with a large, legged tray decorated with different foods. "What're you up to, pretty girl?"

His voice was still hoarse when he first woke up.

"Another surprise," you beamed at him, the sun streaming in through the open windows.

Aemond sighed through sleep, "How're you awake right now? Last night wasn't enough?"

"I'm a bit excited," you defended softly, "today's pretty special in my opinion."

He chuckled and slowly pulled himself up in bed, eyepatch still in place after passing out in it; hand raising to wipe his eye of sleep. "This is nice, love," he nodded gently as you set the tray to his side, easily returning to him when his arm opened in invitation. "Thank you," he mumbled, kissing your temple.

"Mhm, I promised it was just gonna be us," you smirked at him, letting his lips meet yours slowly. "Happy nameday, love," you whispered against his lips, slowly grinning.

He nodded, "Thank you."

"C'mon, I've got a day planned," you smirked, encouraging the tray forward for you both to pick off of. He chuckled when on the tray, laid one of his first presents.

"What's this?" He perked a brow, pointing to the smaller box.

"Maybe you should open it, find out," you teased softly, biting into a berry. He spared you a small look before sighing and reaching for it, slowly unwrapping the packaging and revealing the velvet box.

"Sweetheart," he warned.

"Just shut up and open it," you laughed, letting both your arms coil around one of his as he slowly opened the box.

"What...?" He breathed.

"It's for protection," you smiled softly. "And strength, whenever you need it. 'S the Warrior, see?" You gently pet the pendent.

"It's beautiful, love," he muttered against the crown of your head, kissing it.

"It's for the times I'm not with you," you explained. "You told me you feel safe with me, yeah?" He nodded silently. "So, the times I'm not with you, let this pendent give you strength. The Warrior's good for that."

He chuckled a breath through his nose. "No, this is perfect, sweet girl. Thank you. This is... Really special," he assured, handing you the box. "Wanna put it on?"

"Yeah?" You shot up in excitement, trying to restrain your joy but look, when you nailed a present, you got something akin to an adrenaline high. "You mean it?"

"Put it on," he chuckled, "and I won't take it off, hmm?"

"Good, good, good," you muttered, taking the golden chain in hand before shuffling to your knees. He sat still to let you clasp the chain, sitting back to admire the pendent. "Oh, yeah, this looks - yeah, this is good."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, mimicking you.

"Yes! Really suits you," you smirked, leaning in to peck his lips. "But I know you're feeling flustered, so, I promise... There's still more surprises."

"Y/N," he groaned, "this is enough."

"Hush your mouth and come with me. Get dressed in something loose," you thought for a moment. "And boots - wear boots."

"What're you planning?"

"Play along," you groaned, trying to pull him from the bed. "By the Gods, what're you eating, lad?"

He laughed and easily tugged you back, letting your knees crash to the bed on either side of his hips; making you catch yourself on his shoulders. "In a moment," he preened, licking your bottom lip as his hands easily slid from your thighs up to grip your bottom again, "I need to thank my wife properly."

"No," you giggled, "c'mon, save the thanks and celebration for later."

He sighed at your stubbornness, kissing you once more before giving a hearty pat to your arse, "All right, pretty girl, go on."

With a spring to your step, Aemond watched you flit around the room before getting out of bed, too. You both prepared for your day and you made sure to grab the new pair of gloves Helaena got him. Once in a tunic and pair of breeches, your boots were laced on and hand taken in Aemond's to leave your room.

He didn't know where to go, so, he had to follow you through the Keep. "What're we doing at the stables, love?" He wondered softly, following you closely as he eyed the magnificent beasts around you.

"I heard rumor the Prince used to love horses before he mastered Vhagar," you turned so you walked down the aisle of the stable backwards, hand still held in his.

He chuckled, "Before Vhagar, I only had reason to learn to ride a horse. Since then, I've tried to focus more on my dragon."

You hummed and nodded, "Perhaps because you also don't own your own horse?"

"What do I have need of a horse for?" He chuckled, teasing you.

"To go out on rides with your wife," you teased. "C'mon," you tugged him further, introducing him to the final stall. "Ta-da."

This time, Aemond fully laughed; his cheeks heating up gently, "You really got me a horse?"

"I really did," you beamed. "Wanna go for a ride?"

"You're serious?"

"Why would I jest at a time like this?" You pouted lightly. "Call it spousal bonding."

Aemond let his lips quirk in a smirk, stepping towards you until his hands took hold of your hips and your own latched onto the area above his elbow. "You go above and beyond, sweet girl," he mused.

"You deserve it," you assured softly. "And while I do not get to spoil you usually, I can for today. So, please," you nodded at his new ebony stallion, "go for a ride with me."

"How can I say no?" He smirked, leaning in to peck your lips. "Thank you, my love. I want to say it's too much but you are too stubborn to hear me."

You let your eyes roll, giving him another kiss before pulling back to select your steed for the day. And like that, the morning fell into afternoon in the stable and then the afternoon melted into evening with you both outside the city walls, on horseback.

Aemond seemed different and it was notable enough that you cocked your head as you watched him. At some point, his head tilted back and his eye shut to take a deep breath in; letting you admire him for a long moment before riding forward. The horse you bought him was, indeed, a bit green in his steps but Aemond handled him like a professional - and Gods, was it a sight to witness. You both explored the area beyond your home and as the sun moved into position to sink, you wondered if you should make for the Keep again.

With the promise of returning whenever you liked, since this was his horse now, you both made it back to the stable in time for the sunset. Leaving the stallion and your borrowed gelding in their stalls after cooling them out, you and Aemond made for your rooms with another mischievous grin.

"Let me guess," He sighed, trying not to roll his eye but the attitude was evident, "you've yet another surprise?"

"Of course," you chirped, grinning at him as your hand shot out in offer. "Shall we, my dear husband?" He had to chuckle lightly, slapping his palm into your own almost begrudgingly. "Oh, come now, you can try to cheer up. It was a nice day, wasn't it?"

Aemond sighed gently and tugged you by your hand so you were right under his arm. "Today was kinda perfect, my love. Thank you," he whispered against your forehead before pecking it. "I almost forgot how much I like horses."

"Well, now you own one," you smirked. "I did good, huh?"

Aemond let himself chuckle quietly, "Yeah, pet, you absolutely nailed it. Hmm?"

Under your breath, you hissed, "Yes," much to your husband's amusement.

"And now?" He asked, glancing around the halls you lead him down.

"You're gonna wait in our rooms while I get dinner settled," you smirked up at him gently. "Maybe get a bath, you reek of manure."

You both laughed gently, knowing you were no better; horse hair coating both of your clothing and leaving natural smudges of dirt, grime, and yes, sometimes, manure. It was mostly caked to your boots in an array of mud, hay, and sawdust; so, when you got to your rooms, you were both quick to shed your gear.

"Uh," Aemond eyed you carefully when you dressed.

"What?"

"You're not going in that," he chuckled.

"I was going to put a dressing robe on," you smirked, gently rolling your eyes as you gathered your hair together before twisting and pinning it off your neck.

"Hmm," he considered, letting his eye rake up and down your form. "Maybe pants?"

You chuckled, relenting as you plucked up a pair of simple trousers, "Yes, my sweet. Good?" You checked, easily stepping into the thin material and tying the drawstring.

"With the dressing robe, yes," he mused, truthfully only wanting you bare for him and covered to your neck for everyone else. "You'll join me when you return?"

"Um, ew?" You laughed lightly. "So we might sit in our own filth?"

He shrugged, "What if we cleaned ourselves before we stepped in the tub?"

"Doable but still gross," you teased. "It'll be like human soup of our grime, love."

"Well, if you don't want - "

"Hey, hey," you smiled as you approached him, tying off your robe, "'s your day and if you want to get a bath with me, I would not refuse." You paused, and then relented, "In truth, any other day, I would not refuse - but today's special."

"All right, all right," he smirked, giving your hips a squeeze, "you go, I'll be here."

"Good," you chirped, toes supporting your weight as you pecked his lips swiftly. "I'll be quick!"

Aemond smirked and let his hand swat your bottom (again), chuckling when you offered a half-hearted glare. After stuffing your feet into a pair of slippers, you darted out of the room and rushed for the kitchens. From there, Chef Uller was all too happy to go over a menu with you; assuring it would be delivered to your bed chambers.

Once everything was set in motion, you took a pitcher of wine and two fresh goblets to your room. With the door shut, but not yet locked, you set your items down to pour the wine and then peak into the adjoining room.

It was considerably smaller, but served its purpose of providing privacy in one's most personal, intimate moments. However, it also housed a smaller fireplace that warmed the clawed foot tub resting before it; kettle dangling slightly from it's hanging rack.

Aemond was resting in the tub already, hair, also, pinned back to save it from getting wet. He lazily looked over when you approached and you briefly had to remind yourself not to get angry when you noted he still wore his eyepatch. "Thanks, love," he whispered, accepting the goblet you handed him.

"Mhm," you nodded gently, taking a sip.

"Join me," he requested - or demanded, you're not sure. It didn't matter much because you were eagerly stripping to the side of the tub under his heavy gaze.

Aemond's chest sat through the waterline and silently sipped as his eye watched you, but was taken aback when you asked, "Do you trust me?"

"Probably more than I should, pet," he answered slowly. "Where'd that come from?"

You sighed lightly and in the nude, neared the tub with your own goblet. "Well, you just," you sighed as you sat to the rim of the tub, turning slowly so your legs were submerged first. "You do not let me see you."

He understood your words, telling you quietly, "You saw me at my worst, you should not have to subject yourself to that, again."

Aemond's free hand was offered to you and you accepted it, easing yourself into the still-warmed water. "Well, shouldn't you leave that up to me to decide?" You asked, back leaning against the opposite end; making your legs lay over his to leave your feet at his hips. It left your legs spread to his gaze, water doing nothing to hide the lower half of your body.

His free hand dropped to hold your shin that rested over his thigh, "No, my love, I would not want you to pass judgement."

"So, you do not trust me."

"I do, pet."

"Then why are you afraid to show me?" You asked quietly. "We are already married, Aemond, there is not much you can do to chase me away." Your feet squeezed his hips, pouting lightly, "What if I wanted to see it?"

He sighed, "I do not need to hear my wife's disgust over my apparance."

"Or are you afraid of the praise I will offer?"

It was silent for a few moments as you both took sips of wine, then heard the chamber door open.

"What's that?" He asked in mild alarm.

"Ease yourself, it's only Amira and Chef Uller bringing us dinner," you assured softly. When his questioning gaze turned to you, you smiled softly, "I told you it was just us today."

"So you did," he smirked. "Tell me something." You sighed and nodded, tipping the goblet to your lips as your free hand laid over the lip of the tub. Aemond's hand rose from the water to gently lace your fingers together, the last of the steam wafting from the water's surface. "Did you get me those books or did my brother, truly?"

You paused, feeling yourself flare in a flush of internal embarrassment; blinking a few times as you sighed. "Well, he is... Busy, love. He could not find the time, so, while I was out, I made sure to grab something Aegon could give you."

He nodded, "So, they're from you?"

Your eyes rolled, "Yes, yes, and from your dear brother, he only graced you with his decent behavior at dinner."

"Which went more noticed than you think, sweet girl," he smirked, the outer door shutting again - and you knew Amira was the last out of the room to ensure nobody lingered.

"Hmm?"

"Mum noticed," he nodded softly. "I could tell."

"Well - "

"No, truly, love, what is it you have on him?" He asked, leaning over to set his goblet to the stone floor. You deftly handed him your own. "Hmm?" He turned in the water to reach for you, and you did not fight his encouragement to slide on your knees to rest on his lap. "What is it you have on my brother that gets him to act like a regular person?"

You chuckled, damp arms rising to wrap around his neck. "I promise you, I have nothing. Aegon is a special lad," you allotted, "and has to be handled in a special way. I would only like to think I am merely defensive against him."

Aemond nodded softly, "He likes to instigate."

"Mhm," you agreed, letting his lips meet yours. "However, if my dinner gets any colder, I'll be very upset."

"Oh, c'mon, love," he pouted gently. "Just gotta raise your hips for me."

"So you might make another mess?" You teased, kissing him again. "No, love, c'mon. I can wash your hair if you'd like."

"Perhaps in the morning," he promised with a soft smirk. "I might've taken tomorrow off from responsibilities."

"Yeah?" You nodded gently, nose rubbing up his own.

"Mhm. And I allegedly got you released from duties, too."

"What did you do?" You laughed.

"Merely expressed my want to show my wife how appreciative of her I am," he chuckled, letting his tongue boldly stick out to lick flat up your neck. Your breathing stuttered slightly as your hands tightened on his neck as he muttered, "That I desired being alone with her."

"Oh, so, you told everyone we were going to fuck all day," you teased, laughing gently in his ear.

"Mhm," he smirked, pecking your cheek. "Am I wrong?"

"If I'm not fed soon, maybe."

Aemond laughed and agreed, letting you both climb from the tub; sending a wave of water back into it and onto the stone floor as you dried off. You didn't bother dressing, only tied your robe on; Aemond following your lead and tying on a simple pair of thin trousers. After, he sat at the table and you skipped over, showing him the last two books for him to open.

"I knew it," he teased, opening them. "Are you done for the night?"

"Hmm," you thought about it for a moment, "nope, there's one more. But that's for later," you winked, claiming your own seat as he dished you both plates. "You like them?"

He nodded, glancing at the titles. "Have you read them?"

"A few years ago," you nodded, "and thought you'd like them, maybe we could talk about it."

Aemond chuckled, "Yeah, sweetheart."

Dinner passed uneventfully, and by the end, your bare feet were curled in Aemond's lap as he couldn't resist reading the first chapter of one of the books you got him. You listened as he read, smiling when one of his hands held the book and the other caressed the skin of your feet, ankle, and shins. You were both content to banter back and forth regarding whatever he read, and because you've read the book already, you had to advantage to really poke at him.

As the night passed, it was evident the exhaustion of the day set and Aemond was glancing around. When he noted your softened expression, arm propped on the table to keep your head upright, he closed the novel and placed it under his arm. "C'mere," he whispered, using your hands to guide you to your feet and then lead you to bed.

It was easy enough to get in bed and resume reading. This time, you were pressed against his chest to look at the book he read from, petting the small tuffs of thin, soft hair on his chest.

Just before midnight, you stretched against Aemond's side to then lean up, caress his one cheek, and press your lips to the other. His cheeks filled with a grin as you obnoxiously hummed through your wet pecks, nose nuzzling the side of his own.

"Hey," you whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Ready for your last surprise?"

He sighed, "As if today wasn't enough?"

"Mhm."

Aemond chuckled, patting your hip, "All right, yeah, let's get it done. Go on, pretty girl," his lips pecked your forehead.

With a another grin, you shot out of bed and readjusted your robe to locate the last, final gift of the evening. When you turned, your nerves suddenly flared as you stared at your husband; propped in your bed, eyepatch on, single eye staring back at you with mild curiosity. "Um," you looked to the wrapped parcel in your hands, "yeah, you know what, now - now, this feels a little inappropriate."

Your words caught Aemond's attention, making him sit up and set the book aside. "No, don't do that. You had the thought, c'mere, walk me through it."

That was something about your husband you were overtly grateful for: he always wanted you to explain, take you thought-by-thought to better understand your emotions.

Nervously, you shuffled forward. "I can always return it," you assured, slowly taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Aemond's head cocked. "And you don't have to wear it, either..."

"I wish to assure you but I don't know what it is," he chuckled lightly. "Are you going to let me see?"

You sighed with crinkled brows, hand shaking as you held the gift to him. Aemond slowly accepted it and began to unwrap it, revealing a thickly padded velvet box.

"More jewelry?" He teased lightly, sparing you a glance.

However, your throat constricted as you gulped, "If it's too much, Aemond, I'm truly sorry a-and I'll replace it - I'll return it."

He sighed patiently and opened the box, pausing in earnest shock. He looked from the new, rounded sapphire to your amethyst orbs as words evaded him for several long moments. It left time for your nerves to spike, waiting for his first move.

But you had to explain yourself.

"I-I know you do not want me to see your injury," you nodded. "But I wanted to show you that I don't need to see it in order to love you. While I wish I could go back and undo the years of torment and ridicule, I cannot... And I cannot change your mind that you do not need to hide away, but I would hope you come to see there is no reason to hide away from me. But only when you're ready," you smiled slightly, "and I hoped this sapphire could replace what you use now. Mira said it's seen better days, so, I just... I just thought," you shrugged nervously, picking at the bed sheets in an effort to distract your overwhelming thoughts. "You know?"

Aemond slowly let his lips spread in a bright grin, "This is... I do not know what to call this, but by the Gods, my love, I have never been bestowed such a gift."

"I love you," you promised, nodding at him in assurance.

Something in Aemond's mind clicked and after glancing to the door, he asked, "Could you lock the door, pet?"

"Why?"

"We don't need to be disturbed," he chuckled, nodding towards the door. You did as he asked, and when you returned, he was guiding you into his lap to settle in a straddle.

"Is it too much?" You worried, hands to his neck as your eyes were drawn to the gem sitting beside your calf.

"No, sweetheart," he whispered, hands holding your hips, "'s actually really beyond words. I do not know what to say other than thank you."

You smiled gently, "You're welcome. I hope you know that I do not think any less of you because of this." Your hand rose to hold his cheek, thumb sweeping slowly to caress the bottom half of his scar. "If anything, it really adds to your charm," you smirked gently.

He let a breathy laugh out through his nose, "Yet, I think I have a surprise for you, love."

"Oh? What would that be, husband?" You smiled, leaning in to peck his lips, but did not release your hold of his face.

He sighed, "Take it off."

"My robe?"

"Well," he paused, nodding, "yes, that, too, but I meant the patch."

You gaped at him for a moment, "Look, Aemond, you shouldn't because I want you to, it should be what you feel comfortable doing. We can wait."

But his hands retreated from your form to tug at the ties of your robe, easily pushing it from your shoulders to leave you bare to him. He leaned back some, eye raking over your form spread on his lap. "I do feel comfortable, pet. But only with you," he sighed. His hand rose to sweep his thumb over your pebbling nipple, "C'mere, love. Gonna help me change it out?"

"You're serious?" You gawked, trying to ignore the ministrations of his fingers.

"I don't take the gem out anymore," he nodded, still toying with your tit as he glanced at your gifted sapphire. "That looks like a better fit, more snug."

"I'm not forcing it in socket," you warned, feeling your stomach churn - but from anxiety or arousal, you weren't sure.

"No, I would not ask that of you," He nodded, other hand moving to the laces that laid at the top of his trousers to loosen them. His thighs clenched to lift you up, now holding you to his chest as he worked his trousers from his hips. "Easy," he whispered to you, one hand holding his leaking member as the other guides you back down.

Turns out, intimacy turned your husband on - another note you made.

You both breathed out sharply when his tip prodded at your entrance, but with one fell swoop, you were sunk onto his hips; his cock fully sheathed.

Your hands pet over his cheeks, glancing to the leather eyepatch. "You're truly sure?" You whispered.

"I am," he promised, "go ahead, love. But please... Do not shy away."

Your heart shattered at his words, but you whispered back, "Never."

As if in distraction for himself, Aemond started to rut your hips into his own; creating both tension and friction. Your hands eased over his hair and just felt along the strap, his eye closing to press into your neck. You let him be and started to increase your pace as your fingers toyed with the latch.

Aemond grunted when the years of horseback and dragon riding proved useful; letting your hips move on their own accord to stroke him for all he was worth. His thrusts slowly started to meet yours as you let the latch of the eyepatch go slack, hearing his breathing stagger.

You caressed his face to your neck still but slowly pulled the leather eyepatch off, letting it fall to the side. Aemond's arms coiled like vices around your waist, keeping you impossibly close as you purposefully increased your pace. His hot breath fanned over your collarbones as your hands gently caressed his jaw to ease him back.

He was stiff and kept his eye closed, but perhaps, that was to your advantage. You kept your face neutral, fully pulling yourself off his cock before slamming back down in an impossible rhythm; just gazing over his injury as the dull sapphire in socket stared back at you. "Aemond," you whispered, changing pace so you more-so rolled your hips into his, "look at me, love, please."

With another gulp, Aemond slowly opened his eye and only found your passionate, blissed expression.

"This is what you hide from me?" You asked gently. "You do not feel how tight I am? Gazing at you, fully," you appreciated, thumb sweeping across the bare scar to then gently hook into his bottom lip and jaw; tugging lightly to punctuate your words, "and seeing you like this is something mouthwatering, love."

"Don't," he whispered.

"What?"

"Give me false hope," he grit, taking control of your hips to hump into you at a faster pace. His feet planted flat on the mattress to give himself leverage behind you.

"I would never," you panted, "I only offer you truth. Fuck's sake, Aemond, I saw you when this first happened and I was not repulsed then - I am not now. You, my dear, sweet husband," you leaned so your lips hovered over his, "are so incredibly beautiful. Two eyes or one or none, I am in love with your mind, body, and soul."

"Fuck," he licked your bottom lip before growling and taking you in his arms so he could flip you both.

"Gods," you moaned when he gave his first thrust, new angle creating a pressurized, piercing feeling in your gut. But your hands all but slapped over his cheeks to pull him closer, "You're so fucking handsome, Aemond, do not hide from me anymore. Please, my love, I cannot bare the idea of you turning away."

"After tonight, how can I?" he smirked some, dropping a sloppy kiss to your lips. His hips retracted only to push forward with a roll of his hips, creating a feeling of explicit pleasure in your blood and guts.

"Good," you mused, holding onto his neck and shoulders as his thumb reached to circle around your pearl. "I always want to see you. Fuck," you whined at that familiar feeling.

"You close, pretty girl? Gonna cum for me?" He smirked, lips moving over yours. He gave a grunt and let his head drop to your neck, one hand under your shoulder to keep his balance as the other held one of your legs up his hip.

"Yes, yes, yes," you whined, gasping when his tongue flattened to your neck before scraping his teeth over a sensitive spot. You knew the flesh of your neck and chest would be marked by his doing but did not care; eager to wear his love-bites as badges of honor. "Aemond," you begged in his ear, hands smoothing his hair back with desperate movements.

"That's a good girl," he praised, pulling back to lift his torso and hold both your hips in a pin against the bed. Then, he rose them slightly to angle, making your feet plant and legs widen as he started to thrust again. "Huh?" He reached for your neck, staring straight into your eyes. "Gonna cum around me, love? Let me feel you fall apart?"

You nodded mutely, his hand pressing down to your throat as your legs started to shake from overstimulation. You felt briefly frustrated for not cumming yet, but you were only strokes away once Aemond angled your hips a little more properly. But when his head bowed to watch his cock hammer in and out, glistening in your juices, you reached for him, "Don't turn away."

Aemond smirked and moved so he hovered over you, needing to release your throat to hold his weight; pressing dangerously hard to your clit as his cock swelled with pleasure.

Yet, his breathing faltered when you whispered, "I love you exactly as you are, Aemond." His eye met yours, hand reaching to caress his cheek as your ankles locked behind his pert buttocks. "Do not turn away, I love seeing you - all of you. I will not tire of this sight," you promised through your higher-pitched breathing, slowly whimpering as oxygen felt hard to come by as your climax mounted.

His lips caught the moan off your tongue, sweeping into your mouth only to pull back to stare at you. "Open your mouth," he commanded. One arm, again, lay under your shoulder as the other was occupied to your clit. "C'mon, pretty girl, open your fucking mouth."

You did as bid, and his smirk was broad before not wasting time to pucker his lips as he gathered spit before slowly letting it push from his mouth - dripping to your tongue, and rolling to the back of your throat. You were almost unsure what to do, never experiencing this before, but didn't have to think hard or for long because Aemond was descending and letting his tongue invade your mouth.

Your throat constricted easily, almost absentmindedly.

"Good girl," he purred.

"Wait," you bit your lip.

"What's wrong?" He worried, brows crinkling as his thrusting slowed.

"No, no," you encouraged, heels bearing down to his flesh, "keep going, please. But let me," you spoke, letting one hand drift to your pearl and gently swat his away.

He actually moaned and sat back again to watch you, and from this angle, it was exactly what you needed. Your husband's sapphire only reflected the light of the room but it was enough to push you over the edge once you took a new direction and speed to your clit. Aemond watched in fascination, lips gently parted, as you came undone around him; back arching, eyes shutting, and both hands quickly darting up to palm your breasts.

"Aemond," you whined, eyes cracking open slightly. "My love - please."

"I'm here, pet," he whispered, holding your waist as he started to chase his own pleasure. "You're so fucking tight," he grit lightly.

You whimpered, but before you realized it, your hips were raising to meet his thrusts; one hand holding his neck as the other reached to fondle his stones. Aemond didn't last beyond another thrust, cumming with a shout as his hips stuttered into yours; both hands planted to the sides of your head to keep a stiff-armed posture.

Manicured hands guided him back to you, legs encouraging him to collapse into your body as lips claimed his. Seemingly giving way, he let you push him to his back as you only turned to lift a leg over his hip. He grunted, pushing his hips forward again to keep himself seated deeply in you; peppering kisses to your lips, nose, and chin.

You laid beside one another and you soaked in the sight of him as you both tried to regain your breathing. After a few moments of aimlessly letting your fingertips caress the skin of his face, he cracked a teasing smile, and through his short pants, teased, "You're gonna stare a lot now, aren't you?"

You chuckled, "Would that be such a crime?"

"Not at all, pretty girl," he assured, hands holding your back and hip to keep you close. "Though it might get a bit creepy."

You shrugged, "You married me, so..."

Snickering, Aemond agreed happily, "Yes, I did. And I'd do it again, my love." A hand rose to let his fingertips now guide your chin up so your gaze met his. "I don't know what I did to deserve this union, but I am trying my best to give proper thanks for it. But tonight, my love," he breathed, "I do not know what to say."

"Well, considering you're still stuffed inside me, better say something nice," you teased gently, hearing him chuckle.

"I fear I must ask your assistance in something." You hummed in question, tugging yourself up slightly to caress his jaw and cheek as you kissed at his skin. "Help me change the gem."

"Not in Seven Hells," you refused with a small gasp. "You lost your mind?"

He smirked, "C'mon, sweet girl, if we're doin' this, let's just do it all. I do not trust anyone else but you, yet, I can go ask someone else for help - "

"I might stab you," you lightly threatened with a pout. "Considering the time we've been married and I am only now seeing you," you sighed gently, thumb sweeping over his scar as you stared into the sapphire for a moment, "I would feel great shame if anyone else assisted you... Though, I must confess, I only worry for hurting you."

"You could never," he assured, his hand aiding hair from the side of your head back behind your ear. "You were not wrong, the one I wear should probably be changed. So, we're gonna get the gem out, and..."

"And?" You spoke softly.

He sighed, "Would it... Would it run you off if I asked you to see the injury... Without the sapphire?"

Your heart melted at the unsure, veiled nervousness to his tone. "You're not gonna run me off, love. I will look at all of you," you spoke softly, leaning in to kiss his lips, "gemstone or no."

He sighed. "Lay here a moment, we'll need a dagger."

"For?" You pondered when he moved from under you, cock pulling free with a small grunt, to then let his feet hit the stone floor.

"To get the gem out," he eased casually.

"I am not taking a dagger to your face, Aemond!" You snapped in alarm, reaching for your dressing robe that hung at the bottom edge of the mattress.

"No, love, I will," he assured, grabbing a short-blade from his weapons belt. "You just sit there," he whispered, moving back to your side. You frowned, and once he sat, moved so you were pressed to his flank. Your lips pressed warm kisses to his shoulder, watching as he all too easily used the tip of the blade to pop the gem from his eye socket. Perhaps the one he used truly wasn't a proper fit and was too loose.

Yet, he did not face you.

Reaching for his cheek, you first let your forehead rest against his temple. "Whenever you're ready," you whispered.

"T-This might be the part you run," he returned.

"Sweetheart, please," you sighed sadly, "I am not going to turn away, run, puke my insides, want to leave you, or think any different. Well, that last bit might not be true," you waited until his head tilted just a fraction to meet your smiling-eyes, "because I can only love you more for trusting me this far. But... I-If this is far enough, we don't have to proceed. You can put the gem back in, and we can - "

"No, no," he took a breath. "Once it's in, I rarely take it out... I-I want you to see."

You nodded, "Okay. Then, whenever you're ready."

Aemond took a sobering breath before wrapping his arm around you so his torso twisted slightly. He needed another moment, head bowing to cradle yours into his neck and shoulder; then, sniffling with a soft nod. "Okay."

"All right," you whispered, but did not move.

The fire crackled, sending a pop of ash and ember into the air.

Aemond lifted himself from your warmth and took another long breath in - letting it out sharply and nodding as he cleared his throat. He waited with your hands in his as you slightly peaked around the front of him to get your first look at the extent of his injury.

What a sight it was.

"Oh, love," you breathed, reaching to caress his cheek and gently tilt it downward. "It's healed really nicely, wow, look at that. Looks really good - "

"What?" He jerked up in confusion.

"What?" You asked in return, confused by his own.

"T-That is what you say when you see it?"

"What did you think I'd say?" You worried.

"In truth, I am unsure, but it... It was not that," he admitted.

You smiled sadly and reached again, looking into the deadened, empty socket. "It's not pretty, but injuries such as these rarely are. Though, for what it's worth, it has healed nicely. Why do you wear the sapphire?"

"You see it," he whispered. "It gives fright."

You sighed, "Maybe surprise but not fright."

"You're too tenderhearted, my love," he chuckled a bit. "I did not choose to wear a sapphire just before we married. 'S been years with both gem and patch."

"Well, with me, you need not worry about either if you don't want to," you nodded. "The sight of you - the true you - does not startle me, my love. I am honored at your reveal."

His forehead met yours as he sighed, reaching to pet over your lips lightly. "I am blessed to call you wife."

"And what an honor to be your wife, Lord husband," you assured, leaning in to kiss him again - trying not to think about how you had uttered virtually those same words to Ladies from court, who has offered insult to your husband before.

Aemond smirked gently and sniffled, "You're making me soft."

"Good," you teased, "I like you like this."

"Hmm?"

"Totally whipped for me," you laughed, his hands seizing over your ribs in playful reprimand. "Hey, hey, hey, the feeling is mutual, my love. Please," you chuckled lightly. He only hummed and pecked your lips, pulling back to take a deep breath as if to digest your reaction. "Come here, let's make sure Parne's gem fits."

"Parne?" Aemond repeated, watching you shuffle back to the upper middle of the bed and make sure the gem hadn't fallen from your vigorous antics.

"Mhm," you nodded, "the jeweler?"

"I know her," he assured softly. "She sold you one of her Precious Gems?"

"Am I to know what that means?"

His head shook, "No, I suppose not. I buy from her, too... We've spoken of her gemstones before, though she would never sell them."

"Hmm, maybe I am just special," you considered softly, fingering the blue gem. "Sure you wouldn't prefer an amethyst?"

"'S more your eye color, love," he smirked, meeting you in bed. "All right, c'mere."

Together, Aemond guided you in how to properly place the stone back in his socket, and because it was a larger stone, it took just a bit of persuasion from the heel of your palm. It wasn't the most comfortable procedure and you wanted to call a Maester for Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond refused - citing the pain would be gone in a few hours. When done, you both pushed whatever did not belong from the mattress before shimmying under the covers.

His eyepatch laid on the floor and you grinned against his lips, unable to soothe your vast excitement over his revelation.

While you slept in the following morning, Aemond, who had yet to allow himself to rest, only waited an hour for the sun to rise. He carefully slid out from your embrace and knew he was on a clock before you sensed he was gone, so, he dressed quickly and darted out of the secret passage.

Avoiding any guards this early was simple enough, and just as the sun rose to fill the sky with new light, he arrived at Madam Parne's.

"Ah, Prince Aemond," the jeweler smirked when he entered, "I was beginning to wonder when you might show up."

He sighed, "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Sell my wife one of your gems? You've never sold one before."

"In truth, my Prince, I've had a recent brush with mortality," Parne admitted softly, "and instead of holding onto my Precious Gems, I decided your wife's intentions true enough. Tell me, does it fit?"

Aemond lifted his chin, "Very nicely, I'd say."

"Good," She nodded with earnest. "So, why are you here now?"

"I think you know."

Parne smirked, "I took the liberty of gathering these options."

On the presentation table, Parne sat with Aemond for a moment to go over the showcases full of sapphire jewelry. However, he didn't need to think twice when he saw the set he'd come to buy, pointing at the sapphire gem set in a silver band, connecting to a single strand chain, that then hooked into a silver-chained necklace. There was also a band of matching-cut sapphires set in a bracelet, along with a silver sapphire ring that he longed to see on one of your fingers.

Paying the accented woman, Aemond held the parcel in a tight grip as his hood was drawn to prevent unwanted attention with his free hand gripping his sword's pommel in a white-knuckle strength.

Stopping once more at a boutique, he kept his promise, and bought you five new silk slips - some even lined with lace.

He snuck back into the Keep and paused at a different corridor to slip down and visit the kitchens. Chef Uller worried the dinner he prepared wasn't good enough when he saw the One Eyed Prince but Aemond assured it was delicious and he only meant to order breakfast be sent to their rooms.

"Why come yourself, my Prince?" Uller worried.

"My wife speaks highly of you, I was merely curious," he glanced around. "Speaking of, I should return to her."

"We'll have your meal brought up when ready," Uller promised, making Aemond nod and turn out of the kitchens.

When he made it back to your rooms, he sighed to see you sitting up in bed with folded arms - but your face only wore an expression of worry. "Oh," you sighed with relief when he snuck back through the door, "there you are."

"Apologies, sweet girl," he apologized, toeing out of his boots and tossing aside his cloak. He didn't bother with a jerkin that day and only wore a thin tunic, easily sliding back into bed with you. He explained, "I had to run an errand."

"I thought - "

"I did take today off," he smirked, holding out the two parcels, "but I had to get these for you."

"Oh, Gods be good," you rolled your eyes, pinning him with a look. "The day after your nameday, you go out and buy me something?"

"To say thank you, yes," he nodded, jostling the boxes. You took them, and without thinking, Aemond reached for his eyepatch and pulled it off to toss aside. When you opened the first gift, you laughed. "Five more, yes?" He smirked at you.

"Good job, love," you teased, letting your forehead press to his temple before closing the lid and setting the box aside. You then picked up the second gift.

You gasped lightly when you opened it, "It's so we match," Aemond smirked as he leaned in to peck your cheek.

"Oh, you," you chuckled, reaching for the back of his neck to surge into his arms - swallowing each other's moans. Yet, you made one more request, "Put it on me?"

"Why now?" He chuckled, tongue pushing into your mouth to messily tangle with your own.

When he pulled back, you whispered, "So you might fuck me with only these gems on."

And who was he to refuse his wife?

[ part one ]

[ series masterlist ]

#aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fluff #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd x reader

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gojoroui · 19 days

Note

what do your moots remind you of?

tysm for turning this in nonnie, i was really exited to try this <3 & the fact i thought i had NO MOOTS when i literally have like 33 💀

@wvnrqs — ribbons & bows, old newspapers, pretty swans, tulips, bubbles during a summer day, vintage books

@ode2rin — cats, plushies, desserts, pillow sheets, clouds during a sunset, slice of life vlogs

@yuzurins — chirping birds in pretty meadows, bubble tea, spring mornings, green tea, flowers, plants

@okkalo — golden coins, rainbows, duckies, cardigans, soft breeze at night, lakes, cherries

@noomon — the sun, diaries, simple yet beautiful things, love letters, projectors, mini fireworks

@yoisami — serenity, raindrops falling down a window, youth, modeling posters, strawberries, bunnies

@mikareo — twinkling stars, lattes, romance k dramas, museum of arts, recording studios, eclipse

@rinzsu — instagram posts, cookies, snowman, masquerade balls, photo albums, the beach

@hanrinz — stars, k-pop concerts, snowflakes, headphones, mini skirts, candles on a rainy day

@rosequarzo — japanese folktale, lucky money, headphones, fantasize by ariana grande, toast, waking up at 2am for a snack

@adoregojo — modern universities, polaroids, black & white manga, hairclips, milk tea, bonnets

@riekiss — winter wonderland, snow angels, jewelry, dolphins bumping noses, mini skirts, slowly plucking petals off a flower

@popponn — frogs ofc, matcha, perfectly healthy & straight grass, keroppi, bootcut jeans, chanel soap

@rewh0re — autumn leaves, wooden instruments, music notes, greek & rome mythology, poetry, sacred monuments

@y2kuromi — sand castles, colorful ice cream flavors, perfect pair by beabadoobee, staying up to talk with friends until 1am, pretty seashells, butterflies

@pokkomi — glitter & sparkles, staring at clouds, fantasy genre, cargos, hello kitty, angels

@yunymphs — models, laufey, coquette aesthetic, anything gucci, attractive girls, money

@520cafe — sparrows, cats chasing after yarn strings, thirsty by aespa, picture frames, rice with soy sauce, playlists

@etoiile — lipstick, fashion, staring at the starry night sky, french cookies, milk, daisies

@moonswolfie — coffee, studying with a candlelight during a rainy day, scarves, autumn breeze, biscuits, puppies

@kyoghurts — saturn, friendly aliens, lipstick stains on a white shirt, peach eyes by wave to earth, carp streamers, chalk

@kxttqi — lilies, sunrise & sunsets, lion cubs, melting candles, strawberries, pretty instagram posts

@kaiser1ns — book shelves, j-pop, cheesecake, birthday streamers, lucky money, tigers

@rninies — aventurine, unforgiven by le sserefim, pochacco, mangoes, flip phones, figurine boxes

@iluvies — kaomoji, koi ponds, expensive restaurants, red velvet cake, pottery, bunnies that have their nose scrunched up

@lovedazai — sweet bananas, lily of the valley, bouquet of roses, the smell when you walk into a bakery, prom nights, fairytales

@scopuo — jjk theme song, video games, dvds, tote bags, japanese apartments, thrift stores

@culturity — watching edits at 3am, stargirl, cleared remix by lilithzplug, nokia phone, laces, ramen

@myuroll — my melody, rubber duckies, alice from wonderland, koi fishes, cake rolls, the feeling when when someone gives you a compliment

@noirflms — flower petals, cherry blossoms, coquette clothing, hoodies, pinterest whispers, apocalypse by cigs after sex

@wishmemel — wish me mell, chocolate covered strawberries, the moon, pretty nails, new york at night, mcdonald’s chicken nuggets

@saelique — ocean waves, san-x, doves, kindergarteners (bc ur cute & fun ^^), friends to lovers trope, headphones, staying in bed for 5 more minutes b4 school

@yeritos — pudding, iced coffee, pearl necklaces, mesmerizing color palettes, skipping rocks, mary jane shoes, lamp

#letters ꕤ ˚₊⊹

79 notes · View notes

swiss-mrs · 29 days

Note

You were asking for ideas about a future Sy fiction & an idea just popped into my head about “Shy Sy” & the “Karaoke Cowgirl”. Now, there’s NO WAY I could ever compare to your writing skills…but say Shy Sy calls & asks her for a date, she agrees, but everything goes horribly wrong……he spills beer all over her, clumsily trips over his own 2 feet, his truck gets a flat ( there is no spare tire), so they sit alone in the truck having the most fun conversation & maybe with a little cuddling to keep her warm?!?! (She only has a skimpy sundress on). As they casually talk, Sy becomes much more relaxed & finds her just adorably perfect?!?!

sorry this took so long. I have been going through some crazy writer's block. I think I got everything minus the beer😅 thank you for your support! hope you like this!💕

Your Shotgun Rider

Read Black Velvet (Pt. 1)

Word Count:

Warnings: Series of Unfortunate Events (First Date Edition), Adult Language, Some Suggestive Themes (No Smut), Petnames (darling and pumpkin), Reader is Able to Fit in One of Sy's Jackets.

Reader/Unnamed Character Description: No Descriptions Beyond Clothing (The vibes: one two three four), No Mentions of Age, Race, Ethnicity, Height, Etc., No Use of Y/N, She/Her Pronouns, Mentioned as "Girl"/"Pretty Girl" and "Little Lady"

Synopsis: After your meet-cute at the bar over the weekend, Sy gets you to go out on a proper date with him. Unfortunately, everything seems to be going wrong.

--💕👢💕--

It's time. Sy looked at the watch on his wrist and breathed out a heavy sigh. "God damnit!" He hits the steering wheel in a weak attempt to release some built-up tension. This was the 5th time he'd tried turning the ignition over to no avail. He was running good on time, thirty minutes early, to be exact, before he came out to his truck to try and head over to pick you up. Only to be cockblocked by his own damn pickup.

The last time he recalled, the thing was running smoothly. What in the hell changed?! He leans back in the driver's seat and drags his hands down his face in frustration, letting out a deep groan. His hands drop to his lap with a smack. With his eyes closed, he begins praying. "Please, to the powers that be, please let this God forsaken truck start so I can go see this girl." Without much hope, he opens his eyes and leans forward again to twist the keys again. Surprisingly, the engine roared to life.

Sy lets out a deep sigh of relief, closing his eyes and allowing his body to collapse slightly, forehead resting on the wheel. He lets out a chuckle in disbelief. "Thank you." He leans back up and shifts the truck into drive to head over to the address you'd given him when setting up your date over the phone.

Thankfully, you didn't live far. Your new apartment building was less than 15 minutes away from his house. He lived more on the outskirts of town as opposed to your apartment closer to the town center. He reckoned that if he pushed the speed limit, he could make it in there in 10. This was his town, after all. He knew the streets to avoid to be able to safely cut time.

Sy hated running late, much more now than ever. He didn't want to miss this opportunity. This was his first official outing with you. He had to make a good impression.

As he drove, all he could think about was you. Your laugh, your voice. Since you'd met two weeks ago, you two had built a strange little bond. You've gotten to the point where you can talk to each other like old friends, though all of it has been only over the phone.

You were extremely busy with basically zero down time. The combination of adjusting to your new job, apartment hunting, and now moving, you couldn't find time to do anything but work, sleep, eat, pack, and move. In between, you'd have your phone glued to your ear with Sy on the other end of the line.

Every time you talked, Sy could practically hear the stress and tension in your shoulders from carrying the weight of everything happening. He'd offered to help you move, but you turned him down, insisting you had more than enough help. Plus, you were moving things slowly, and didn't want to have him just drop everything he was doing at your beck and call just to move boxes. He never said it aloud, but he would be more than willing to be on standby for you.

Due to everything going on, Sy had made it his mission to make the little time you had together over the phone pleasant. Thankfully, you got his humor, so making you laugh was never a hard task. It hasn't been a day since he last spoke to you, but he already missed your laugh. Every time it came through the line, the image of your smiling face at the bar would pop up. Every time, without fail. It would always bring a smile to his own face.

The realization of him finally getting to see you in person again hit him hard when he finally reaches the street you live on. It's been two weeks. TWO WEEKS. He hoped you didn't forget what he looked like. Your image is engraved in his brain, one of his sweetest memories. That's when he spots you standing at the base of the stairs, just outside your apartment building. Somehow, his heartbeat both doubled in rate and stopped completely at the sight of you.

You're wearing a white dress that stopped mid-thigh. The skirt of your dress was light and flowy while the upper half was fitted to your frame, hugging you in all the right places. On your feet was a pair for dark brown cowboy boots. You looked utterly adorable and equally sexy. Sy found his eyes trailing along the skin of your exposed legs.

Sy pulled up to the curb, throwing the truck in park, and hoping out the driver's side to walk over to the passenger door, near the sidewalk.

As soon as he hopped out, your face lit up like the morning sun, eyes widening and face breaking out in a big smile. You wave at him and immediately start to speed walk over to him. Your sheer excitement made his heart warm. At least you were happy to see him, and in fact, did not forget what he looked like, as if you ever could. You fight the urge to run and jump into his strong arms.

"Sorry I'm late, darlin'." He blurts before you can get a word out. You're obviously taken aback by the apology. You scrunch your eyebrows and pout, tilting your head.

"Late?" You pull out your cellphone from your hidden pocket, clicking the screen on to check the time. "It's 6:03." You lock your phone and slide it back in your dress, looking back to him with a small smile. "There's no need to apologize for three minutes." You say positively. "You're here now, and I'm so happy you are." Your smile grows happily.

You have to clasp your hands together in font of your lap to physically contain yourself from jumping on the man in front of you. First off, you're overjoyed that you get to finally go on a date with him. Second off, he looks so damn good in his plaid button-down and jeans. You give him a quick once over. It looks like he'd given his beard a little neatening up. His shirt is ironed free of any wrinkles and tucked neatly into the waistband of his jeans. He has a brown leather belt that just so happens to match your boots perfectly. The circular buckle on the front has a horse on it, and his jeans hug his thighs just right, loosening back up as the fall passed his knees. On his feet are leather boots that are obviously a bit worn but sturdy. Must be his go-tos. Neither of you are dressed super fancy. Both cleaned up just appropriate enough for your date. You sigh out a happy sigh. "You ready to show me your moves?" You tease, raising a brow. Sy lets out a soft chuckle, showing off his teeth with his effortlessly charming smile.

"Now, little lady, I told you over the phone, 'I'm no dancer', but if it makes you happy, I'm more than ready." He gives you that smile that makes your knees go weak. He reaches for the door handle and opens the passenger door for you to get in. As you step closer, he holds a hand out for you to take, to use as leverage to get in the tall truck. You smile at him and give him a gracious nod and 'thank you' as you grab his hand to lift yourself into the seat.

Once you're safely in, Sy closes the door behind you and jogs over to his side, quickly hoping back into the driver's seat with one swift motion. He buckles up and looks over to you as he reaches for the gear shift, giving you another smile before shifting and driving off.

"Now, we have a little ways out til we get there. It's just outside of town. No more than 30 minutes." You look over at him as he drives, and he throws some short glances at you as he speaks. "So, uh..." He says, looking back and forth between you and the road. The happy, wide-eyed look you're giving him is making it awful hard to keep his mind straight. He clears his throat and decides to focus his eyes on the streets ahead of him, but the feeling of your eyes on him remains. "How's the move been so far? You likin' your new place?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see your little smile grow a bit as you nod.

"Yeah, it's been going." You say with a soft chuckle and a shrug. "I at least have some furniture and kitchen stuff over, pots and pans or whatever, so I can now somewhat function out of my own place. It's looking a little less like a storage unit and more like a home, finally, minus the bedroom." You sigh and shift your gaze to the roads ahead as well. "I still have boxes to unpack and a bed frame I've been procrastinating having to put together, but it's nice." You smile, the pride of having a space to call your own swelling in your chest.

Sy glances over at you, eyes nervously shifting back and forth, contemplating his next words before just blurting them out. "I could help if you want." You turn to him to say something, but he continues before you get the chance. "I know you said you don't want me to 'be burdened with your move', which I would, by the way, be more than happy to help you with anything, so don't worry about burdenin' me." He quickly adds in, "I could at very least come by and put your bed together." He glances over at you again as if to let you know he's done with his little ramble.

You give him a little smile, so soft and warm it melts his heart down into his stomach. There's a short pause of you just staring at him with pure admiration before you nod. "Okay." You say with a smile. Sy raises his brows and glances over at you.

"'Okay'? Really?" He clears his throat, shifting in his seat a little in an attempt to cover up the surge of happiness that just ran through him. "Alright. I, uh, I keep some tools in the back." He points a thumb to the backseat. "After tonight, I could fix it up when I bring you back home, so you can have a proper bed to sleep on." He shoots you a smile, and you gently nod. He's so cute. You turn your head to look out the window. This burly man, 'if looks could kill' exterior mixed with his cinnamon roll personality played criminal tricks with your mind and your heart. It only left you pondering what he was like in action, when he was on-duty.

With his soft, sweet, and caring attitude towards you, it was hard to imagine him with a scowl, guns blazin', and dirty. It felt a bit forbidden, but a part of you was set alight by the pure fantasy of it. You could feel your heartbeat quicken at the thought. You purse your lips and try to quietly control your breathing, cheeks starting to burn a little. You nearly jump out of your skin when Sy speaks up again. "Is that alright, darlin'?" You turn away from the window to look back towards him, finding his gaze shifting between you and the road.

You take a quick breath in to try and compose yourself. You nod quickly. "Yeah, no, yeah, that's completely fine. Sorry." You shake your head and let out a small sigh with a smile. "Just got... caught up in my own mind." You try to play your fluster off. He throws you another brain melting grin.

"Well, hopefully, tonight can help you de-stress." He focuses his eyes back on the road, thank God. "New job, new apartment, new town." He shakes his head. "You sure got your work cut out for you." You let out a little laugh and a nod.

"You're telling me. Thank you for taking me out tonight, and thank you in advance for the bed." You give him a smile. He arches a brow and shoots you a glance out the corner of his eyes.

"Don't thank me yet. I might step on your feet, spill beer on ya or somethin'." He says, lighthearted but honest. You let out another laugh, filling Sy's heart.

"Okay, okay. We'll see how the night progresses, but I'm sure there's nothing you could do that would make me any less grateful. I'm truly happy to be here. I'm lucky to have met you." You say honestly. The way the truth rolls off of you was easy, but to Sy, it felt like you just gave him the world. He's about 98% sure you have no idea the effect your words affect him. His smile grows, showcasing his teeth proudly from behind his freshly trimmed mustache.

Before the conversation could deepen any further, a loud POP erupts through the truck, followed by an insane, anxiety inducing rattling and swerving of the truck.

You instinctively reach out to hold onto something, and Sy instinctively reaches a protective arm out to you, keeping the other one on the wheel to maintain as much control over the truck as possible. You had just made it on the country road highway not ten minutes ago, and from the sounds and feel of it, one of the tires popped.

Sy carefully pulls over to the shoulder, parking the vehicle halfway off the road. Thankfully, there just so happened to not be any other cars on the road, but, then again, not-so-thankfully, that meant no immediate help nearby.

As soon as Sy gets to the roadside, he takes his arm back to use it to switch gears into park. He looks in the driver's side mirror with a clenched jaw. You both already know it's the tire, but a big part of him just hopes that the mirror will give him a different answer. He holds in a string of curses, throwing open the door and hopping out. He turns to you once he's outside, "I'll be right back." He's visibly struggling to keep calm, and your heart is a nervous wreck from the loud noise and turbulence. You want to ask him to stay for a few moments until your heart slows back down, but you instead stay silent and nod.

He closes the door and walks towards the back of the truck to get a closer look at the tire that blew. Even though the doors are closed and the windows are rolled up, you could still hear the muffled swears Sy was letting out. Though, yes, the situation is terrible, and you feel bad. You couldn't help but giggle through your little heart attack.

You turn to look through the back window to find a very stressed looking Sy leaning his hands on the truck with his head down. You couldn't hold back a pity smile. Poor guy.

You could see him let out a heavy breath before standing up straight and waking back to the driver's side door. He opens it and pauses, fixing his jaw. He drops his head, letting out another deep breath before looking back up at you. "I'm sorry, darlin'." He starts. "The damn thing is completely busted, and I don't have a spare." He drops his hands from the truck to run the down his jeans. He reaches for his back pocket to grab his phone. You shake your head.

"Don't apologize. It's happens." Your optimistic tone and little pouty face softens the blow. He shakes his head with a chuckle.

"This has got to be the worst date. I'm sorry, pumpkin." He pulls out his phone, clicking the screen on and tapping at it. "One of my guys drives a tow truck for a livin'. There's no tellin' what he's up to right now. He's probably still workin', but imma try givin' him a call and see if he can lend a hand."

"Okay." You say with a relaxed smile. He sighs a soft grin, a gentle look in his eyes. His shoulders relax ever-so-slightly. He hates that you're stuck with him in this situation, but at the same time, he's glad he's stuck here with you.

"Just a minute, pretty girl." He winks, bringing the phone up to his ear and closing the door softly as he walks around to the front of the truck, leaning against the grill.

You watch him have the conversation through the windshield, waiting with your hands rested in your lap. The phone call doesn't last too long as barely five minutes pass by before he's hanging up the phone and rubbing a hand down his face. He doesn't make any attempts to move, so you take that as your opportunity to get out of the truck and walk towards him.

Sy lifts his head from the hand he has massaging his forehead to look over at you. "I'm so sorry, darlin'." He looks at you, guilt, embarrassment, and shame worrying his features. You shake your head and raise a hand to stop him, closing your eyes and looking away, a clear indication of not 'wanting to hear it'.

"No need. Like I said, you don't need to apologize for this." You lean next to him on the warm grill of the car and offer a soft grin. You lean over to bump your shoulder to his. "Any luck with your buddy?" He lets out another sigh, looking down at his phone.

"Well, like I suspected, he's still on the clock and currently helpin' someone else out, but he'll come and get us once he's free. Though, it may be a while." Sy slides the phone back into his back pocket before going back to rubbing his forehead.

"You know, you look really handsome." Sy looks up, removing his hand from his face and looking over to you. The smile on your face nearly makes him forget the unfortunate situation you're both stuck in. He can't help but adore the way your head is adorably tilted as you smile at him. It brings a little smile to his own face. He huffs out a brief chuckle and looks down at his boots, shifting his feet a little.

"Thank you, darlin', and you are just as beautiful as the day I first saw you." He gives you a pursed grin as if trying to contain his smile but failing. You blush and look away from him. You avert your gaze to the field just off to the side of the road, admiring the setting sun. The warm light makes you look as if you're glowing, and Sy can't seem to pry his eyes off of you. His eyes slowly find their way lowering, caressing your figure. "It's a damn shame you've wasted such a pretty little outfit on this."

Your head turns back to him with a scrunched nose smile and warm cheeks. Just then, the best idea pops into your head. "You know, it's not over yet." You pull out your phone, unlock it and open up your music app. "We still got time for a dance or two." You give him a teasing smile, glancing over your phone to him.

Sy shakes his head with furrowed brows. "You can't seriously be tryin' to get me to dance," He looks around, " out here."

"Oh, what?" You press play, setting your phone on the hood of the truck and stepping away from the vehicle. "Scared?" You reach for Sy's hand and weakly attempt to pull him to you. Sy lets you drag him off the truck with little resistance but doesn't let his face show how easily he's persuaded.

You close the distance between you two, Sy's hands finding themselves in yours. "Now, remember what I told you, darlin'.-"

"I know, I know." You hush him and pull him closer. "I don't care. Just dance with me." You squint at him, and he caves instantly, allowing you to bring his hands to your hips.

You tentatively leave your hands on his broad shoulders and begin swaying to the music, easing into a rhythm. You smile at him, gaining a timid grin back. Sy tries his best to follow your lead but is notably awkward and stiff. You can't help but giggle at this. "Hey, now, no laughin' at me." He says, trying his best to be stern but ultimately stiffling his own chuckle. You shake your head, trying to rid your body of its laughter.

"Yeah, okay. Sorry." You manage out through your badly contained giggles. Sy shakes his head at you with a smile.

Several songs and several close calls of him barely missing your toes pass before Sy finally loosens up enough for you to be a bit more experimental with your movements. You open the door to singing along to the songs you like the most. Sy surprises you with his own baritone singing voice, the shock on your face giving him the confidence to step back and spin you around.

When he pulls you back into his chest, admittedly a bit clumsily, you speak up, "Why didn't you tell me you had such a beautiful singing voice?" Due to the nature of the clumsy spin, you were tumbled into his chest, resting one hand over his heart and the other entangled with his. You could feel his heartbeat in your palm through his shirt. Its quick pace was endearing and sweet, causing yours to quicken as well. He gives you a bashful smile.

"I'm no singer, gorgeous." You scoff and roll your eyes.

"Oh, please. I quite literally just heard you. You're actively humming now!" You point out with a laugh. His chest rumbles with a chuckle. He shrugs and continues to hum along, leaving it at that. You give him a playful glare, which he ignores and only pulls you closer by your waist.

Not long after, the sun has disappeared to the point of turning the sky into a deep, royal blue, hinting at the dark night sky incoming. The headlights of the still running truck illuminate you two as you dance, creating your own personal spotlights.

Everything in this moment is sweet and wholesome. A day that started and continued to dampen Sy's mood ended up being one of the greatest he's had in forever, and every upside to this day is thanks to you. This was only your first date, but he knew from right then and there that he would one day make you his wife. He didn't want to scare you off, though, so he kept that thought to himself, twirling you around in the evening air.

Now that the sun was no longer providing its warm blanket, it started to chill. It could be smelt in the air before it began to fall. A spring shower was incoming.

Just as that fact became evident, little droplets started falling from the sky. At first, it was going ignored and partially unnoticed, but it couldn't be ignored for long as the droplets turned into a light sprinkle. "We should get back in the truck before things start getting worse." Sy announces, but you shake your head.

"No, no. Let's at least finish the song." You reply, giving him a bright smile. He melts and submits, letting you continue on with your singing and sways. He knows it's way too early to call it, but, God, he loves you.

Barely halfway through the song, rain starts coming down in clusters. The change happens within a blink of an eye and causes you and Sy to stop almost immediately. Sy pulls you in closer, flush against his strong body as if trying to protect you from the falling water. You let out a little squeak. "I think it's time to call it." He chuckles, ducking his head down to keep rain from hitting his eyes.

He starts leading you over to the passenger's side, keeping you as close as humanly possible the entire tread there. He throws the door open and damn near picks you up by your waist and throws you in. Just as your bum his the seat, you shout out, "My phone!"

Sy closes the door in response and runs back around the truck, grabbing your phone and jogging to the driver's side, hopping in and shutting the door behind him. He hands you your damp phone after doing a quick swipe on his jeans to get most of the water off of it.

You giggle as you take it from him, "Thank you." He chuckles with a head shake.

"You're a crazy little lady, aren't ya?" You tilt up your chin.

"Adventurous, Free Spirited, Yes." You proudly correct, matter-of-factly, earning another chuckle from Sy.

He looks over at you, convincing you your heart had stopped. His eyes hold nothing but pure adoration. You swear all your insides melted as soon as your gazes collided.

You both hold eye contact for what feels like an eternity. Time feels like a slow-motion movie scene, and despite the gloomy, blue hue from the rainy evening, the world suddenly has a rose tint.

You notice Sy's eyes drop from yours, down to your lips. You follow suit, but just as you were going to lean in, an angry shiver runs through you. Your eyes meet his again. A smile grows on his face. He scoots a bit closer to the middle of the bench seat to reach into the backseat, promptly grabbing a brownish Carrhart jacket and draping it over your shoulders, engulfing you in his scent.

As soon as it's over you, you slip your arms into it and bring it tighter around you, using all your might to resist the urge to bring it up to your nose.

Sy gives you another award winning smile that brightens his eyes. He'd never liked his clothes on anyone else so much better than himself, but here you are.

You take this opportunity to scoot closer to him, meeting him in the middle of the bench. He raises an arm, inviting you into his side. You snuggle in close as he rests his arm around you.

Sy reaches forward to turn the heat on low to try and help you both dry off a bit faster without overheating. You being so cuddled up to him warms the pit of his belly. He smiles down at you before tilting his head to rest on top of yours. "This has got to be the best first date I've ever been on." You confess. He chuckles, the rattling in his chest causing your head to bounce slightly. He sighs, content and whole.

"Hopefully, the first of many."

--💕👢💕--

I hope you liked it!!😫💕

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