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#these are a little old but they’re gold
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Magic Man
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Summary: Elvis breaks in a virgin. Word count: ~2,200 words of pure, unadulterated smut inspired by this post. This is purely a work of fiction, and from what I have read of how Elvis actually treated his lovers in real life, is probably a lot less tender and loving than the actual Elvis would have been. But it's make believe and fun, so enjoy it! Warnings: 20 year age gap, dubious consent at some points, full intercourse, course language. Somewhat callous treatment of Elvis' taste for younger women.
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His bedroom is a gilded cage, dripping with excess and the stench of hedonism. Elvis's entourage has left them alone, finally, after weeks of teasing glances and knowing winks. Tonight, it’s just him and his prey—sweet little Molly van Patton. All night, she’s tried to resist, but his primal aura is too strong to deny. He’s charming. Dangerous. A seasoned, world-famous rock star. And she's just a 19-year-old innocent, trembling on the edge of womanhood. Just like he likes ‘em.
Their meeting felt like some sort of strange, cosmic joke. She wasn’t a fan, hadn’t even intended to go see his show. But her best friend convinced her, one thing led to another, and now here she is, somehow lying in his colossal bed like a tiny helpless creature, her presence filling him with a burning desire to crush and destroy.
Now, he traces his lips down her neck, pausing to nuzzle at the hollow of her collarbone. Sweetly at first, then more insistently as she drags long, jagged breaths. Molly can’t help but gasp under the full weight of him, her body opening up in ways she’s never experienced before. It’s heady and intoxicating and dangerous and delicious and—
Oh. Oh. 
Each touch sets off an electric current, making her arch closer. She runs her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, feeling the cool metal of his gold lion's head medallion pressed against her own breasts. But as he reaches for her waistband, she hesitates.
“Stop,” Molly trembles. Heat flushes her cheeks. "I’m not… I don’t…"
Elvis nuzzles her neck. His hand is dangerously close to unzipping her skirt. He’s in a taking mood tonight.
“Please,” she pleads. “Won’t they know what we’re doing in here?”
Elvis chuckles, a low, deep rumbling sound that vibrates through her very bones. “Baby, they don’t care. They’re probably already placing bets on how long you’ll last.”
Molly's heart plummets into her stomach. Of course they knew. All those knowing glances and hushed whispers, they’d known all along. Her face flushes and it's all she can do to grab her things and run.
But Elvis doesn't give her time to process this newfound knowledge. His insistent lips find her earlobe, nibbling it lightly as he whispers lewd suggestions she can't comprehend but her body understands. Against her better judgment, heat pools between her legs, and she bites back a moan of desire. 
"Just one more," Elvis purrs, his voice thick with want, sending shivers down Molly's spine. "One more’n I'll stop.”
But one more turns into two, and then three, and before she knows it, she’s powerless under him. She feebly attempts to push him away, but his strong arms grasp her tighter. His grip is firm but not quite enough to leave bruises. Not yet at least. But she knows it’s coming. Braces for it. His lips find her neck again.
The heat between her thighs grows unbearable, and she clenches them together, as if that could stop the freight train that is Elvis Presley. As if it could cool the fire raging through her veins. She’s never felt so alive, so free, so needed and… so scared, as she does tonight in his arms. But as he inches lower, kiss by agonizing kiss awakening something primal inside her, Molly panics.
This is really happening.
She’s about to give herself to a man she barely knows, a man nearly twenty years her senior. One who could crush her like a fly if he wanted to. Her heart kicks into overdrive, adrenaline coursing as she manages to shove him off. 
“No!” she cries out, the word catching in her throat. Molly’s outburst gives Elvis pause. Hurt and confusion flash across his face as he pulls back, propping himself up on one elbow. 
“What is it?” his voice is gruff but not unkind.
Molly turns her face away, cheeks flaming. How can she tell him? That despite her adventurous friend and all the talk, she's never actually… that he would be her first. 
Elvis regards her steadily. Impossibly long black lashes curtain the genuine concern in his eyes. Molly's pulse throbs in her ears. 
"Please don't make me say it," she whispers finally. Molly squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall. But a single drop escapes, trailing down her cheek. 
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "It's just… I've never…"
Understanding dawns on Elvis' face. He brushes the tear from her face with surprising tenderness. 
"Never been with a man before?" he asks gently. 
Molly shakes her head, a furious blush creeping up her neck. She expects anger, derision, rejection. For him to throw her out and call for the next girl. 
But instead, Elvis tips her chin up to look at him. "Oh honey," he murmurs. "Why didn't you tell me?" 
Molly's breath catches in her throat as Elvis regards her with unexpected tenderness. His hands, which moments before seemed so insistent, now caress her face and arms with featherlight touches. 
"I was afraid you wouldn't want me anymore," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper.
Elvis shakes his head, a sad smile on his lips. "Oh darlin', that don't matter one bit to me. I want you, Molly girl. I want to make you feel real good." 
He drags his thumb over her bottom lip and Molly shivers. She knows she should leave, should find Doreen and book it out of there before she does something reckless. But the way Elvis is looking at her, like she's the only woman in the world… it makes her feel powerful. Desired. Dangerous.
She... likes it?
"Just relax and lemme take care of you," Elvis murmurs, his breath hot against her ear. With that, the last of her resolve melts. 
His hands, knowing and sure, explore her curves, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She moans, melting into him, her body betraying her. She's scared, yes, but she's also aching for more. He senses her hesitation, easing her back even further, parting her thighs with a tenderness belied by the impressive size of his hands. His eyes are hungry, admiring the perfect, trembling creature before him. 
"You're so beautiful," he breathes, running a calloused finger along her jawline. His words were like sweet poison, both thrilling and terrifying. "Shh, baby," he coos, "I gotcha."
He kisses her, his lips firm yet gentle, as if he can taste her innocence. Her first kiss, her first everything, all with him. She was born for him.
*
His lips trail down her breasts, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Molly arches into the sensation, the soft scratch of his stubble against her skin. His hand slides down to her stomach, fingertips tracing the sensitive flesh just below her belly button. 
"Do you want me to stop?" he asks hoarsely. She shakes her head, unable to form words. "Say it, Molly girl." He presses a kiss to her hip bone, nipping lightly at it. 
"No," she gasps. "Don't stop."
He smiles against her skin. "Good girl," he purrs before lowering his mouth to where she's aching for him most.
His tongue flicks forward, teasing her entrance and Molly cries out, her fingers curling into the silk sheets. She looks down at him—somewhere down there—through one open eye.
"Is that what... are you supposed to be—"
Before she can finish her sentence, his hands grip her thighs. Fear and desire battle within her, but desire wins out as curious pecks and licks turn into long, languid strokes. Bracing himself, Elvis feasts on her, like she's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. She finally opens her eyes and there he is in all his glory: lapping at her, coaxing the desire out of her body and onto his waiting tongue. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through her. "Oh God," she whuffs out, her head thrown back in ecstasy. 
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice wonders what everyone else must be thinking. But then Elvis's tongue buries itself deep within again, soft and wet, and all thoughts vanish into thin air. His hands grip the soft flesh of her hips, guiding her closer to him as he laps at her vulnerable center. She's never felt anything like this before, the pleasure so unbearable it hurts. 
"That's it, baby," he growls into her glistening pussy, "ride it out."
And she does. His tongue flicks and swirls, plunging inside her, mimicking what she imagines is his impressive length. 
By now, the whole house must hear her moans, but she doesn’t care. She’s coming undone whether she wants to or not, and she’s never felt more alive.
“Oh, Elvis,” she moans, her voice high and desperate, “Oh, I—”
Molly van Patton shudders and bucks against him, her first ever orgasm coursing through her body like wildfire. He doesn't stop though, not until she's sobbing and spent, her juices coating his face. He looks up at her through hooded lids, a satisfied smirk on his full lips.
“I ain’t done with you yet.”
*
He moves up her body, his manhood hard and throbbing against her thigh. Her entrance flutters in anticipation, and Elvis smiles at the sight. He positions himself there, large and intimidating. 
“Relax, li’l girl,” he whispers in her ear. “I’ll be real gentle.” Molly looks up at him, eyes wide, pleading. 
“You sure you want this?”
She nods dutifully.
“Say it f’me, now.” 
“I want you inside me.”
That’s all he needs. Before she can take it back, he slides in an inch, and then another. He’s so big, stretching her so wide she’s certain she’ll split in half. Certain he'll pierce her and she'll never be the same again. Tears leak from her eyes, mixing with the mascara from earlier.
“Shh,” he soothes, “I got you.” His accent is thicker than usual, sweet like molasses. Slowly, bit by excruciating bit, Elvis works himself inside her tight heat. Molly bites her lip to stifle a moan, but it escapes anyway.
At that, Elvis groans, and then he’s entering her more and more until he bottoms out. He's still for a moment, ensuring she can truly take in all of his length. “Tell me how it feels,” he grunts, as he slowly picks up speed.
“It hurts,” she pants out. But it’s a delectable sort of hurt. He’s filling her up in ways she never thought possible. Each thrust has her teeth bitting his shoulder tighter.
“I know, baby,” he coos into her ear, “but it gets better, I promise.”
And somehow, it does. The pain eases and is replaced with a delicious ache that has her hips rocking towards his.. Heat pools in her belly as he claims her with every thrust, like she was made for him and only him.
“You’re so tight,” he moans. “Made for me.”
It’s a mantra, a vow, as a he pistons in and out, breaking her in with every stroke. Her climax from before was nothing compared to this. She’s soon whimpering, clawing at his back, an evil sob stuck in her throat. 
"That's it, baby," he pants, "give it all to me."
Elvis pulls out swiftly, leaving Molly empty and aching. In one smooth motion, he flips her over onto her stomach. 
"On your knees," he commands.
Molly whimpers but obeys, presenting herself to him on all fours. Elvis groans at the sight, gripping her hips tightly. 
He enters her from behind in one powerful thrust. Molly cries out, the new angle allowing him to penetrate her even deeper. Elvis sets a ruthless pace, pounding into her relentlessly.
The sound of slapping flesh fills the air as he claims her, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. He hits a spot deep inside that has Molly seeing stars. She pushes her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough.
"That's right, take it," Elvis growls. His breathing is labored in her ear, hot and ragged. Sweat beads on his brow, dripping onto her shoulder blades, but he doesn’t relent. “You’re taking me so good. You love it, don’t you?”
She does. Oh, God, does she ever. Fuck it. If this was wrong, she didn’t want to be right. 
He keeps pounding into her, and it's dizzying and intoxicating all at once. The room spins as she clings to the headboard for dear life, his name a curse on her lips, a talisman against the building pleasure-pain coiling in her core. His pace quickens, hot breath on her neck, and his thick chest hair tickling her back.
“El… vis…” she mewls. “Right there!”
He obliges, his expert hands massaging her swollen clit as he pounds into her from behind. 
“Yeah, just like that,” he rasps as Molly bucks against him, working the length of his cock with her slick and pushing her hips back to meet his brutal thrusts, unable to get enough. It shocks him how quickly she took to his cock. Elvis’ fingers dig almost painfully into her hips, urging her on. “That’s right, take what you need.” 
"Elvis, I..."
The pressure builds, coiling in her belly like a spring. “That’s my girl, let it go,” he growls in her ear, and that’s all it takes.
Her body explodes into a million stars, tightening around him as she screams her release. Just like that, it hits her all at once—from heaven and hell itself, crashing over her like a tidal wave and even more powerful than the first. Colors dance behind her eyelids. 
Elvis’ nails dig into her back, and she can feel the delicious sting as they break the skin. “Unnngh,” he grunts, “I’m fuckin’ close.” The filthy words spur her on, and she clenches around him, the fluttering of her walls easing up, and suddenly she’s slowly floating back to earth and back to life and back to his gigantic bed in his gigantic mansion in Memphis, Tennessee. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but feel.
He growls and buries himself even deeper, his thrusts erratic and desperate now. Harder and harder until he, too, splinters apart, shattering inside her like stained glass. He grunts, his release warm and sticky deep inside her.
Later, Elvis cocoons Molly in his strong arms and starts to rock her gently. As she drifts off to sleep, she knows there's no going back.
She's his now, body and soul. That’s the price she paid for giving in to her darkest desire.
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chirpfinch · 2 years
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HIII HAPPY BIRTHDAY CTUBBO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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crossbackpoke-check · 2 years
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Dylan Larkin has become an Au Pair for the Summer.
is that not exactly what quinn’s summer insta post said?? “hanging out with the boys & our cool au pair”?? :))) the way i have a note from a MONTH AGO written on my phone that says
one of our swim instructors is so so good with kids and he’s the perfect victim for scenarios so basically everyone’s in love with him and what i’m SaYiNg is summertime melted ice cream sticky sunscreen pool au with WHO i have a craving
like are you in my notes app. have you got my google docs password. because besTIE!! you have given me a gift!!! dylan larkin babysitter extraordinaire that’s who.
mind is frantically brrring trying to decide if competent & capable au pair dylan falls in love with the DNR worker at the park he always takes the kids to OR with the hot father figure whose kids he takes care of,,, 🤪
#liv in the replies#should also mention i am absolutely obsessed with this steve/billy nanny/lifeguard fic which like. thanks i’ll take that in a baker’s dozen#and is the reason i have the craving in the first place besides the fact that everyone really is a little bit in love with this swim teacher#if you didn’t know the hot dad is henrik & i am incredibly tempted to completely ignore the canon in favor of a canon i can work with#which is henrik saying he’d be a billet dad to two (?) new rookies (y’know. mo played in rögle i can swing it also ray ray is swedish 👀)#and then completely not realizing how much help he would need to take care of the kids so he hires au pair dylan#who is working his way through college @ umich as an au pair (he can’t live in during the school year bc class but if it’s summer… live in)#yes the DNR worker is bert who else would it be i’m also stating for the record that there’s a bike park so bert can bandage the kids’ knees#it is incredibly tempting to keep dylan’s kids as the ragtag usntdp crew & have him travel around to different houses working himself#to the bone taking care of the kids until someone finally notices & takes care of HIM (am i projecting a little captaincy here absolutely)#dylan working an overnight shift babysitting quinn & jack & luke & he was up till three am bc jack was scared of the thunderstorm#& turning around to get cole ready to go to summer camp by 7 then picking up trevor after he drops cole off & taking him to the park (does#dyl nearly fall asleep & panic that he’s lost trevor?) dark circles under his eyes but he’s gotta do the work it’s fine he loves the kids#brain magnamoniously said ‘you could also have a dylan/zach pairing’ but declined to provide plot or context so just know that’s an option#dylan dealing with the hughes house shenanigans of all the kids’ parents go away on a trip & dyl spends a month out at the lake house w/them#while their parents are on a cruise & OH neighbor??? hot neighbor??? (hot neighbor can be a dilf OR a dick with a heart of gold) (either way#the kids help matchmake & i do keep saying kids with the implication that they’re de-aged a lil bit for logic purposes quinn can be ten he’s#the oldest and responsible & his little solemn face helping dylan make mac n cheese is priceless to me oh i love it so then age-wise…#jack is 9? zeegs is also 9 & so is cole luke is the baby he’s six & honestly that’s perf the boys are old enough they can do some things but#too young to be left on their own so actually i’ve fallen in love with this mo & lucas can be other kids on the lakeeeee they’re friends w/)#& the kids all get together & want to have play dates & spend time together so that’s how dyl gets to know the hot neighbor#still have not decided whomst i want if you’ve made it this far in the tags please weigh in there is the convincing argument of ray ray#imprinting like a lil duckling on bert during the season but also henrik wears cable knit sweaters & he’s a dilf & that’s the argument#fully also the valid option of t-rated babysitting shenanigans slice of life w/vague flirtations dyl’s milk shaking all the boys to the yard#have just considered. bert has a baby. i could give bert a baby in this. we’re not gonna DO IT but we all just know this right#he could have little pigtails that match his baby’s with scrunchies & i hate it here i’m making it UP it’s not real it can’t hurt me#also hope u all know z’s ass is getting roasted there WILL be a scene of them playing king of the hill on a big lake mat &mo destroys z ktfo#moritz seider may not be dylan’s child in this but he will most certainly be the author’s favorite child in this & you will be able to know#also sorry not sorry to be like this but au pairs getting monthly pocket money… come and show me how it’s done… 😵‍💫dylan sugar baby send twe#also also: dylan foreign exchange coming to live in sweden with henrik & being his au pair & henrik can still play hockey 😗 mo & lucas too
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whalehouse1 · 3 days
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Hello imposter syndrome my old friend.
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artsy-hobbitses · 12 days
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Putting my own spin on the one and only Kurt ‘Nightcrawler’ Wagner because I’m EXCITED for X-Men ‘97, and with Gambit now happily married, someone else needs to have the frauleins dropping their knickers like they’re live grenades.
Very strong Errol Flynn influence, X-Men outfits are really best when they accentuate the character instead of ‘fitting with a team’ (there was a period where they all had these slick black and gold uniforms but where’s the fun if EVERYONE looked like that? More so the X-Men who revel in differences?) so there was really no reason the Fuzzy One couldn’t own the full longcoat and brocade shoulders!
Also, energy blades for a little high tech to go with the old school ✨👌🏼
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muffinlance · 1 year
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Kidnapped Zuko? Rescued by Gaang who dont know who he is and he has to hide his identity.
Okay, so. There’s already a teenager down in Commander Muttonchop’s brig. This fact is so far past concerning it’s wrapped around to let’s-not-think-too-hard-about-this hilarity, and Sokka finds himself grinning, and offering the guy a good ol’ fashioned Water Tribe wrist shake through the bars. They’re neighbors, after all.
“Hello, Fellow Prisoner. What are you in for?”
“I, uh,” says Fellow Prisoner, who is clearly undersocialized from his time in here. He’s looking a little grimy around the edges of his all-black outfit, and the bruises on him have had time to get newer, fresher bruises on top, which is just. That is all kinds of reassuring. Oh, and the giant fiery facial scar. Also reassuring. Though at least that one’s a few years old. So… inflicted when he was, what, Aang’s age?
So reassured, is feeling Sokka, for the Fire Nation’s upcoming hospitality.  
“Uh,” repeats Fellow Prisoner, who is uncoiling a little in the direction of Sokka’s offered hand. As if Sokka was trying to coax him out, and hadn’t just sort of forgotten he was holding it there while his thoughts were doing their downward spiral. But hey, one man’s desperate attempts to keep his cool were another man’s offer of friendship. Fellow Prisoner grasped his wrist and shook it, in both the most technically correct and least experienced Water Tribe wrist clasp Sokka has ever experienced. 
“Zhao thinks I was stealing military correspondence,” the guy says.
“Were you stealing military correspondence?” asks Sokka.
“Only his,” scowls Fellow Prisoner, to whom Sokka takes an immediate liking. “...What did you do? To get arrested. But not killed. He doesn’t usually…”
So, so reassured.
“Oh, you know,” Sokka says, continuing to shake wrists, because it is becoming clear that Fellow Prisoner has no idea how long this is supposed to last and Sokka isn't going to be the one to stop him. “The usual. Found the Avatar. Became traveling companions. Got captured doing something definitely heroic that did not in anyway involve excessive screaming of an unmanly pitch.”
“...The Avatar?” says Fellow Prisoner, who clearly knows how to focus on the important points.
“I’m bait,” says Sokka.
“For the Avatar.”
To be fair, Sokka is still a little stuck on that point, too. It’s been a few weeks, but he still wakes up too-hot in the night and wondering why the stars above him aren’t quite right.
“Yep,” he confirms.
Fellow Prisoner’s face does a thing. A sort of processing, processing, processing thing that involves progressively more scowling. ���The Avatar left you? I knew the old man must be a coward.”
“So,” Sokka says, “about that.”
Fellow Prisoner drinks up Sokka’s story like a man who’s spent three years in a desert searching for water. 
- - -
(It’s been two and half years.)
- - - 
Their escape involves a significantly higher swords-to-escapees ratio than Sokka had anticipated, which is distractingly epic. 
Also, the last-minute bison save is both the stupidest thing his little sister could have possibly done and very welcome, which means that Sokka is going to catch his breath and let some of his adrenaline fade before channeling his inner Gran-Gran for a lecture. 
Fellow Prisoner sheaths both his swords. And kind of stares, rather than sitting down, so Sokka pulls him over before the bison turbulence (read: catapult dodging) can do the job. This does nothing to interrupt the staring. 
“Hi,” says Aang, looking back from Appa’s head. “I’m Aang! What’s your name?”
“...Li?”
Under the sunlight, Fellow Prisoner’s eyes glint gold. He is… very Fire Nation-y looking, now that there is enough light to see him. And he is warmer against Sokka’s side than anyone not feverish should be, even in the ridiculous heat these northerners call ‘winter’.
“Are you a firebender?” asks Aang, like that question hasn’t spent decades earning its status as an insult.
“Uh,” says Li.
“Great!” says Aang, who has already figured out Li-speak. “I need a teacher!”
On the deck below them, Zhao has gone from shouting to laughing. 
Sokka continues to be reassured.
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whateveriwant · 6 months
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what about task force 141 always admiring their s/o picture before going on field or when they’re feeling lonely and missing them
Price
Because he's old (fashioned), he carries a standard 4x6in photo of you with him during his deployment
He had the picture developed ages ago – so long, in fact, you thought he'd gotten rid of it many many tours ago (he never would, of course; he even has an extra copy of the negative stowed in a shoebox in the back of your shared closet, just in case)
Every day, he makes sure your face is the first thing he sees when he wakes up, as well as the last thing he looks at before going to sleep (just like he would if he was home with you)
When he's not admiring the photo, he keeps it in the breast pocket of his tac vest directly over his heart
He's folded and unfolded it so many times that it's starting to fade and tear at the seams, showing just how loved it is all these years later
Gaz
I can see him having a locket with a tiny picture of you inside
Just a little circular gold pendant, no bigger than the pad of first finger, which he hangs around his neck right beside his dog tags
He bought a matching one for you (which you wear all the time, regardless of whether he's home or not), the only difference is yours is heart-shaped and has a picture of him inside
Most of the time, he'll keep the locket tucked safely beneath his shirt, but will pull it out and look at it on days he's feeling particularly lonely or homesick
However, sometimes (especially when he's anxious about an upcoming mission), he doesn't even look at the picture inside – just worries the surface of the pendant with his thumb, rubbing at the thin grooves that form the looped letters of your initials
Soap
Similar to Price, he carries a larger picture of you with him – his, however, is a polaroid
You bought him the vintage style camera for his birthday a few years back, and immediately upon unwrapping it, he started snapping a bunch of candid photos of you with it
Despite how unflattering you say you look in them, he thinks you're absolutely gorgeous (after all, that's why he carries multiple with him – his favorite one always on the top of the stack)
If he can get away from the guys during the mission, he often finds himself talking out loud to the photo, speaking as if you're really there listening to him
As much as he loves to study your face, his favorite part of the polaroid is your little note scrawled across the bottom: Any more chins and I'll be using your parachute as a scarf
Ghost
This might be a little controversial but I don't think he'd carry around a physical picture of you
Pictures of you on his phone? Sure. But he's not taking his unencrypted smartphone into the middle of enemy territory, you know?
Instead, I think he carries a little trinket of yours with him – something small, seemingly inconsequential, like a hair tie or one of your favorite bookmarks
You might've noticed some things gone missing here and there, but never realized that he was nabbing them for his own little keepsake
He keeps it hidden away majority of the time, but every now and then when he starts to downward spiral, he'll pull out that token as a reminder of what (or whom) he has waiting for him back home, and it gives him the strength he needs to power through
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sunny44 · 10 months
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I promised you
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fiancée!reader
Warnings: mentions of Charles father, google translated French
Summary: Charles and Y/n have known each other since they were kids, the relationship grows and they’re about to get married. The wedding day is already very emotional but Charles does something to makes everything way better.
The part in italics is the flashback.
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Married.
That’s what is was getting today.
Charles and I have known each other all our lives, we have been best friends since we were kids.
We have been dating since forever, had all our first times with each other, and I believe we are soul mates.
I remember the first time we met and also the first time he said we would get married. We were 7 years old at the time and he was playing with his Ferraris cars while I was organizing my bracelets in a little box that I had gotten from his mother.
"Charles, give me back." I kept trying to get the bracelet but every time I got close he took it off. "Charlie."
"I'm not giving it back."
"It's my favorite bracelet, you'll ruin it."
"I'm only giving it back to you when we get married."
"That will take a long time, we're small yet."
"Then when we get bigger we'll get married and then I'll give you the bracelet back." I huffed giving up taking it and sat back down on the fluffy carpet in the living room.
"You look so beautiful." My mother says behind me fixing my veil.
"Thank you mom."
In the room where I was getting ready was my mom, Charles' mom, Lily, Lorenzo's girlfriend Charlotte, Arthur's girlfriend Carla, and Elena.
"You had already looked beautiful when we went to pick the dress but you look perfect now" Charlotte says and smiles at them.
"Do you guys really think it looks good?”
"Of course, you are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. You look like came straight out of a bridal magazine." Lily holds my hand and smiles.
"It will all work out, you are perfect for each other."
I start to get nervous and tears start to come out of my eyes and the anxiety starts to make me breathless.
"Honey, breathe."
"Can I talk to him? Please." My mother agrees and they all leave the room leaving me alone.
"Babe." I hear his voice from the door.
"Hi."
"Are you okay, your mom said you wanted to talk to me."
"I'm getting nervous and out of breath." He opens a crack in the door and puts his hand inside.
"Hold my hand." He says and at the same time I take his hand intertwining our fingers. "Now take a deep breath."
I started to take a deep breath and dried up tears with a handkerchief.
"It will be okay, in a little while you will walk down the aisle and I will be there waiting for you and crying from seeing how beautiful you will look." I laughed at his line. "I love you and nothing is going to change that so just take a deep breath and I promise I will be there waiting for you, I’m not going anywhere."
We stood there for about 10 more minutes until he had to go because the time was coming, I heard a knock on the door and allowed the entrance watching Pescale enter.
"Your father is already waiting so I won't take up too much of your time, not least because I am anxious for you to marry my baby boy." I laughed at her anxiety and she took my hands. "I know it's your wedding but I wanted to ask you something."
"Sure."
"When Harvé and I got married I gave him this gold watch and I wanted to ask you to take it down the aisle with you and give it to Charles, we both know how much he wanted his father to be here to see this and I wanted him to have a part of his father along with him." And once again I was crying. "I dear don’t cry, you'll ruin your makeup.”
"I will, I will." I smiled and she dried my tears.
"Thank you, dear. And thank you for taking such good care of him."
"Thank you for making him." She laughs.
"Ready?" my father appears in the doorway and I agree. "You look so beautiful."
"Thanks dad."
...
We were positioned waiting for the door to open, I was with my arm intertwined with my father's when the music started to play, Charlie didn't know but I had chosen AUS23 to play while I enter and I could see his surprised face with the music but soon his look of or on me and I could see the most beautiful smile I’ve e er seen in my life.
Everyone was standing as I walked over to him, when we got there my father shook his hand and whispered something before handing me over to Charles.
"You look beautiful." He says and I smile.
"You look beautiful too." I hold his hand and hand the watch to Charles who instantly recognized it and looked at his mother who smiled. "I know you really wish he was here because I feel the same way, but I know he is taking care of us and that he is happy."
“I'm sure of it."
And then the priest starts with the usual speech.
"I Charles Marc Harvé Perceval Leclerc take you, Y/n Y/l/n as my lawful wife. To love and respect you, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty until death do us part."
“I Y/n Y/l/n take you, Charles Marc Harvé Perceval Leclerc as my lawful wedded husband. To love and respect you, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty till death do us part."
"I pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride." At this he holds my face kissing me and I could hear the shouts of celebration from everyone making me smile in the middle of the kiss.
"I have something to give you." He says as soon as he separates but with his forehead still glued to mine. "Here."
He pulls something from his wrist and I see that same bracelet he stole from me years ago.
"Charlie."
"I said I'd give it back when we got married and I keep my promises." I smiled through tears as he taped it to my wrist. “And when I said to you that I’m not going anywhere I mean it. You are the love of my life and I love you with all my heart.
“I love you more Charlie and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life by your side.” He smiles taking my hand next and we walked to the exit of the church to finally start ours lives together.
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Bonus scene!
Y/nleclerc instagram post
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Liked by @charlesleclerc and other 1938292
@y/nleclerc and here are some of my favorite pictures of the best day of my life, I still can’t believe it that your my husband and that were going to spend the last of our lives together.
I can’t wait to start our family and to grow old with you, you are the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m thankful everyday for you.
Je t'aime pour toujours Charlie (I love you forever Charlie).
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Girl dad Astarion who is mourning the times when his biggest problem was coming up with more or less child-friendly excuses to not read yet another bedtime story. Or to fix the dress of a shabby old doll that gave him the creeps. Or to kiss some scratches better, even though the minuscule wounds usually troubled him more than they did the damn child. 
Nobody ever told him that children grow up this fucking fast, okay?
But now he has to watch his darling little girl grow into a beautiful young woman, and he is—quite frankly—terrified for her. 
Because wherever he looks, he can see that strangers are watching her, too. 
It doesn’t even bother him that they notice his daughter’s beauty, no, you would have to be blind not to see it. She’s stunning—obviously. She's his child after all…and Tav’s, of course, but that’s not the point. 
It’s the way they're looking at the girl that disgusts Astarion to his very core. Leering eyes following her every move. Ulterior motives buried under layers of false niceties. Seemingly innocent little touches stolen as if those filthy hands were entitled to her body in any way. 
And for all their obnoxious gawking, they don’t even see her. They seldom care for his daughter’s talents, her sense of humour, or her intelligence. Her heart.
Those heads are only turning for a pretty face, and for all the small privileges that might afford her, they always come with a price—a price Astarion has paid once upon a time; a price he doesn’t ever want his daughter to even consider accepting.
But the world is not kind. It’s already leaving scratches on his child that neither he nor Tav can kiss better any longer. 
And Astarion hates it because the last time he felt this helpless was when his own pretty face was all that kept him, well, as alive as he could be. A thing to be used for other people's gain. Selling himself out for crumbs.
And then, one day, he notices a new bracelet on his daughter’s wrist. 
She happily hands it over to him so he can take a look. Then she tells him some stranger gifted it to her. Just like that! 
All they wanted for it was a little smile—isn’t that so great, father? 
It’s not. Far from it. Astarion is fuming inside. 
How dare some random nitwit think that ugly trinket worthy of his daughter’s wonderful smile? The audacity. The nerve. Unbelievable! 
“Darling, it’s not a gift if they’re expecting something in return,” a forced smile tugs at his lips, trying to soften his scolding tone.
It doesn’t work.
“But it’s so pretty, I had to have it!” 
The girl sulks, her little nose scrunched up as if he just sent her to bed without her fairy tales. Astarion supposes, in a way, he has.
“And what do we do when we see something we want, dear?” 
She rolls her eyes at him in a way that always has Tav cackling up. Maybe it's because, in moments like this, she looks a little too much like her father. 
“We just pocket it.”
“Exactly, my darling child, we just pocket it,” Astarion nods approvingly. “And if they ask for a smile next time?”
“We stab them,” she sighs.
“Absolutely, we do. Now, off with you, lest your daggers get all rusty, you lazy duck.” 
Ending the discussion with a gentle smile, Astarion watches the girl go before he produces the offending bracelet from his sleeve. 
It’s always out of sight, out of mind with pretty things, isn't it?
He takes another look at the bracelet, scrunching up his nose as if it gave off a particularly vile smell. In a way, it does.
In fact, it’s giving Astarion the creeps. And it's not even made from real gold, by the way.
Astarion scoffs at the cheap trinket. This child still has so much to learn.  
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munson-blurbs · 8 months
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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.
Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying
WC: 8.2k
Chapter 14/20
Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.
--
Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home. 
Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal. 
Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos. 
Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day. 
Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface. 
“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”
You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight. 
Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”
There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.
“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”
“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”
“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”
He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.
Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.
“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”
Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work. 
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“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus. 
Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.
“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”
“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.
Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.
Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you. 
“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it. 
“Ms. Sweetheart?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.
He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”
He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two. 
You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.
“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck. 
“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.
As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning. 
“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.
You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.
Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.
You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 
The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day. 
“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates. 
Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.
It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.
It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.
“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”
“Eds?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”
You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”
“Sounds messy.”
“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”
Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”
“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”
“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite. 
You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”
“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”
“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”
“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling. 
“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place. 
To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”
“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water. 
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Could Corroded Coffin play again?
It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on. 
We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too. 
He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light. 
Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—
“‘Lo?”
Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”
“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”
“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”
Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.” 
Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”
There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.” 
Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”
“Mhm.”
“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”
Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.
“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”
“Of course.”
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“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.
“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”
Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”
“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”
“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”
“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers. 
“Did your friends go?”
“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”
Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”
“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.” 
“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.
“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”
Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break. 
Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get. 
He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference. 
“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”
Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”
“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”
“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief. 
“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”
Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”
Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.
“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”
Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”
The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.
“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”
The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.
You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.
Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.
“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe. 
He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.
“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”
“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch. 
“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning. 
A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.
“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.
“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.” 
“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.
Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”
Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.
“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think. 
But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him. 
Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.
“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”
“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”
Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”
“Not you.”
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You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.
“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”
Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.
“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs. 
“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.
“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”
“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key. 
Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again. 
“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”
He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings. 
“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”
Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”
Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”
Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right.  You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson. 
“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”
Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.
“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.
“For what?”
“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”
You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.
“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”
Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.
As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.
“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.
Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”
“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”
“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!” 
Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie. 
Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’
No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again. 
“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort. 
“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head. 
Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.” 
Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida. 
“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys. 
Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand. 
With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?” 
He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there. 
“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”
Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”
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The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat. 
Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”
Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that. 
“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”
But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.
Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”
Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”
There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.
“Yeah. I can stay.”
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Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.
You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long. 
“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”
“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one. 
“Being in a hospital?”
He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”
The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.
“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”
“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”
“But what if Jeff needs—”
“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning. 
Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful. 
You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…
You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then. 
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The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders. 
“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.
“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion. 
As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”
“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”
Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–
“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”
Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”
“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.
Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.” 
There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment. 
“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”
“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns. 
Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner. 
He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”
Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”
“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this. 
It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.
Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.
“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”
You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”
There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.
It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.
“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”
“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.
“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.” 
“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”
Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister. 
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The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.
“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”
Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.” 
“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.
“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent. 
“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.” 
Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”
“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations. 
“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”
“I mean, I—”
“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”
And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.
“I love her.”
--
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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months
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The other day I was reading about the “mail-order brides” during the Gold Fever/Gold Rush in USA. Men ordered/purchased a wife via mail, and one of the many reasons some of them did that was because of loneliness, and I couldn’t help but think “yep, that would be König”. Just imagine him living alone in his farm or ranch, he only goes to town once a month to buy essential supplies, hides his face, and barely socializes with folks. But deep inside he is just a lonely man who desires a family, and a woman to call his (and one who can help him with his… needs) But he is socially inept, so he takes the easy route and orders himself a wife, that way he doesn’t have to bother with interacting with other people and gets himself a pretty wife
Oh my god 💞
König wanting to wed and bed her the minute she arrives by train... She thought he would court her for a while before they marry, she thought they would do this decently, that they would get to know each other first, she’d rent an apartment from the small town and then decide if she wanted to live with him…
But he says everything’s settled, he already took care of everything, they’re getting married today and spend their wedding night in the saloon before leaving for his settlement tomorrow.
She’s too bewildered to even speak, so it's no wonder she gets herded to the altar right away, a pretty, meek little bride is just what König ordered! Gets wed to this giant hulking gold digger while still wearing her traveling clothes, the priest only looks drunk and bored as she peeps her vows. The man she's now wed to looks down at her with unbridled affection and curiosity, but soon enough, she catches him eyeing her waistline, her bust, the corset she wears feeling tighter still by his indecent stare.
He's far from a gentleman, and dresses like a weather-worn cowboy, and she suspected as much from the way he wrote and how unpolished his handwriting was. But at least he seems kind. If anything, he's smitten that she’s not some old hag who deceived him by claiming to be an unmarried young lady, that she is everything and more he wished for based on the few letters they exchanged.
The wedding is over in a few minutes, and there’s no coffee and cake, no party under some big tree, no relatives or friends to congratulate her on her wedding day. There’s only this huge, intimidating man who looks at her like she just dropped down from heavens, his eyes slowly sparking aflame with both softness and lust.
He takes her to the saloon to eat, and then she finds herself in a greasy little room upstairs, changing into her white nightgown, getting ready to sleep and only sleep, but her nightmare of a day is not over yet. Her hand flies over her mouth, she nearly screams as she turns around and finds this horrible man of lowly European descent thoroughly naked behind her.
She’s in so much trouble, that much was certain from the minute he saw this man, but seeing his… equipment in the dim candle light of the old saloon is too much after everything she's gone through. She's verily about to faint.
It’s just her luck to dream of adventures and a happy, exciting new life and then find herself thrown into the arms of some barbaric, foreign giant... He said he’s looking for a companion in life and hinted at being a little lonely, but men who wish to court a lady don’t do it like this: by dragging them to the altar and then presenting their cocks to them before even two hours have passed!
The rowdy noise of cancan downstairs is a filthy backdrop to seeing a naked man for the first time in her life, and she never knew male parts could be so... big. Or jumpy. Or leaky... This man is clearly serious about this commitment, and thinks there’s no need to get to know each other, she’s his wife now and they need to consummate the marriage right away.
He’s breathing heavily while grabbing that weeping weapon in his fist, telling her she’s more beautiful than he ever even imagined. He pleasures himself slowly while watching her try to cover herself in her thin, faintly translucent gown, and she still can't find any words – the man is behaving like a scoundrel or a highwayman, not at all like the sharp dressed, eloquent gentlemen she's grown used to in the city. The slick sounds of lewd fapping are accompanied by moans of how she’s the answer to all his prayers, and her hair stands on end, she feels like she’s walking on tar here in the distant frontier with nothing but greedy men and drunken brothel keepers around her, now face to face with a giant, throbbing cock out of all things...
She coldly orders him to sleep on the floor while she takes the bed – she’s not letting this nasty, hairy beast near her anytime soon, not when she still has her wits about her. Defeated when she won’t let him “consummate their love” tonight, the man withdraws to sleep on the floor with a sullen groan and a long sigh.
She never sleeps a wink that night in fear of finding him by her side, groping his way through her dress, but to her surprise this man only snores on the floor as if he's used to sleeping there.
Civilization is far away when he leads her to his shack the next day and shows her the first small specks of gold he has found, apologizing for the state of his abode so unkempt and unclean. She has to give it to him that he's indeed kind and doesn’t want to make her suffer unduly, because the table and the bench are wiped in a hurry before she sits down, as if she’s a queen visiting a humble subject. He makes her a bath next to the fire and washes in the water after her, giving her flirty, promising smiles throughout the whole splashy ordeal.
Before long, the giant cock is presented to her again as the man excitedly waits for permission to take her, telling her he has never seen anything like her, that she makes his heart run wild.
The only thing running wild in her sour opinion is his cock, bouncing up and down from the need to be inside her, nearly leaking seed on the floor she suspects she has to wash and scrub tomorrow anyhow as his wife. Evening after evening, she rejects his advances, but after a week or two, her will breaks.
She tells herself it’s only out of pity that she lets him finally crawl over her and lift her gown, that it’s only to stop the man from spiraling into madness that she allows him to test how nicely that thick, leaky cock glides through her folds.
“You’re wet, Sonnenschein,” he pants with happy excitement when she notices her swollen, sloppy state, then plunges his cock deep into his wet little prize with a filthy moan. He tells her she’s tight and hot, and takes her like she’s some kind of an angelic whore, falls panting all over her breasts when he’s sated and done, says that she’s his salvation and that he’ll do anything to make her feel at home here.
She feels exactly like a desperate mail order bride, lured here with the promise of a good life and gold, but when she starts to wait for him to come home instead of dreading the end of the day, that's when her hell truly begins.
It just won't do to start wanting him, to trick her heart to be content with whatever this is. To enjoy his "love" would be even more shameful than anything else so far. The truth of the matter is that she's tormented by a lustful, wild man who takes her on her knees or on her stomach like an animal while moaning about how tight she is, how soft she is, how he can’t concentrate at work because of her.
But when he groans that he loves her just before he cums, she feels a distant sting near her heart, a burst of a small bonfire somewhere in her gut from his words. Far from romantic, but so authentic and pure they’re ripped out of him with a pathetic, cry-like moan.
And just when her heart is about to turn and grow full with softness, he barges in and takes her standing, needy after work, deciding that she looks far too alluring while stirring the stew over the fire. His sunshine of a wife waiting for him with warm food and a soft little cunt, it's exactly like it was always meant to be in his dreams... He’s kind and attentive, but doesn’t know a thing about ladies and that they’re not supposed to be taken by the fire like this, but the dramatic pout on her lips turns into a helpless grimace before this animal has given her three full thrusts.
And it’s only by accident, she tells herself, that it happens. It’s only a coincidence that she finds herself short of breath and shivering, then crying with pleasure from the way his cock sails inside her, hasty and needy as if she’s nothing but a momentary relief for this man.
But she knows she’s far from that. He always stays after the hurried lovemaking – if you could call it that – swallows and tells her things that are supposed to be sweet, perhaps. He whispers loving nonsense in her ear with a stupid, quivering voice, tells her that she’s so tight he’s about to lose his mind. That she brightens up his life and makes this shack a home, a palace, even. That he wants to give her children and grow old together.
She prays the heavens to save her from such a future, but when she accidentally comes with his cock inside her, the man breaks down entirely. Repeats the awful, pathetic “I love you” until he comes, too, and sounds like a man who's getting his sould ripped apart from his bones. It’s sinful lunacy what he’s doing to her in that shack, and dares to sprinkle it with love out of all things, and she doesn’t know if she hates him, or if she loves him too.
Annulling this marriage is nearly impossible, and the sooner he gets her pregnant, the sooner she’s even more trapped, just like the poor rabbits this man lures into the snares placed around the shack. He spends every little speck of gold to buy her silks, satins and gowns, proper woolen scarves and soft little leather shoes, gives her a gentle kiss every morning before he leaves to wash gold. Every evening after meal, he praises her cooking skills and then takes her on the creaking old bed like she's a common whore. The silly, girlish dreams of being whisked away by a mysterious, romantic gentleman are somewhere far away when this giant spills his seed inside her with a thick, arduous groan, then proceeds to cover her in kisses too sweaty and hot.
“I know you don’t love me,” he whispers between the one-sided sucking and nibbling that’s about to make her cry. “But I will make you happy... I swear it, on my life.”
She can only stare at the ceiling, filled with the dancing flames of the fire as he falls asleep with his cock still inside her, the soft snore on her breasts both happy and sad.
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rynwritesstuff · 3 months
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Billy The Kid x Reader
Warnings: Feisty!Reader, General outlaw stuff (guns, cursing, threats), Mentions of sex work/brothels, Smut (PIV sex, unprotected sex, rough sex), Hint of fluff, Imprisonment, Jailbreak
Word Count: 5.4k
Summary: After discovering Billy Antrim one night, you persuade him to travel with you. A wild and interesting adventure ensues.
Author's Note: I've spent the past several weeks reading the most incredible Billy x Reader fics, and I wanted to try my hand at writing for him. I wanted to tag a few of my favorite Billy writers, because they have inspired me to give this a try. (Thank you @billysgun @atrwriting and @goosita you guys are incredible, I admire you so much, keep doing what you're doing <3)
“It ain’t the being alone. It ain’t the empty home, baby, you know I’m good on my own. You know, it’s more the being unknown. So much of the living, love, is the being unknown.” - Unknown / Nth, Hozier
When he hears it – the footsteps – Billy’s head snaps to the side. A million thoughts run through his head. Robbers, outlaws, all-around no good men . . . They could be anywhere. They could be everywhere. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for the gun at his hip. He barely has time to touch it before the sound of a gun cocking comes from behind him. He pauses. 
“Don’t. Move,” comes your voice. Billy swallows harshly as he freezes. It’s dark aside from the campfire in front of him and the moon and stars sparkling in the sky. Billy keeps his breathing even and steady as footsteps come closer. 
“I need money,” you say.
“You’ve got the wrong man, miss,” Billy says, unmoving. “I’ve got nothin’.”
“Food, then. Got any food?” 
Billy nods towards the small pot beside the fire. 
“There’s a bit left over there.”
You circle him, and when you do, he catches a glimpse of your face, slightly shielded by an old hat. Your hair is pulled back and you wear men’s clothing. Your too-big boots thud against the grass. Even like this, Billy can tell that you're beautiful, the kind of beautiful that would bring a God-fearing man to his knees. 
You keep your gun pointed at him as you look down into the pot and then back up at BIlly. 
“It’s not enough.” 
“It’s what I’ve got.” 
“You’re lying,” you say easily. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way you came this far with so little food. You think I’m an idiot, boy?” 
“No,” Billy shakes his head. “I mean it. That’s the last of my food.” 
You chuckle dryly, then approach Billy. 
“Keep your hands up,” you warn. You tug his gun from his holster, then step back towards the fire. Billy is now completely unarmed. He couldn’t shoot you even if he wanted to. You crouch down beside the pot. It’ll have to do, you decide, and reach in with your bare hand to scoop up the beans and bring them to your mouth. You sigh. They’re salty and warm and earthy, and they soothe the ache in your stomach. 
Billy moves slightly, you see him out of the corner of your eye, and you bring your gun up again. He freezes. 
“I was just shiftin’,” he tells you. Wordlessly, you look back down at the pot and continue to eat. Billy watches you curiously. Where are you coming from? Where are you going? And, perhaps most importantly, who are you on the run from? 
“Billy the Kid,” you say finally, wiping your hand on the grass as you get to your feet. “Hm. I didn’t recognize you at first.” 
“Do I know you?” Billy asks. 
“No. But damn near everyone in the West knows you. Ya shouldn’t be surprised.” You slowly make your way over to his horse. You open his saddle bag as Billy turns to watch you. You pull out his shotgun, humming to yourself. You set it aside, and Billy’s heart begins to race. 
“The ring,” he says quickly, making you pause, “please don’t take it. It was my ma’s.”
You halt. How strange it is, to hear William Antrim speak so desperately. You stare at him as you pull the small gold band from his bag. You hold it in your palm, and Billy watches you with a pained expression. 
“Please. She’s gone, she’s dead. It’s all I got left of ‘er.”
You shake your head. 
“I’m not heartless, Billy,” you say, and Billy nearly laughs. No, woman holding me at gunpoint, he thinks. Of course you’re not.
“I’ve lost people, too,” you tell him. You toss the ring to him, and he catches it, clutching it tightly. “I’ll advise you to keep it closer to you, though. People like me aren’t always so understanding.” 
You go back to digging through his bag but don't find much; an apple, a pocket watch, a few shirts and a pair of pants. You huff, keeping only the apple, and shove everything back into the saddle bag, including the shotgun. 
“You’re shit out of luck, Billy,” you say, stepping towards him as you bite into the apple. You wipe a bit of juice from the corner of your mouth. “No food, no water–” 
“I have water.” 
“Oh, well excuse me, then. I apologize,” you say sarcastically. Billy clenches his jaw. You sit down a good five feet away from Billy, gun still in-hand as you eat the apple. 
“God, fuck,” you breathe. Billy glances at you. “Haven’t had fruit in a month.”
“Neither have I,” Billy says flatly. 
“Mm. As I was sayin’ . . . You’re kinda fucked right now. Where’re you headed?” 
“I don’t know yet.” 
“Liar,” you say. You’re confident while you have the gun in your hand, and although you know that Billy could scramble for his shotgun, you also know that you could blow his head off before he got there. If he tries something, anything, he’s a dead man. He must know it, too.
“The next town over,” Billy says finally. “I need somewhere to stay for a while.”
“It’s about fifteen miles East,” you say. You bite into the apple again. “You know where you’re going? How to get there?” 
“I prefer to travel alone,” Billy says as he watches you. For a moment, a small, brief, fleeting moment, he wonders what you look like beneath the tattered button-up shirt. He’s only slept with a handful of women, and it’s been a long while since he’s touched himself, much less had someone else touch him. He swallows harshly. 
You lap your tongue over the dripping apple to gather the juice, then speak. 
“Right. Well, I need a man to come with me East. Nobody takes women seriously in that town, I was there a while back.” 
“Surely you don’t want to risk being recognized, then,” Billy says. You chuckle. 
“Unlike you, Antrim, I’m moving from town to town by choice. I've got nothing to hide.”
Well. That seems to answer Billy’s questions. He sighs, then looks away. Perhaps this is a good thing. Maybe a woman is what he needs. A fiery, feisty woman who will try to keep him in-line. 
“What’s in it for me?” he asks. 
You shrug.
“Money, probably. Food. A roof over your head.” 
“Until I get caught.” 
“I’ll try to keep you out of trouble if you promise to try, too.” 
Billy looks over at you. 
“I don’t even know your name.” 
You smile softly, looking at him kindly for the first time all evening. You tell him your name, and when you do, he tests how it feels to say it. You nod. 
“Right,” you say. “Ya got it.” 
Billy hums. 
“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” he says. 
“No,” you say, tossing him back his gun. “I’d hope not. You wouldn’t be a very good outlaw if you trusted someone that easily.”
Billy slips his gun back into his holster, feeling better now that he has his firearm again. You take another bite of the apple. 
“Let’s leave at dawn,” you tell him. Billy still isn’t completely convinced that this is a good idea, but he doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want to upset you or set you off.
“Fine,” he says. You nudge him. 
“Where are those manners you had a bit ago?” you tease, tossing the apple core aside. “‘Miss’ and ‘ma’am’. Your mama raised you right.”
“Yes, ma’am, she did,” Billy says, offering you a small, teasing smile.
***
Dawn comes, as it always does. You wake before Billy, and take it upon yourself to tidy up his things from the night before. The pot is washed and the fire is out when Billy’s eyes open, and he glances around for a moment. He sees you, and you offer him a nod. 
“Get up,” you tell him as you guide his horse over. “I’d like to get there as soon as possible.” 
Billy groans softly as he sits up on the blanket that separates him from the grass.
“You don’t have a horse? You came all this way on foot?” 
You sigh, leaning against Billy’s horse. 
“She got stolen a few miles back,” you say. “I was surprised they didn’t get yours, too.”
“Mm. Sorry to hear that,” he says as he folds up the blanket and attaches it to his saddle bag. You shake your head. 
“Not much that can be done about it now. Ya ready to go, Billy?”
He nods as he puts on his hat and approaches his horse. He holds his hand out to you and helps you up onto the saddle. He knows that you can get up yourself, but you shouldn’t have to do such a thing. Not when there’s a man around to help you.
Knowing that you won’t both fit on the saddle, Billy decides to walk. You watch him as he guides his horse. The muscles in his strong arms flex as he goes, and you find yourself staring at him more than the scenery around you. You know what this likely means, of course, but you don’t want to think about it. 
You don’t want to complicate things. 
Hours pass. The pair of you reach a town. Dust is kicked up as Billy’s horse trots through, and people bustle busily. You glance around. People stare at the two of you, and you wonder if it’s because they recognize Billy, or perhaps you from when you were here previously. You wipe sweat from your brow. 
“There’s a brothel that way,” you say, pointing to the right. “Rooms are cheap there.” 
“I thought you didn’t have much money,” Billy says, guiding his horse in the direction you pointed in. 
“I don’t,” you say. “But I have enough for us to stay somewhere for a week or so.”
You hear Billy sigh, and you clench your jaw. 
“You got a better idea?” you ask. 
“I didn’t say anything.” 
“You didn’t have to.” 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” 
“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it,” you say. Men are so finicky, you think. You arrive at the brothel just after noon, and you get off the horse. Billy goes to follow you, and you hold your hand up. 
“Don’t. You’ll get swarmed by whores. Just stay here, let me do the talking.” 
Billy’s brow furrows slightly. 
“What if there’s trouble?” he asks. You tap the gun holstered at your hip. 
“I can handle myself.”
Without another word, you head into the brothel. You locate the owner and speak to her about a room for you and your friend. Just as you remembered, the rooms are cheap, cheap enough for you to rent a room for longer than you thought you’d be able to. You pay the owner, then step back outside. 
“Get our stuff,” you tell Billy. “I’ll take your horse to the stable.” 
Wordlessly, Billy obeys, gathering the bags before you lead his horse around the building. He steps inside. Just as you predicted, a few whores approach him. 
They gush at him, telling him how incredibly handsome he is, and how he must be tired, and how he looks like he needs a good blowjob. He politely turns them down, his cheeks warming slightly. One of the whores, a blonde woman, runs her hand over his chest. He tries not to stare at her bare breasts. 
“You stayin’ awhile?” she asks. Billy nods. She hums. “Come n’ see me sometime, won’t ya?” 
Billy offers her a kind smile. 
“I’m a busy man, I’m afraid. Don’t have time for that.” 
He hears footsteps behind him, and moments later, he’s being tugged towards the stairs of the brothel. 
“Told ya they’d flock to you,” you say as you and Billy go up to the room. You unlock the door. 
“They’re just doing their job,” he says as he steps into the room and sets the bags down. You sigh as you re-lock the door. You put your hands on your hips as you walk around the room, inspecting it. It’s not nice by any means, but it’s a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in, and that’s enough for now.
“I’ll take the floor,” he offers. You glance at him. “Y’know. When we sleep.” 
You shake your head with a sigh as you take off your hat. 
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I don’t particularly care if we share a bed,” you say. Billy doesn’t say anything. You glance at him. He’s staring at you. “What?” 
Just as he had noticed last night, you’re beautiful. And if you look this nice like this, he can only imagine what you’d look like all dolled up, or even just freshly bathed. He wonders what it would be like to touch you, to feel you beneath him, to have your body canting up towards his. 
He shakes his head slightly. 
“Nothing. Just . . . Nothing.” 
“If you want the floor, you can have it–” 
“No, no, I don’t mind either,” he says. You sit down at the edge of the bed, then lie back on it with a drawn-out sigh. 
“I’m gonna sleep good tonight,” you chuckle. Billy finds himself smiling softly. 
“Is it comfortable?” he asks. You laugh again. 
“Not at all, but it’s better than the ground.”
Billy approaches the bed and sits down beside you, leaving a gap between your bodies. He bounces a bit, and the bed frame squeaks. He hums as he stops.
“Well?” you ask, looking up at him. 
“You’re right, it’s awful.”
You hum, rubbing your eyes. 
“I know.” You sigh. “Why don’t you go downstairs and eat?”
“What’re you gonna do?” he asks. 
“Take a bath,” you say. Billy nods. He knows he should bathe too, especially if he’s going to be sleeping beside you, but he’s so, so hungry . . . 
“I’ll go after you, then,” he says, getting to his feet. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”
“Hang on.” 
Billy pauses, glancing back at you as you sit up. You gesture for him to come back towards the bed. He obliges. There is a foot or so of space between your bodies, and you look up at him with a twinkle in your eye. You know what you want to tell him, but you don’t know how to say it. You know what you want to do, but you don’t know how to get there. 
“You’re the most handsome outlaw I’ve dealt with, y’know,” you say finally, voice soft. Billy is surprised but most certainly not disappointed. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. 
“How many outlaws have you dealt with?” Billy asks. 
“Quite a few.” 
He hums. 
“I suppose that means I should be thanking you, then," he says. You reach out and tug on his belt loops, pulling him closer. You put your hands on his hips and look up at him. 
“Yes. You should.”
Billy leans down a bit. 
“Thank you, then, miss,” he says quietly. You feel his breath against you, and you let out a soft sigh as heat blooms between your thighs. Hesitantly, you bring your hand up to touch his cheek. You feel the stubble near his chin and jaw as you look into his eyes. 
“Can I–?” 
“You don’t even havta ask,” Billy tells you softly. He leans forward and presses his lips against yours. You inhale sharply as you pull him closer. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, like a man dying. You touch him wherever you can: His cheeks, his jaw, the sides of his throat, his shoulders. He gets on top of you as you scoot back on the bed. You keep one of your hands on the back of his head, which ensures that his lips stay pressed against yours while the two of you move and adjust. 
Billy tosses his hat to the side, and once he’s done that, you tug at his suspenders. You push them off of his shoulders, and you spread your legs a bit more to make room for him to comfortably fit between them. He kisses you again, hot and heavy, and you moan against his lips. 
“Please,” you sigh. He nods as he unbuttons your shirt. 
“I’ve got ya,” Billy reassures you. You kiss him as a sense of safety and security washes over you. He’s got you. He’s got you. You let him unbutton your shirt, and when your breasts are revealed, he leans down to kiss at them. You sigh at the feeling of his chapped lips on your smooth skin. You shrug the shirt all the way off so that your torso is bare, then run your fingers through his dark curls. 
“Billy,” you sigh, eyes fluttering. He hums. You want to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. You grab his collar and pull him back up so you can kiss him. You fumble with his buttons, and when you get his shirt off, you yank off his undershirt, too. You grip his bare shoulders, your hands running down to his biceps. 
“Fuck,” you breathe. He smiles softly. 
“Like what ya see?” he asks. You nod. 
“Sure do,” you tell him. When he stands back to undo his trousers, you quickly kick off your boots and stand up to push down your pants to leave you nude. You get on the bed once you’re naked, and when Billy looks back up at you, cock in-hand, he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, a sound of pleasure. You smile as you spread your legs, feeling a bit bashful but excited nonetheless. 
Billy says your name, then. It’s a whisper, a sigh, a prayer. He gets back on top of you, and his dripping cock presses against you as he leans down to kiss you. You groan. 
“I want you inside me,” you tell him, giving his hair a gentle tug. He nods, pressing his tip against your entrance. He looks up at you, silently asking for permission, and you smile softly. 
“Billy, I love that you’re bein’ a gentleman, but I really need you to ruin me right now. We can be polite to each other later, okay?” you tell him. This makes him chuckle, a quiet, hearty sound, and he nods. 
“Okay,” he says, pushing his tip in. “Understood.”
You hum, hands moving down to his biceps. You grip him tightly as he pushes in further. 
“Oh, fuck, Billy . . .” 
“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head. 
“No, no, just go slow at first. Ease it in, y’know?”
Billy nods. 
“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes teasingly, pushing in further. Your wetness coats his cock easily, and he groans at the feeling of your wet heat engulfing him. “Jesus ffffuckin’ . . .”
Your grip on him tightens as he pushes his cock all the way inside of you. You moan softly as his tip presses against the sweet spot inside of you. 
“Oh, god,” you hum. “Mm, Billy . . . Move . . .” 
His hand fits into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and he holds you there as he begins to roll his hips. He is slow at first, gentle, but his pace quickly picks up. The bed frame creaks and groans, and you moan loudly.
“How is it?" he asks breathily, wanting to hear your praise.
“F-Feels good,” you groan as he hits that sweet spot. Your legs and thighs tremble. Your breasts bounce. Your heart races. Billy’s body is firm and strong above you, and his hold on you tightens. You lean up to kiss him, moaning against his lips. 
“So needy,” Billy says against your mouth. You moan. “Mm. S-So wet for me . . . Needed this bad, didn’t ya?”
You nod, clinging to him as if you’re the only thing keeping him here, as if he could disappear at any moment and leave you aching for more. 
“Ohmygod, Billy . . . F-Faster, I need it faster . . .”
“Mm . . . Ask nicely . . .”
His words go straight to your core, and you clench around him just to hear him grunt. You reach up to tug at his hair, and he turns his head to suck at your jaw. You let him. 
“Please,” you sigh. “P-Please, Billy . . . Make me f-feel good . . . Fuck me f-faster . . .”
Billy hums as he pulls away from your jaw. 
“Atta girl,” he breathes. He’s pounding you, now, fucking you so hard that you begin to worry that the damn bed with break. People can probably hear you, but it’s a fucking brothel, you remind yourself, and you cry out loudly. Your face is hot as Billy’s hips slam against yours. He’s grunting and groaning, and his brows are furrowed in pleasure, and you’re positive that it’s the most wonderful thing you’ve ever seen. 
“Oh, fffffuck. Billy, B-Billy, Billy . . .”
“Mm, that’s it,” he groans lowly. “Let everyone know who it is that’s makin’ you feel good.”
Your grip on his hair tightens, and he bites and sucks at your throat as he chases his orgasm quickly. Clumsily and shakily, you reach down between your bodies to rub your clit. Your hips jerk and tears of pleasure fill your eyes as you begin to rub yourself hurriedly. You know Billy is close – his thrusts are getting sloppy – and you want to cum, too.
“Fuck, you feel good,” Billy admits. He reaches for your hand that isn’t on your clit, which surprises you. His fingers intertwine with yours, and he pins you down. He’s holding my hand. He’s about to cum, and he’s holding my hand, you think. Somehow, this small act feels more intimate than anything else the two of you have done in the past several minutes. 
“Billy . . . ‘M gonna cum,” you breathe. He nods against you. 
“Do it,” he says, encouraging you. “Please. Wanna feel it.”
You close your eyes and tilt your head back. Billy kisses and nibbles at your throat again, his thrusts get harder and faster, and you apply a bit more pressure to the circles you’re rubbing on your clit–
“Oh, fuck!” you cry out loudly. Your body tenses for a moment before you relax against the mattress, pleasure coursing through you. Heat moves over you like a blanket, warming you from head to toe. You’re shaking, trembling as Billy takes you through it. 
Before you know it, he’s moaning in your ear and pulling his cock from your pussy. He jerks himself off for one second, two, three, and then he’s cumming on your stomach with a cry of your name. You watch him fall apart above you, and you never were a religious person, but this? This sight is enough to bring you to your knees. You’d worship him if it were an option. That glow, that body, that smile . . . It makes you want to weep.
Billy grunts, stroking himself until his orgasm is over, and he shakily lies down beside you with a huff. You stare up at the ceiling, still catching your breath as his arm touches yours. The reality of what the two of you have just done hits you. You just fucked Billy Antrim. And you liked it. 
You look over at him. He’s already staring. You smile. 
“Good?” he asks. You nod. 
“So good.”
He hums and wipes a bit of sweat from your brow. 
“I didn’t think a woman like you would wanna be taken like that,” he says gently. You have to give it to him, he really is a gentleman. Even after you held him at gunpoint, and told him to escort you here, and bossed him around, he's still treating you kindly. He’s still here, he isn’t getting up to leave. In fact, he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out his handkerchief. He hands it over to you, then gestures to your cum-covered stomach. You smile softly, wipe it up, then set the handkerchief aside. 
“I’ll wash this,” you tell him. He nods, humming. His cheeks are red. You like seeing him like this, all flustered and tired. 
He sits up slowly, and you watch the muscles in his back ripple as he does. He stands up and tucks his cock back into his trousers before reaching for his undershirt. Your smile fades, and he notices. 
“I’m just hungry,” he says. “You want somethin’ from downstairs?”
You lean up on your elbows.
“Something to drink, maybe,” you say. You smile. “And whatever food you can find. I’m in no position to be picky.”
He nods as he puts on his button-up and begins to do it up. 
“I’ll do my best,” he says. Once he’s redressed, Billy glances back at you. “You gonna be okay?” 
You nod, reaching for your shirt and draping it over your naked body as you lie back against the pillows. 
“Mhm. You know I can handle myself.” 
“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to.” 
You smile widely. Such a charmer.
“Go, before I undress you again,” you tell him again. He chuckles. 
“Yes, ma’am.”
You hum, getting comfortable as Billy leaves. You hear the door open and close, and you sigh. Your eyes are heavy, and the mattress feels so soft and comforting compared to what you’ve been having, and it’s so quiet . . .
***
It’s dark when you wake. You stir, put off by the blackness. You’re still naked, and when you realize this, you haphazardly pull your button-up back on. You do it up as you move over, feeling the other side of the bed. 
“Billy,” you say into the dark. There is no response. You roll your eyes. That damn bastard. You thought he was different. You thought he was a good man, a kind man. If he wanted more sex, he could have just woken you up, but no, he left you up here in the pitch black. He’s probably downstairs, drinking wine and fucking whores. 
You clench your jaw as you fumble around. You start up the lamp on the bedside table, and grab your pants off the floor. You yank them on, along with your boots, then glance around. 
“Fucking asshole,” you mutter. “Couldn’t even bring me water.” 
You grab the room key and your gun holster off of the bedside table, then yank open the door and start downstairs. The brothel is bustling now that it’s dark outside. Men and naked women are everywhere. You pull a lady aside as you buckle your holster around your hips.
“The guy I was with,” you say to her, “where’s he at?”
She shrugs, then pulls away. Anger boils inside of you. You push your way through and get to the bar. The woman behind it seems to recognize you. 
“You got water?” you ask, frustrated by the entire situation. The woman nods, then silently pours you a glass. She hands it over. You down half of it, then set the glass on the bar and wipe your mouth. 
“You’re the lady who came here with Billy Antrim,” she says finally. You look up. You’re positive that Billy wouldn’t give out his name, let alone his full name, in a place like this. You remain neutral and calm. 
“Who?” 
“The man,” the lady behind the bar says. “The one who went upstairs with you, that was Billy Antrim.” 
You cock your head. 
“What’re you getting at?” 
She blinks at you. 
“Don’t you know?” she asks.
Your brows furrow. 
“Did something happen?” 
She nearly laughs. 
“Where have you been? Asleep?”
“Where is he?” you ask sharply. Your heart is beginning to race. You have a pit in your stomach. Deep down, you know something bad has happened. The woman watches you carefully. 
“You care about him. It’s dangerous to care about people like that–” 
“Tell me where the fuck he is!” you snap, right hand reaching down to rest at your holstered gun. The woman behind the bar clenches her jaw. 
“Someone turned him in,” she says flatly. “He was taken away a few hours ago.” 
Fuck. You should have been awake, you should have been with him. You could have vouched for him, told them that they had the wrong guy. You told him you’d keep him out of trouble, and now . . .
You storm away from the bar, hurrying upstairs to get yours’ and Billy’s things. You leave in a tizzy, adrenaline pumping through you as you fetch Billy’s horse from the stable. You secure everything to the saddle, pull yourself on, and take off towards the jail. 
You tie Billy’s horse outside, then step inside. You glance around for a moment, and the jailkeep looks at you, seemingly irritated by your presence. You offer him a charming smile. 
“Sir,” you say, nodding politely as he looks you up and down. “I–”
“Visiting hours are over,” he says flatly. You hum, glancing around. You spot Billy, and your eyes linger on him for a moment. He grips the bars of the cell, watching you intently. You’ve got a look in your eyes, he realizes. He hopes you aren’t going to do what he thinks you’re going to do. He doesn’t think he’s worth the trouble. 
You look at the jailkeep again. You’re silent for a moment, and before he can tell you to get out, you’re reaching for your gun. You pull it on him and cock it. He stiffens. 
“Unlock his cell,” you say firmly. The man doesn’t move, too surprised. “Now!”
Billy watches you with wide eyes. The jailkeep rises to his feet slowly, and you keep the cocked gun pointed at him as he steps over to Billy’s cell. 
“Unlock it,” you tell him again. “Hurry up.” 
His hands tremble as he finds the right key and unlocks Billy’s cell. Billy steps out quickly, then grabs the keys from the man and shoves him into the cell. He locks him in, and you take a small step back. 
“Don’t yell,” you warn the jailkeep. “I’ll kill you, I swear to God, I’ll do it.” 
While you threaten the man, Billy hurries over to the desk to find his gun. He grabs the jailkeep’s holster off the desk, too, while he’s at it. 
“You’re fuckin’ crazy, woman,” the man says. You hum. 
“Damn right I am.” You glance at Billy. “Let’s go.”
Billy takes the keys with him, and the two of you leave the jail quickly. 
“There’s another horse over there,” you tell Billy as he runs towards his horse. He nods. 
“Go, I’ll keep watch,” he says. You fetch the horse, which you have to guess belonged to the jailkeep, and you hoist yourself up. You ride up beside Billy. 
“C’mon, haul ass,” you say, riding past him. His horse gallops after yours, and the two of you ride into the darkness. 
The severity of the situation is not lost on Billy. You’re in trouble, now. You broke the law to help him, to get him out, and you did it without hesitation. He would’ve been dead by morning if you hadn’t come to get him, and now you’re an outlaw, too. Guilt claws at him as the two of you leave town. 
“You didn’t havta do that,” he says over the sound of hooves hitting the ground. 
“I couldn’t leave you.”
Billy shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. 
“You don’t even know me,” he says, almost frustrated. What a stupid thing you just did. What a thoughtless, dangerous act. 
“I know you’re a good man,” you tell him. “And I know you don’t deserve to hang.”
Billy glances at you, his body bouncing as his horse runs up beside yours. Your eyes meet for just a moment before you look forward again. 
“I hope you’re not thinkin’ of ditching me, Antrim,” you say. He can’t help but smile softly. He wouldn’t even dream of doing such a thing. He owes you his life. 
“‘Course not,” he says. You hum. 
“Then stop lookin’ at me like that and let’s focus on getting the fuck outta here.”
God, where have you been all his life? You’re everything he’s ever needed. 
“Yes, ma’am.”
746 notes · View notes
Note
I have an ideaaa so maybe you like to write about it. Imagine harry having a long term girlfriend or even wife but they are so private and harry protects her so much that nobody in the general public really knows anything about her or their relationship and the fans eat up every single information or content they can get about her and their relationship.
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh Mysterious Girl.
masterlist || ask me anything &lt;3
authors note - this is my first time doing an instagram concept of sorts and i wanted to make it easy on myself and use manips of harry with someone who i chose queen selena, please don’t be harsh on me and enjoy. 🫶
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2013.
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liked by username, username and 413 others
harryupdates, Harry spotted going on a park walk with a mystery girl in London today!
tagged, harrystyles
view all comments,
username, who is she?
username, sorry but no
username, she’s actually so pretty!!
username, right?
username, his little beany 👉👈
username, they legit look like they could be siblings
username, they look so beautiful together
username, what part of London is this?
username, it was Hyde park!
username, if they’re dating then they make such a hot couple
username, PAPA
username, her names (Y/N) I’m not sure how old she is or what her job is but she’s from London
username, (Y/N) is such a cute name!
2015.
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liked by username, username and 673 others
harryupdates, Harry and (Y/N) spotted at Louis’s mums wedding today!!
tagged, harrystyles, yourinstagram
view all comments
username, power couple right there!!
username, they attended her wedding together?
username, I mean they are dating so it would explain things 🤷‍♀️
username, it’s never been confirmed that they’re dating
username, his outfit is making me feel so many different thoughts
username, I don’t get what the hype of them is, she’s not even that pretty
username, don’t be so rude!
username, just because your jealous doesn’t mean that he can’t be happy
username, we better get the photo that she took on her phone
username, her Instagram accounts private so I highly doubt we will
username, I actually love them
username, she’s so gorgeous for literally no reason
username, imagine they got married as well
username, my life would officially end
username, if they got married they wouldn’t last, she’s probably a gold digger or something
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liked by username, username and 1,381 others
harryupdates, Harry and (Y/N) arriving at the last ever one direction performance today!
tagged, harrystyles, yourinstagram
view all comments
username, we love a supportive gf
username, her smile is actually adorable
username, I spoke to her when they were arriving and she was actually one of the nicest people I’d ever spoken to
username, what did you say to her?! we need details!!
username, I said that her and Harry make a really cute couple and she said thank you and we have each other a hug
username, I need to meet both of them one day!
username, I can’t believe it’s the last show already
username, there outfits are actually so pretty!
username, I love the fact that we haven’t seen them together in almost five months and they just suddenly app at together out of no where
username, every time I see a notification that you’ve posted I hope that it’s something ti do with them
username, sometimes I just Google both there names and scroll through pictures of them
username, I don’t get why they get so much hate, I love them together !!
2017.
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liked by username, username and 4,319 others
harryandynupdates, A photo montage of (Y/N) supporting Harry at the Dunkirk Premiere.
tagged, harrystyles, yourinstagram
view all comments
username, her red dress is so cute !!
username, her head resting on his shoulder is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life
username, it’s officially confirmed that they’re dating
username, they look so in love
username, if they ever broke up I don’t think I’d be able to live
username, the kiss on the lips is making me feel a multitude of different things
username, I’m having heart palpitations over here
username, can they adopt me?
username, CONTENT CONTENT CONTENT
yourinstagram, thank you so much for creating this, I’m putting this as my lock screen as we speak. ❤️
username, (Y/N)!
username, the queen has spoken!
username, she commented, I repeat she commented !
username, she basically confirmed that they were dating
username, it’s been confirmed for ages we just never wanted to believe it.
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liked by yourinstagram, jeffazof and 542,108 others
annetwist, Merry Christmas from my family to yours!🎄🎅
view all comments
username, I want to be part of there family Christmas so badly
username, seeing photos of (Y/N) actually make me so happy!
username, she’s so pretty for literally no reason
yourinstagram, thank you so much lovelies, it means a lot ❤️
username, I want there roast dinner
username, (Y/N) CONTENT (Y/N) CONTENT
username, isn’t Harry pescatarian?
username, doesn’t mean that the others can’t have turkey?
username, all the stockings on the fire place 🥹🥹
gemmastyles, one of the best Christmases ever! x
username, gem!
username, the better styles right there!
username, (Y/N) and Harry are legit couple goals
username, you and Gemma are mother and daughter goals
yourinstagram, one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had, thank you for having me. ❤️❤️
username, she’s so cute, I love it!
annetwist, it was my pleasure, darling. x
username, she’s part of the family, omds I’m sobbing 😭
username, the photo of (Y/N) and Harry in the snow!
username, CONTENT, MAMA YOUR FEEDING US
username, (Y/N)s officially part of the annual Christmas photo
username, she’s winning at life right now
username, (Y/N) OUR QUEEN! 👸 👸
2019.
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liked by username, username and 6,310 others
harryupdates, Harry speaking about (Y/N) in his recent interview with Zane Lowe!
“I met my fiancé when we were just eighteen and didn’t officially start dating until I gained the courage to ask her out at a mutual friends party, she’s my best friend and always will be, she’s my biggest inspiration and honestly don’t know what I’d be doing if I hadn’t of met her…I didn’t really think I’d ever be in love, not in this degree anyway. My whole family adore her just as much as me and that’s all I could ever ask for.
she knew what she was getting into when we started dating and that’s what I think made us want to keep our relationship so private, I don’t want her exposed to all the paparazzi knowing the cruel things that they can say, I like to think I’m an open book and seeing how she is with my life styles, and my fans makes me love her even more, which I didn’t think was at all possible.”
tagged, harrystyles
view all comments.
username, FIANCE?
username, you kept that one quiet mister!
username, (Y/N)s not even that pretty, he deserves better
username, literally stfu pls and thx
username, get a life
username, he’s so happy
username, I love that his family love her as well, that makes her even more special!
nicolasgrimshaw, Its' me! I'm the friend!!
username, NICK!
username, LOVE THAT <3
username, nick the match maker
username, his biggest inspiration, sobbing on the floor
username, currently digging my own grave as we speak
username, he deserves to be with someone who can deal with his celebrity status, she’s obviously to weak if he has to say that about her in an interview
username, keyboard warrior
username, if she had an issue with his life she would have left a long time ago
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liked by gemmastyles, nicolasgrimshaw and 431,481 others
annetwist, Happy Birthday sweet heart, here’s to 25! 🥂
tagged, yourinstagram
view all comments
username, she calls her sweet heart, I'm sobbing!
username, hey Anne, I was wondering if you could adopt me, <3
username, don't ask me why this made me so emotional its literally just a picture
username, her smile 😭😭
username, shes legit so pretty for real 💗
username, we finally found out her age!
username, was she smiling at harry when this photo was being taken?
yourinstgram, ❤️️❤️️❤️️
username, QUEEN!
username, this so so sweet!
username, this family is actually so sweet
username, Sorry everyone I'm new and don't know who she is can someone tell me?
username, she's Harry's fiancé, her names (Y/N)
username, thank you !
username, sorry Anne she's not your sweetheart, she's our sweetheart!
username, she still exists?
username, she always has and always will
gemmastyles, 👑
username, my heart hearts please this is too much
username, YN CONTENT MY LIFE IS NOW A HAPPY ONE
username, that's literally my reaction every time I see a new picture of her
2020.
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liked by username, username and 8,917 others
harryupdates, LEAKED PHOTOS OF (Y/N) AND HARRY. SOMEONE HACKED ANNE'S ICLOUD AGAIN!
tagged, harrystyles, yourinstagram
view all comments.
username, no wtf?
username, who hacked Anne tf?
username, these photos are cute and all but i think the family would really appreciate if you didn't repost them everywhere
username, as much as I hate the fact anne got hacked, these photos are actually adorable
username, the fifth photo
username, they're so in love it actually hurts my chest☹️
username, delete these right now!
username, unfollow!
username, the photo of them laying in the grass
username, knowing she was with him the day that photoshoot took place is actually so freakin cute!
username, this is the one time i'm not happy i got a picture of (Y/N)
username, who hacked anne like get a fucking life
username, (Y/N) content has never made me feel so sad
username, in the fourth photo, you can see Anne just wanted a photo with her son but she just had to photo bomb it.
username, the smile on Anne's face tells me she doesn't care.
username, this is actually sickening
username, as much as I hate what's happened and the fact there privacy's been exposed, this drama is eating me up
username, take these down right now
2023.
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liked by username, username and 4,194 others
harryandynupdates, (Y/N) was spotted in the crowd at Harry's Cardiff Show today supporting him!
tagged, yourinstagram
view all comments.
username, I LOVE HOW SUPPORTIVE SHE IS
username, she's so happy to be there omds
username, having major fomo over here
username, I knew she was at all his other shows but no one ever got a photo, so thank you to whoever for blessing us with this <3
username, it was me, I was with my sister and she recognised her straight away, she was in the private pit with Jeff and Glenne.
username, I need to party with her so bad
username, like legit it's on my bucket list
username, god blessed us with her
username, she seems so care free like it's actually adorable
username, the man on the left of the photo looks like gino d'acampo
username, I CAN SEE IT!
username, YOUR ACTUALLY RIGHT!!
username, she's his biggest supporter
username, she's just like me!
username, she's his biggest hype women!
username, why is she pulling that face?
username, I've never been more in love with her like wtaf?
username, making me cry seeing how happy and carefree she is being
username, seeing her so happy makes me so happy
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liked by username, username and 9,104 others
harryupdates, "I CAME HERE HOPING THAT I WOULD SEE (Y/N) BUT I GOT YOU INSTEAD!" Harry reading a sign at the concert tonight and answering with:
"You came here to see my wife? Hate to break it to you sista but she's not here tonight, she's got a stomach bug and was crushed when the medic told her not to leave the bed, so sorry but you'll have to put up with me instead!"
tagged, harrystyles
view all comments.
username, WIFE?!
username, nah he got married?
username, IM ACTUALLY SOBBING LIKE WTF?!
username, I KNEW THEY WERE ENGAGED AND ALL BUT WHEN THE FUCK DID THEY GET MARRIED?!
username, now they can finally adopt me?
username, this content of him and (Y/N) was not something I thought I'd be seeing in 2023.
username, I'm actually so happy for them right now
username, Harry deserves to be happy, and (Y/N) is the perfect person for him
username, literally no one likes her its probably a publicity stunt
username, a publicity stunt that's lasted ten years?!
username, CONGRATS
username, she's in it all for the money
username, CONTENT I REPEAT CONTENT
username, how long do you think they've been married for?
username, I'm thinking some time between Christmas and when tour started up again
username, is this just another way for him to make money?
username, he has a wife?
username, the next thing for him to achieve is becoming a dilf
username, the world would officially end when that happens
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1K notes · View notes
kittenintheden · 3 months
Text
Where were you, when I was new?
AO3 Version Here
Even the masters have to start somewhere.
Rating: E Word Count: 5.6k Content: 18+, Virgin Astarion, Pre-Canon Astarion, Law Student Astarion, Young Astarion, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Intercourse, Gender-Neutral Partner (3rd Person), Unnamed Partner (3rd Person)
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Astarion Ancunín is twenty years old, a law student, and a virgin. At least, he is for the time being.
It’s not as if he doesn’t know he’s an exceptionally good-looking young man, not as if no one’s ever asked before. Not as if he’s completely inexperienced. He adores kissing. Flushes with pleasure when someone plays with his long, elegant ears. Participates in a little hand stuff here and there. He even received head and gave it back, once, at some party.
Really, it’s simply that he’s had other things to do – other lessons to learn, other books to study, other concerns about his future position – and no one ever seemed worth sharing himself with fully. At least, not the first time. What can he say? He has standards.
It’s neither here nor there, to be honest, because he’s deep in his notes from a recent lecture when a friend puts a hand on his shoulder and draws his attention away. He grumbles, annoyed at being yanked out of his zone.
“What, arthehole?” he says from between his teeth because he doesn’t want to drop the pair of gold-rimmed glasses that dangle from his mouth by one temple. He never did quite outgrow his oral fixation.
His friend tilts their chin toward the large double doors that offer entry to their university’s library, which is where they’re currently holed up. “Look sharp,” the friend says. “The mock trial team from Neverwinter just walked in.”
Astarion sits up and shifts his gaze to the group of unfamiliar students following behind an enthusiastic prefect who seems to be giving them the full tour of the Grand College of Baldur's Gate. They certainly look like standard Neverwinter fare – wizard-chic robes, scrutinizing stares, Northern city attitude. He leans his cheek on his hand, lazily sizing up the competition.
There’s one that stands out and he quirks his mouth up as he observes. This student is smiling brightly, slowly spinning in place to take in the shelves around them with wonder. Their clothing is simpler than the others, more street-friendly than cosmopolitan.
“Huh,” he says to himself.
“I think we can take them no problem,” his friend says. “But what do you say about running a bit of an insurance policy? Some friendly distraction, if you will.”
Astarion glances their way. “I’m listening.”
The friend points to someone toward the front of the line. “I’ll take that one. You know I’m a sucker for tieflings with blue… everything.”
He laughs. “Have at. I think…” He folds his glasses and slips them into his pocket, training his eyes on the student who stuck out to him before. “... I’ll deal with that one.”
“Good man,” says the friend, holding up a hand for him to clasp.
***
Some time later, Astarion leans casually against a support beam in the university’s canteen with his supper in hand, waiting. It isn’t long until the Neverwinter students begin to filter in and he quickly spies his target.
They’re taking in the room and the people around them, eyes soft and gentle as a cow’s. Elven, like him, he thinks. They look over their shoulder and happen to catch his eye for a scant moment. He tilts his head and they give a polite smile before stepping forward in the queue.
Astarion examines his nails closely during the several minutes it takes the group to retrieve their food and find seats. As the elf walks along the line of chairs, he makes his move.
Before they even notice his approach, he steps just in front of them and then startles as they knock into him.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” they say, mercifully righting their tray before anything spills. “I didn’t see you.”
“No, no,” Astarion says, smiling bashfully. “My fault entirely. I didn’t look to see where I was going. I’m terrible that way. Please, join me?”
He pulls out the nearest chair and gestures for them to sit. They blink at him, wide-eyed, then lean around to look for their friends, then back at him in slight confusion.
“Ah, sorry, that’s presumptuous, I shouldn’t-”
“No, it’s fine,” they say, their face brightening with another grin. “We’re supposed to be here to meet other students, anyway, so. Yeah. Yes, I’d be happy to join you.”
“Wonderful,” Astarion says, pushing the chair in under them as they take his offered seat. Behind their back, he casts a look over at his friend across the way. They waggle their eyebrows at him and go back to chatting up their blue tiefling. Astarion smirks.
He schools his features back to neutral as he takes his own seat, giving the Neverwinter student a tight smile, playing the part of the nervy introvert superbly. Right on cue, his glasses slip down his nose a bit and he adjusts them back into place.
“Do you actually need those?” his guest says, their cheek already full of food.
Astarion’s smile drops for a second before he snatches it back and gives a laugh. “What?”
They chew and swallow their bite before pointing at his face. “The spectacles. I was just wondering if they were for show or…” They pause and their eyes go even wider than usual. “I apologize, that’s really rude of me, forget I said anything.”
His surprised laugh is genuine this time. “You know what? I don’t actually need them.” To illustrate his point, he removes them, folds them, and puts them in his jacket pocket. He leans in like he’s about to tell them a secret and quietly says, “Honestly, I just think they make me look smart.”
Immediately, they burst out laughing and he joins them. The conversation flows smoothly, after that.
“What are you doing all the way down at the Gate?” Astarion asks, placing a forkful of his own food in his mouth to chew as they answer. He now knows their name, their year, that they adore snow foxes, and that they are indeed visiting from Neverwinter.
They pick off a piece of their roll, then another. “I’m here with the mock trial group. You know that one? We playact cases like you’d find in the courts. We’re here for a competition with the Gate’s team.”
“Really?” Astarion says, the picture of innocence as he leans in closer, fascinated. “Like theater? I didn’t even know we had one of those.”
“Oh, yes, it’s a lot of fun.” They’re animatedly waving their forgotten roll around as they speak. It’s cute. “We each take the side of either the prosecution or the defense and we sort of, you know, duke it out.”
Astarion giggles. “Maybe I should come watch this thing. Which side are you on?”
“Defense,” they say with a wink. “And we’ve got a killer case.”
“Is that so?” Astarion’s grin spreads wide over his face. “I’d love to hear more.”
***
It had been quite the productive evening. His companion spilled the details of nearly everything that mattered, from their witness list to the evidence they hoped to sneak in last-minute with a legal loophole. Astarion flirted up a storm, keeping them talking. And talk they did, punctuated with laughter and light touches and a general aura of friendship .
Astarion grimaces as he organizes his notes for the trial. It should begin in an hour and he’s been hiding out in the nearby lecture hall that serves as the makeshift judge’s chambers. If he’s really, truly honest with himself… he feels awful. His opponent had been sweet, friendly, and genuinely enjoyable to be around, if a little… south of brilliant. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize he actually kind of liked them. Would maybe consider flirting with them for real, even.
If only they hadn’t been so naively trusting . That was their own fault, wasn’t it?
He swallows the sour taste in his mouth.
Around then, his friend swaggers into the room with a blooming bruise on their neck and a sleepy smile. They flop down in the seat beside him.
“Good night?” Astarion asks, cocking an eyebrow at them.
“Blue everywhere,” they say as if they’re doped up. “Everywhere, Ancunín.”
Astarion chuckles and shakes his head. “But did you learn anything useful?”
His friend doesn’t answer and Astarion clears his throat to prompt them. They focus back in on him and say, “Erm, we were supposed to be learning something? I proposed running distraction.”
“Oh for the gods’ sake.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “No matter. I got all the details from my date, anyway.” He taps his notes against the desk to straighten them and slips them into his satchel.
“You mean their team captain?” his friend says.
Astarion freezes with his hand on the latch of his satchel. Turns his head slowly to gawk at his teammate. “Their. What?”
The friend shrugs. “Guess I did learn one thing, after all. My companion said you were sitting with their team captain. Thought it was a pretty bold choice.” They wink at him. “Good for you.”
“Shit,” Astarion whispers.
His friend frowns, but before they can ask, he’s up and pulling open the door that leads to their mock chambers. The Neverwinter team is already well underway on their setup. He storms down the center aisle and sure enough, there’s his dining companion, looking polished to a fine shine with their hair properly styled and robes of deep blue setting off their elven complexion.
They turn just in time to catch him glaring at them with his jaw clenched.
“Glad you could make it,” they say with a much slyer smile than they wore last night.
Astarion has never been so simultaneously angry and infuriatingly attracted to someone in his life.
***
The first trial of their three-day competition is, naturally, a complete bust for Team Baldur’s Gate. Astarion is completely off his game and operating off of a strategy that proves totally useless. The Neverwinter team absolutely trounces them.
He got played. He got played and he’s furious about it.
Worse, he’s impressed by it. Gross.
Afterward, they come up to him to offer a genuine, friendly handshake. Astarion reluctantly accepts it.
“I’d apologize,” they say. “But honestly, I let you take the lead completely. You didn’t have to listen to a single word out of my mouth.”
Astarion sniffs. “Yes, well. Congratulations. You won.” He leans into their space ever so slightly. “This time.”
They laugh and it sounds almost the same as it did the night before. “Come on, let me buy you a drink.”
“You don’t have to rub it- wait, what?” Astarion says.
They shrug. “Secret’s out now, I guess, so I don’t see any reason for us to pretend that we didn’t enjoy one another’s company.” When Astarion doesn’t immediately respond, they put a hand on their hip and smirk at him. “At least, I enjoyed yours.”
“Well, I…” Astarion huffs and looks askance, then back at them. “I don’t even know which parts of you are real , so. I can’t say.”
The elf reaches out a finger and taps him right on the center of his chest. “You’re the one who saw someone from one of the top universities in the realm and assumed I must be some foolish bumpkin who’ll spill their guts to the first pretty face that comes along because I smile too much. I’m the one who should be concerned, I think.”
“Ugh, okay, fair,” he says, tossing his head. Then he smirks back. “You think I’m pretty?”
“Come on,” they say with a laugh and a tilt of their head toward the exit. “Let’s get that drink.”
***
Hours later, Astarion stands in front of the tiny vanity in his dorm, turning his face to examine his reflection. His cheeks are flushed from a second and then a third drink, his curls looking a bit flat at the end of the day. He pulls back his lips to examine his teeth, making sure the wine didn’t stain them. Fine. He looks fine.
He huffs at his reflection. Normally, his confidence in his appearance is, one might say, inflated . Tonight, he’s feeling unusually self-conscious about it. He pokes at the moles under his eye and grimaces.
It had been a marvelous time. True to their word, his fellow captain had bought him the first cup of cheap wine. He’d pitched in for their second round, and they’d each decided on a third. After agreeing that tonight would involve absolutely no discussion of the next day’s case, they simply let the conversation take them where it would, and took them it did. 
It was… easy. Instinctive. He told them all about leaving his terribly boring hometown behind for the call of Baldur’s Gate, determined to polish himself to a high shine and enjoy everything the city life had to offer. They told him that Neverwinter was a beautiful, sparkling metropolis, but woefully lacking in people who weren’t head-and-shoulders up their own arse.
Astarion fidgets with the wooden comb and brush laid out on his vanity, smiling. Wine loosened their tongues a bit more and they’d given into the compulsion to openly flirt with one another, and it had been… good. Very good. It’s been some time since he’s felt genuinely interested in spending an evening with someone this way. If anything, he thanks his dates for the delightful makeout session and goes on his merry way.
He runs his fingers along his bottom lip, remembering being partway into that third cup and snatched up with the overwhelming desire to kiss them. The air around them felt heated and heady, their laughs going lower in pitch as the night wore on, their eyes half-lidded when they looked at him.
He’d wanted to. He’d wanted to so badly. More than he could ever remember wanting to kiss anyone. And he’d let his nerves get the better of him.
They’d bid their goodnights, he’d come back here, and now he was flopping down onto his too-hard single bed with a huff, covering his face with his hands. He sighs and drags them over his skin, looking at his wall covered in parchment, his reminders and notes to himself everywhere, a few tickets to events he wanted to remember pinned here and there.
He reaches out and taps the flyer advertising the mock trial competition, feeling a slow grin spread over his face. They’d bested him today, but tomorrow… tomorrow’s another story.
***
The look on their face when Astarion delivers his final arguments to the judges is delicious. He’s back in the game, fully and completely, using every bit of performative flair to make sure all eyes stay on him. When he wraps it up, he pays them a smug glance and they’re looking at him with lips slightly parted.
Better yet, they’re blushing .
He positively beams.
Baldur’s Gate comes out victorious, leaving the teams one-and-one. Tomorrow will decide the competition.
Tonight, they all go out together to play.
The Neverwinter team is desperately competitive and worth every bit of the name they’ve made for themselves on the university circuit, but they also love to party. The two groups find a rager of a soiree happening at the winter house of one of the Upper City students. There’s dancing, and drinking, and no small number of heated exchanges.
Astarion doesn’t waste the opportunity to rub elbows with anyone notable – he has long-term goals, after all – but most of his attention is devoted to spending as much time as possible with his new Neverwinter friend.
They share a dance or two on the trellised patio, purple and white wisteria hanging down all around them and perfuming the air. Nothing salacious… at least, not at first. That second dance ends up a bit close, with their hand on his chest and his just the tiniest bit too low on their hip for propriety.
In the twilight, they look into his face, their own expression open and affectionate, and it hits Astarion again – that overwhelming desire to kiss them. His heartbeat quickens, fluttering his pulse up along the side of his neck, and his breath catches. Heat swirls through him from the place their hand sits on his chest.
This is ridiculous. He’s never had a problem kissing anyone else before.
He’s never wanted to kiss anyone like this before, though. This thing between them… it’s chemical. Magical.
The music drifts away and they drift apart.
He does not kiss them.
***
Day three of the competition dawns and it’s the fiercest one yet. Every member of each team is out to win and they bring their very best to the table. The professors and other staff acting as the competition's judges watch the back and forth with raised eyebrows, thoroughly impressed by their students’ passion.
And no passion is so intense as the passion between the two team captains, who pace around one another like a pair of territorial wolves, seeking any weakness at all. They stand on either side of a long table, making their cases back and forth. Occasionally they address the judge, but clearly this is a battle between the two of them.
“The evidence is crystal clear,” the Neverwinter captain states, eyes narrowed. “This man is corrupt, feeding information to the highest bidder with complete disregard for any life ruined in the process. It is unconscionable, and the court must see justice through.”
Astarion slams his hands down on the table for effect and leans closer, eyes on them. “The evidence reveals he feared for his life, for the lives of his family. He performed these misdeeds under duress. The true culprit is not in this courtroom. And that…” He pauses for effect, letting the tension stretch. “... is why I move for a mistrial.”
There’s a bark of laughter behind him from his teammate and the room goes nearly to shambles under the sudden upswing in feverish whispering. Astarion grins.
Astarion stands his ground.
Astarion wins his requested mistrial .
In the end, the final judging declares Baldur’s Gate the winner of the day, but Neverwinter the overall mock trial champions – decided by a single point.
The entire mock chambers breathes a collective sigh of relief for the end of a battle well fought and new friends made. Astarion’s teammates are swarming him, slapping his back and praising his performance. He’s grinning ear to ear and looks up just in time to see the Neverwinter captain come barrelling through the crowd to catch him in a hug. He gasps and instinctively wraps his arms around them in return.
After a solid squeeze, they stand back and put their hands on his shoulders. They’re flushed with the fight, with the win. Their eyes shine a bit in the light.
“Well done,” they say, beaming. “You were incredible.”
Astarion gulps and manages to pull on a smile. “Congratulations on your win.”
“You’ll be at the party tonight?” they ask, looking between his eyes.
“Of course,” Astarion says. “I'll see you later.”
***
And he doesn’t miss it.
Astarion stands in the mock chambers again some time later, the air far less tense and much more celebratory. The teams and their judges and staff mingle amid the catered trays of sandwiches and pitchers of cheap wine. He looks around with two cups in hand, seeking out his new friend. Friend. Friend?
When he spots them, he simply can’t stop the smile pulling at his mouth. He wants so badly to be cool tonight and they make it so hard.
He takes a breath and approaches them. They turn from the person they’re currently chatting with and light up when they spot him. Their companion looks at Astarion and takes their leave with raised eyebrows, clearly aware that their conversation is now over.
Astarion clears his throat and offers a cup. They accept it.
“It’s really very bad,” Astarion says with a scoff. “But it’s something.” He takes a sip.
They continue to smile coyly at him as they bring their own cup to their mouth.
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Astarion says, looking into his cup so he doesn’t have to see their face.
There’s a pause, and then softly, they say, “Yes. Late morning. We’re hoping to make it back to Neverwinter before the snows start on the road.”
Astarion takes another drink of his wine and sets it down before he looks back at them. “That’s unfortunate,” he says with a soft, sad laugh. “Because I’ve rather liked the time we’ve spent together.” He pauses and swallows. “I’ve rather liked you .”
They tilt their head, wine held aloft in one hand, and let their smile widen.
When they don’t respond, Astarion says, “That is, you’re very clever to be around. Fun. Fun to be around? I like to be around you because you’re just…” He looks around desperately like he’s going to find help for this. “... incredible.”
They turn and set their cup down on a nearby bench.
Astarion rambles on, “I only thought maybe you might be, I don’t know, interested in letting me show you what else I’m capable of.” High-pitched laugh. “Outside the courtroom.” Clears his throat and blinks rapidly. “If you want.”
With a giggle, they grab him by the lapels and pull him in, pressing their mouth fully to his in a kiss that makes him immediately swoon, his legs going a touch weak as he leans against them for support. The chatter around them goes muffled in his mind as they both adjust for a better fit and he feels his ears flush pink to the very tips.
When the kiss breaks, Astarion can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his fingertips, in his lips, in his… oh, that’s going to be an issue very soon.
They catch his eye and say, “You want to get out of here?”
He’s never nodded his head “yes” so quickly in his life.
***
They don’t make it anywhere close to the dorms.
Now that the seal’s been broken, Astarion simply can’t keep his hands off of them. They escape into the hall together and run a few steps down the way when he crashes into them, wrapping his arms around them from behind until he gets them to turn so he can kiss them again, both hands on either side of their head as they stumble.
They run a ways, kiss a ways, run a ways, and so on until Astarion yanks them down a side hallway behind the library, looking from door to door. When he finds one he likes, he gives their hand a tug and they use the momentum to slam against him until his back hits the door. The pair of them laugh deliriously as they kiss again, tongues testing and discovering, but then they break from his mouth to kiss toward his ear.
The moment they suck on the lobe, his cock goes fully and painfully hard, hips bucking out as he whines into the air beside them.
“No, no, not there,” he says in a breathy whisper. “Not unless you want to call it a very early evening.”
They bury their face in the side of his neck, giggling, and he scrambles his hand around behind him until he finds the doorknob and they both go tumbling inside.
Astarion collapses onto the floor with his companion on top and doesn’t even think before he kicks the door shut with one foot and reaches up to bring their face back to his for another kiss. This time, he uses a thumb to stroke along the length of their own elven ear and then groan into his mouth, grinding down hard against him.
Oh gods, this is happening.
He wants this to happen.
On impulse, he reaches down their bodies until his hand's between his companion’s legs, gently cupping them there, and they sit upright, head thrown back in the very low magical lantern light of this filing room, and rock themselves against it. He does his best to give them the friction they’re seeking.
A minute or so later, they tilt their head forward and meet his eyes, their eyes stormy and lustful. They take his hands and pull them both back to standing, backing him up until he slams up against the side of the nearest filing shelf. Fingers fumble with the buttons of his doublet and he tries to help, getting them undone enough that they can reach their hands inside and scrape their nails over his ribs through his undershirt. Astarion’s chest arches forward, goosebumps prickling over his skin as he makes contented noises through their kiss.
Then they kiss down his neck, giving him a little nip near the collarbone that makes him squeak, which he attempts to cover with a purr. They keep going until they kneel on the floor and work at the lacings of his trousers. His tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, and he’s about to say that they don’t have to do-
But then their mouth is on his freed cock and he throws his head back, swooning into the overwhelming sensation of wet heat surrounding him. He’s done this before, and it was fine, but it wasn’t like this . Maybe it’s because he’s so attracted to them? Maybe it’s because they’re doing… that thing… with their tongue…
He whines and pulls in a deep breath, trying to keep his wits about him, because he highly suspects that one-sided head is not how they want the night to end. Before he reaches a dangerous place, he puts his hand on their head and gently slows them. They pull off of him and look up with a smile, their eyes the exact mix of mischief and sexiness that caught him in the first place.
No one’s ever made him feel like this. Not once.
This one, though. They’ve wound their way around the very core of him.
Astarion gulps and says, quiet and shy, “I haven’t done this before.”
Their eyes go a little wider. “Really?” they say, sincere. “You?”
He laughs. “I mean, I’ve done what we just did, but I haven’t… done what I think we’re about to do.”
They give his cock one more long lick that makes him sway a bit before they stand back up and kiss him. He melts into it. He likes them so very, very much. It hurts that they’re leaving, but this is right. He knows it is. These past few days and nights feeling them take root in him… they’ve all been leading to this.
“Well, then, I’m honored,” they say, and they sound like they mean it. “If we’re about to do what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, yes, please,” he says, kissing them again.
They each separate and disrobe, their clothing building a haphazard pile between them. Soon enough, they swipe the old files off the nearest table and his playmate faces it, bidding him closer with a smile over their shoulder, almost exactly the same as the first one they ever paid him in the canteen only a few nights ago.
Astarion takes his cock in his hand, still spit-slick, and puts his other hand on their hip. They lean over the tabletop, palms flat on the surface, and spread their legs for him. His breath stutters, his legs go weak beneath him. He can’t quite believe he’s here.
Beneath him, they shift their weight so they can put their hand over his. He’s shaking, just a little.
“We can stop if you want to,” they say, their words reedy with need but sincere beneath it.
“No,” Astarion says. Licks his lower lip. “I want to do this with you.”
They give a light laugh. “Whenever you’re ready.”
He nods, then realizes they can’t see him. “Okay. Okay.”
His fingers move from their hip to the middle of their back and he draws the pads of his fingers down over their spine. They shiver under the touch and Astarion swallows hard. His fingers trace all the way to where their arse begins to curve. He shudders in a breath and brings two fingers to his mouth to suck, then reaches between their legs to touch them there, apply pressure, rub small circles.
They arch and hum beneath his ministrations.
Astarion holds his breath and pushes his fingers inside them, losing his footing just a bit as he feels their heat, the pulse of them around his fingers. When he has his wits back, he moves his fingers in and out, pumping slow, listening to their breath beneath him for cues on what he might be doing right or wrong. He turns his fingers a bit, mapping their body, and they give a shuddering sigh.
Their insides grow warmer to the touch. Are they supposed to do that?
“More,” they huff. “You can do more now.”
“Right,” Astarion says, withdrawing his fingers and moving in closer, his arousal pulsing with anticipation. It feels like crossing into a new world, going somewhere that will well and truly mark him an adult. And he’s ready.
His cock rests at their entrance and with one more breath he guides himself inside with his hand. There’s a brief resistance, a pleasant pressure against the head of him, and then he’s half inside. His hips instinctively give a second thrust and then he’s fully sheathed.
He gasps and curls forward into their body just as they arch into his. Astarion’s arm wraps around their waist and he holds them tight.
“Okay?” they gasp again, their legs quivering.
“You feel…” he pants, pressing his forehead to the space between their shoulder blades. “Gods, you feel so good.”
They laugh and reach a hand behind them to tangle in the hair at the side of his head. “You too. You feel good, too.”
Astarion huffs out his breath and tries to place a sloppy kiss to their back, but it’s so hard when this feeling is coursing through him and his thoughts are going haywire because everything is different, now. He’s different, now.
He draws his hips back and rolls them forward again.
They sigh with it, signaling their approval.
So he does it again. And again. And again.
Together they build a rhythm. Every once in a while, they help Astarion angle himself this way or that, teaching him how to make a partner feel, make them shudder, make them moan. He finds a spot near the front of them that makes them squirm and he files that knowledge away. They take his hand and guide him round to their front and show him what to do, how they like to be touched.
He’s a fast learner. Always has been.
Astarion pants as he attempts to commit every second of this experience to memory: being buried deep inside, feeling the shudder and movement of his partner, the way they flush and bloom, the unbearably sexy sounds that float from their throat to his ears. Most of all, he wants to remember how this feels , how much he enjoys the person he’s sharing this with. His heart thuds in his chest, his ears flush with arousal and affection, and he is so happy to be exactly here, in this moment.
The pair of them grow slick with sweat against one another in the unventilated room, their cries stifled and sultry. The minds are willing, but the bodies are young and eager. The passion building between them swells, shivering, laser-focused on the place where they meet.
Their rhythm goes chaotic and Astarion only barely holds on long enough for his partner to fall over the edge before he goes tumbling after.
For a scant moment, the world goes paler than he’s ever seen it.
Then they’re both whimpering through the other side of their peak, movements gradually slowing to stillness.
After they’ve had an awkward disentanglement and a more awkward cleanup, they look into one another’s faces, and then they’re kissing again, touching again, losing themselves again. What youth lacks in experience, it makes up in vigor.
They do it once more, face to face this time. Slower, longer. Astarion learns what it’s like to soul kiss someone while making love to them. He likes it. Very much.
Some time later, Astarion leans against the table and stares down at his doublet while he does up the buttons. Beneath his lashes, he peeks up and sees them looking at him, their mouth titled up in a sweet smile. They’re already fully dressed.
“What?” Astarion says airily. His cheeks are warm and he’s positive he’s rosy pink with a blush.
“You are so pretty,” they say. “And funny, and clever. You’ve been lovely company.”
Astarion raises his eyebrows and looks askance, unable to stop grinning. “Yes, well. You’re delightful, as well, and you certainly gave me a night to remember. Thanks, for that.”
It goes unspoken between them, the knowledge that this is the last and only night. They’re young, they’re dedicated to their studies. There won’t be time for lovesick letters and pining, nice as it might be. No. Best that they keep this memory contained in crystal, sparkling.
His opponent, his friend, his lover walks closer and puts a finger under his chin and Astarion allows them to tilt his face so he’s looking at them. Then they lean in and give him a tender kiss.
When they break away, they stay close and look him in the eye. “What you gave me was a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”
Astarion smiles. “Nor I.”
With one last kiss, they say their goodbyes. “Goodnight, Astarion,” they say. “I do hope we meet again, one of these days.”
“Me too,” he says, watching their retreat. “Goodnight, Tav.”
460 notes · View notes
vivmaek · 1 month
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POETRY FOR YOUR MOON SIGN
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✰ my masterlist poems written by someone who has the same moon sign as you <3
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☾PISCES☽
Edgar Allen Poe, A Dream Within a Dream
“Take this kiss upon the brow! / And, in parting from you now, / Thus much let me avow – / You are not wrong, who deem / That my days have been a dream; / Yet if hope has flown away / In a night, or in a day, / In a vision, or in none, / Is it therefore the less gone? / All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream.”
June Jordan, You Came with Shells
“You came with shells. And left them: / shells. / They lay beautiful on the table. / Now they lie on my desk / peculiar / extraordinary under 60 watts.”
Toni Morrison, It Comes Unadorned
“it comes / Unadorned / Like a phrase / Strong enough to cast a spell; / It comes / Unbidden, / Like the turn of sun through hills / Or stars in wheels of song. / The jeweled feet of women dance the earth. / Arousing it to spring. / Shoulders broad as a road bend to share the weight of years. / Profiles breach the distance and lean / Toward an ordinary kiss. / Bliss. / it comes naked into the world like a charm.”
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☾AQUARIUS☽
W.B Yeats, A Coat
“I made my song a coat / Covered with embroideries / Out of old mythologies / From heel to throat; / But the fools caught it, / Wore it in the world’s eyes / As though they’d wrought it. / Song, let them take it / For there’s more enterprise / In walking naked.”
W.B Yeats, The Lover Tells of the Roses in His Heart
“All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, / The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, / The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, / Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. / The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, / With the earth and the sky and the water, re-made, like a casket of gold / For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.”
Louisa May Alcott, The Lay of a Golden Goose
“Oh! Be not rash,” her father said, / A mild Socratic bird; / Her mother begged her not to stray / With many a warning word. / But little goosey was perverse / And eagerly did cry, / “I’ve got a lovely pair of wings, / Of course I Ought to fly.”
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☾CAPRICORN☽
John Milton, Sonnet 19
“When I consider how my light is spent, / Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, / And that one talent which is death to hide / Lodged with me useless, through my soul more bent / To serve therewith my Maker,”
Jala al-Din Rumi, The Guest House
“This being human is a guest house. / Every morning a new arrival. / A joy, a depression, a meanness, / some momentary awareness comes / As an unexpected visitor. / Welcome and entertain them all! / Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, / who violently sweep your house / empty of its furniture, / still treat each guest honorably. / He may be clearing you out / for some new delight. / The dark thought, the shame, the malice, / meet them at the door laughing, / and invite them in. / Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent / as a guide from beyond.”
Gwendolyn Brooks, a song in the front yard
“I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life. / I want a peek at the back / Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed / grows. / A girl gets sick of a rose.”
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☾SAGITTARIUS☽
Lewis Carroll, A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky
“In a Wonderland they lie, / Dreaming as the days go by, / Dreaming as the summers die: / Ever drifting down the stream – / Lingering in the golden gleam – / Life, what it is but a dream?”
Dante Alighieri, From “Inferno”
“It’s the pain / of the people down there that empties my / face. / It’s pity / that you’ve mistaken for fear. / And it’s the long way / that pushes us now. / Let’s go.”
Victor Hugo, Tomorrow, At Dawn
“Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside whitens, / I will set out. You see, I know that you wait for me. / I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain. / I can no longer remain far from you. / I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts, / Seeing nothing of outdoors, hearing no noise / Alone, unknown, my back curved, my hands crossed, / Sorrowed, and the day for me will be as night.”
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☾SCORPIO☽
Sarojini Naid, Autumn Song
“Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow, / The sunset hangs on a cloud; / A golden storm of glittering sheaves, / Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves, / The wild wind blows in a cloud. / Hark to a voice that is calling / To my heart in the voice of the wind: / My heart is weary and sad and alone, / For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone, / And why should I stay behind?”
Shel Silverstein, Dreadful
“Someone ate the baby. / It’s absolutely clear / Someone ate the baby / ‘Cause the baby isn’t here. / We’ll give away her toys and clothes. / We’ll never have to wipe her nose. / Dad says, “That’s the way it goes.” / Someone ate the baby.”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Aftermath
“When the summer fields are mown, / When the birds are fledged and flown, / And the dry leaves strew the path; / With the falling of the snow, / With the cawing of the crow, / Once again the fields we mow / And gather in the aftermath.”
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☾LIBRA☽
Maya Angelou, Caged Bird
“A free bird leaps / on the back of the wind / and floats downstream / till the current ends / and dips his wing / in the orange sun rays / and dares to claim the sky.”
Emily Dickinson, Good Morning – Midnight
“Good Morning – Midnight – / I’m coming Home – / Day – got tired of Me – / How could I – of Him? / Sunshine was a sweet place – / I liked to stay – / But Morn – didn’t want me – now – / So – Goodnight – Day!”
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, My Heart and I
“You see we’re tired, my heart and I. / We dealt with books, we trusted men, / And in our own blood drenched the pen, / As is such colours could not fly. / We walked too straight for fortune’s end, / We loved too true to keep a friend ; / At last we’re tired, my heart and I.”
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☾VIRGO☽
Robert Hayden, Those Winter Sundays
“Sundays too my father got up early / and put his clothes on in the blueback cold, / then with cracked hands that ached / from labor in the weekday weather made / banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. / I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking / When the rooms were warm, he’d call, / and slowly I would rise and dress, / fearing the chronic angers of that house, / Speaking indifferently to him , / who had driven out the cold / and polished my good shoes well. / What did I know, what did I know / of love's austere and lonely offices?”
Jack Kerouac, How to Meditate
“Thinking’s just like not thinking- / So I don't have to think / any / more”
William Faulkner, Study
“Muted dreams for them / for me / Bitter science. Exams are near / And my thoughts uncontrollably / Wander, and I cannot hear / The voice telling me that work I must, / For everything will be the same when I’m dead / A thousand years. I wish I were a bust / All head.”
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☾LEO☽
Walt Whitman, I sing the Body Electric
“I sing the body electric, / The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,”
Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol
“Yet each man kills the thing he loves, / By each let this be heard, / Some do it with a bitter look, / Some with a flattering word, / The coward does it with a kiss, / The brave men with a sword!”
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Friendship
“A ruddy drop of manly blood / The surging sea outweighs, / The world uncertain comes and goes; / The lover rooted stays. / I fancied he was fled, – / And, after many a year, / Glowed unexhausted kindliness, / Like daily sunrise there. / My careful heart was free again, / O friend, my bosom said, / Through thee alone the sky is arched, / Through thee the rose is red; / All things through thee take nobler form, / And look beyond the earth, / The mill-round of our fate appears / A sun-path in thy worth. / Me too thy nobleness had taught / To master my despair; / The fountains of my hidden life / Are through thy friendship fair.”
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☾CANCER☽
Shakespear, Sonnet 147
“My love is as a fever, longing still / For that which longer nurseth the disease, / Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,”
Robert Frost, Acquainted with the Night
“I have been one acquainted with the night. / I have walked out in rain – and back in rain. / I have outwalked the furthest city light. / I have looked down the saddest city lane. / I have passed by the watchman on his beat / And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. / I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet / When far away an interrupted cry / Came over houses from another street, / But not to call me back or say good-bye; / And further still at an unearthly height, / One luminary clock against the sky / Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. / I have been one acquainted with the night.”
William Blake, Auguries of innocence
“To see a World in a Grain of Sand / And a Heaven in a wild flower / Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand / And eternity in an hour”
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☾GEMINI☽
Rudyard Kipling, Blue Roses
“Half the world I wandered through, / Seeking where such flowers grew. / Half the world unto my quest / Answered me with laugh and jest. / Home I came at wintertide, / But my silly love had died / Seeking with her latest breath / Roses from the arms of Death.”
John Keats, To Sleep
“Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords / Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; / Turn the key deftly into the oiled wards, / And seal the hushed Casket of my soul.”
Lord Tennyson, The Eagle
“He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, / Ring’d with the azure world, he stands. / The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; / He watches from his mountain walls, / And like thunderbolt he falls.”
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☾TAURUS☽
John Donne, Air and Angels
“Twice or thrice had I lov’d thee, / Before I knew thy face or name; / So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame / Angels affects us oft, and worshipp’d be;”
Audre Lorde, Recreation
“my body / writes into your flesh / the poem / you make of me. / Touching you I catch midnight / as moon fires set in my throat / I love you flesh into blossom / I made you / and take you made / into me.”
Margaret Walker, Lineage
“My grandmothers were strong. / They followed plows and bent to toil. / They moved through fields sowing seed. / They touched earth and grain grew. / They were full of sturdiness and singing. / My grandmothers were strong. / My grandmothers are full of memories / Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay / With veins rolling roughly over quick hands / They have many clean words to say. / My grandmothers were strong. / Why am I not as they?”
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☾ARIES☽
E.E Cummings, Love is more thicker than forget
“love is more thicker than forget / more thinner than recall / more seldom than a wave is wet / more frequent than to fail”
Mark Twain, Genius
“But above all things, / to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse / and then rush off and get booming drunk, / is the surest of all the different signs / of genius.”
Paul Laurence Dunbar, Ships that Pass in the Night
“Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing; / I look far out into the pregnant night, / Where I can hear a solemn booming gun / And I catch the gleaming of a random light, / That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.”
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historiaxvanserra · 17 days
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These Violent Delights | Chapter Three
Summary: The day has come for you to forsake the safety of Velaris and make your solemn oaths to Beron Vanserra; the cruel and tyrannical High Lord of the Autumn Court and his son Eris Vanserra. Your mate. Cruel and beautiful and yours.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader
Word Count: 8k
I was going to add in a little spice but it was getting waayy too long so that will be a chapter on its own as a nice little bonus later this week! I hope you don't feel we're moving too fast; I just feel like Eris and Reader have a very good dynamic and a LOT of chemistry together so I wanted to give you guys something sexy. We'll get to the feelings later. We've got a High Lord to kill first.
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Waking from the ether feels like being torn from your old life again. You need a few moments to shed the fleeting remnants of your mortal life; the winter cold as it permeates the thin walls of the cabin, the warmths of the sister nestled at your side,  that feeling of hunger like a devouring cavity that lives within you even now and that dresser-- adorned in painted flame, flowers, eternal night and the murky depths of the sea. That dresser haunts your memories almost as often as that infernal Cauldron. 
In these moments when sleep still shrouds your conscious mind, you give leave to your anger; it runs like water into old wounds and it festers there. The saltwater purifies in ways that fire cannot. In a few moments, when the visions abate you, then you will be able to face the fire. To watch as the hues of your bedroom move from murky green and chalk blue into pearl and burning gold. For now, let the morning come in with the subtleness of the tide.
You're still cocooned between silken sheets, allowing the sunlight to thaw out the morning chill from your bones, when you notice the wraiths as they work. Nuala and Cerridrwen are the personification of shadow and smoke as they glide through your rooms, drawing the curtains with a flourish as golden light seems to pour into the room. Nuala tends to your laundry while her sister begins to draw your bath. The smell of steam and wildflowers from the meadow fill the air; juniper berries and chamomile soap that seems to cling to you. 
The sound of the water lulls you into a misty wakefulness which is sullied by the opening of the apartment doors again. This time three sisters spill into the room, each dressed in varying shades of night; black, navy and indigo, accented with jewels strung tight against the hollows of their throats and the morning light catches in the crystals and casts the room in speckled light.
With as much grace as she can muster this early in the morning, Elain unceremoniously slumps down on your unmade bed and crawls to sit beside you as you once had when you were girls. 
“Get up!” Nesta commands briskly leaning against your vanity. 
“Morning, love,” Elain says, her voice airy on the morning breeze. She looks particularly wraith-like this morning, her eyes are ringed purple and her rich sienna irises are glazed over, glassy and veiled with a milky film that speaks to an oncoming vision.
Your bed shifts under the weight of movement again as Feyre places Nyx, swaddled in his favorite blanket, into the space beside you. He moves against the confines of his wrappings, coiling and loosening and he is half-free before you pull him into your embrace. His smile and quiet babbling tugs on your emotions in a way that almost feels like a carefully crafted ruse. 
“Using the baby against me is cruel.” You chastise, pulling yourself to sit against the headboard as you take Nyx in your arms so that he is resting on your knees. 
“I know but you really do need to get up.” Feyre says, still half-wrapped in the arms of sleep herself. Feyre is the night; dark, and vast, strangely comforting. 
“The High Lord has asked to see you before the ceremony,” Nesta says. Her voice is filled with something sharp and wicked. They’re all looking at you now; each saturated in her own shade of sympathy as you resign yourself to action. Rising from the bed in feigned indifference, you wordlessly hand Nyx off to his mother, before walking over to the copper tub in front of the dying fire. The cold copper draws the heat from your skin and in its wake leaves an icy metallic sting that cuts bone deep. 
“Very well then,” You say with a heavy sigh, “I best not keep him waiting.” 
You look to your sisters then, once they had been three girls; mortal and each afraid and now they stand before you half-divine and formidable. And where did you stand amongst them? You don’t feel particularly formidable.
You feel fractured, all adrift in a violent sea.  
So today you will wear your sisters virtues like armor. Until you have sworn yourself to him. 
“We’ll not keep you,” Nesta says, cutting through the poignant silence as you rise on uncertain feet towards the tub nodding curtly at them as they disperse.  
The swathes of your ivory nightgown pool like water at your feet as you wade into the tub before sinking low into its comforting warmth. The water is white-hot, burns in the most sadistic way, and when the burning subsides it gives way to a misty wakefulness saturated by the aromatic smell of juniper and jasmine. You recline your head against the lip of the tub and cast your gaze to your sisters again. . 
In this light Nesta looks like a vision; draped in black and silver, her hair braided like a crown atop her head and her face has an austere beauty that could bring a King to his knees. Nesta is a silver flame; wrathful and vengeful, and should she let it, her fire would ravage worlds until all that stood between her and total destruction was herself.
Eris is flame too; terrible and red. Slow-burning, all-consuming and utterly devastating.
Like calls to Like.
Once your sisters have left you let yourself sink into the scalding waters, sinking lower and lower until you are submerged entirely; the water becomes you and you it. Nesta always said that you were water; calm and clear with a dangerous anger that swells like a storm under the skin's surface, violent like the sea. And should you let it, the tempest will tear you apart, and perhaps the world with it. Looking up from underneath the fractured rays of sunlight spill into the room and pierce through the dark waters– there is something sacred in that sinking feeling. Then visions come to you in flashes of black, red and–
“I dreamt of you last night,” It’s Elain’s voice that lingers on the edges of your room. It’s airy and haunting and her eyes are wide and glassy as she exhales. Elain is flowers; painted in the pastels of Springs early blooms and her hair shines like shadowed sunlight in the pale morning.
“I dreamt of you and him.”
“A dream or a vision?” You ask, your voice wavering and curious. 
Elain takes a tentative step into the room, her fingers buried into the skirts of her dress and she broaches the subject again, “I hadn’t had a vision in months”.
“But last night I saw you.” 
Elain’s soft hands brush over your own, the tips of your fingers tangling together and your draw in a sharp breath as something in you calls to her and all the breath is taken from you when she reaches out a pale hand to your cheek. 
It burns through you like fire and Elain begins to speak.
'These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and water,
Which as they kiss consume.’
Elain falls through the ether with a deep inhale as the trance falls away from her and she scrambles to find something to ground herself in those moments.You brace yourself against the lip of the tub as Elain falls to the floor in tears, hands desperately grasping for anything to hold onto. Soaked to the bone and bare to the world you take your trembling sister in your arms and hold her there until the ragged breaths soothe and settle to a steady inhale-exhale. You run a confronting hand through Elain’s unbound hair, pressing a chaste kiss against her hairline repeating the words to her. It’s okay. I’m here. Elain looks up at you through dark lashes, wet with unshed tears when she whispers hoarsely.
“Please don’t marry Eris Vanserra.”
---
The cloister in the royal temple on the outskirts of Verona is steeped in near darkness save for the jade light from the stained glass windows that pierces the veil of the dark, like sunlight as it cascades down into the murky green depths of the river that flanks the Autumn’s capital city. There is a solemn silence that hangs in the air and for a moment this room feels more like a watery grave than a quiet reprieve from the ceremony below. The orchestral music plays and you pick out the sounds of lyres and harps as their music washes over you. You suck in a sharp breath and all at once you feel panic hit you like a raging tempest, wild and raging as it drags you into its merciless depths--
The sharp knock on the screen door reverberates through the silence of the cloister.
“Come in.” You say, your voice hoarse and shaky as clutch at the tight lacing of your corset, trying to catch your breath again. Light spills into the room like the tide and you turn, half-expecting to see one of your sisters standing there, her face painted in sympathy as she takes you in her arms and whispers a few comforting words to you. 
The man that stands before you is a much more volatile prospect indeed. 
“My Lord.” You greet him coldly. 
“High Lord now, isn’t it?” Beron Vanserra offers you a saccharine smile as he crosses the threshold of the makeshift bridal apartments. He’s dressed in a deep crimson tunic, embroidered with threads of gold; It is wholly perverse for a man so cruel to look so poised and striking. You notice the way his shoulder length hair looks like polished bronze and his eyes shine like onyx in the morning light as he regards you.
“Don’t you make a beautiful bride,” Beron’s voice is laden with false flattery, undercut with an air of threat, “you’re going to make my son a very happy male.” 
Beron all but leers at you. His eyes trail lazily over the curves and divots of your body in the obscenely intricate dress he had chosen for you. It is adorned in rubies and pearls that catch in the light like drops of blood. You feel your skin begin to crawl when he presses a chaste kiss to your outstretched hand.
“It is a shame about Eris though.” Beron says dangerously low, as if daring you to ask what it is he means. 
“The flowers look very beautiful” you muse absently, it is all you can offer him-- some small, non-committal response to placate him.
Beron pays you no heed. 
“I’m assured no expense has been spared with the ceremony.” Beron continues, picking at some stray threads on the sleeve of his tunic. His lips are set in a straight line and you notice the grimace that graces his features as he takes in the decor from your spot in the cloister overlooking the antechamber of the temple. 
The walls are carved into ivory marble and sandstone, and the high, Gothic archways are adorned with carvings of mythological heroes and Princes from songs. The large circular window behind the altar is decorated with stained glass that casts a myriad of dappled light onto the marble tiles. You swallow thickly thinking of the obscenely large sum of money being spent on your mating ceremony to the Autumn heir. 
“So I’ve heard, High Lord.” Beron nods at that, the use of his title softening him to you again and you dip your head in a show of false deference.
“Yes, well,” Beron says, his lips twitching lightly as he traces the swell of your breasts and the slope of your neck, “I have reason to believe you will be worth every penny.” 
Beron takes a step towards you and you loose a breath as he draws nearer still. His frail, aged hand reaches out to touch you. From your position in the cloister Beron Vanserra towers over you. His presence is a looming reminder of your position in this world. His slender fingers feel warm and smooth against the skin of your throat as he tilts your chin so that you are looking in his eyes. You wonder if Eris’ touch feels as perverse. 
It wasn't that night in Hewn City, you remember. That night he had touched you with such careful reverence. 
Like you were a Goddess worth kneeling too.
“You should be warned,” Beron says to you, his eyes bore into yours and in them you see something akin to devilment cross them. Beron’s voice is soft and pensive in a way that seems rehearsed “The Autumn Court is an inhospitable place for outsiders.”
“Rhysand might be content for you to play at war and politics but you will find that in Autumn it is not becoming of a Lady of your position.” 
“Yes, My Lord” you say, your voice equally as soft, with an almost breathless quality to it as the realization of his words takes root in your chest. Your heart is thunderous in your chest-- it beats so loud you’re sure The High Lord of Autumn is privy to it. 
Beron hums thoughtfully as he lets go of your chin once more.
“Eris has a dangerous temper -- the fire runs hot in his veins” Beron’s words are chosen carefully, crafted to intimidate. “I can assure you he will not abide these foolish notions any more than I will.” 
You nod meekly, recalling the words of Elain’s vision. These violent delights will have violent ends. 
“He might be blinded by the thought of a pretty face and a tight cunt for now but it won’t last.” He muses to himself and again you see that light fade from his eyes and morph into a sadistic joy as his words spark outrage on your face. 
You don’t dare look at him again lest he see the tears that have gathered at your waterline. Beron considers you for a moment, sweeping you up in his hold so that your arm is wrapped around his bicep loosely and he begins to lead you from the darkness of the cloister and into the light. 
“And what will my position be at court?” You ask carefully, observing the harsh set of Beron’s jaw as you talk. 
“As Eris’ mate you will be a Lady of the Autumn court -- you’ll take tea and play cards, attend balls -- bear him sons.” Beron laughs, casting a glance to you as you continue your descent down the temple stairs before he takes his leave. Then he is gone with the wave of a hand and he leaves the charred scent of wyrmwood and valerian root in his wake. You lose a shaky breath and try ceaselessly to wipe the unshed tears from your eyes before continuing your descent into the heart of the temple. 
Your storm rages violent and cold then; You were born from the depths of the sea. To be cruel and beautiful. You are not some docile little girl or a brood mare destined to bear sons and obey. 
You are a storm incarnate and by the time you are done, the whole world will know it. 
The temple in Verona is carved deep into the natural sandstone of a cliff face, its sharp peak cleaving it from the valley and river beyond. The grand temple overlooks the river and on days such as this, the smell of seafoam and salt, stains the air. The stained glass windows line the junction between the walls and ceilings, and illustrated in them, is the story of birth, creation and rebirth. It breeds a strange sense of reverence in you. As the sun filters through the windows in beams of shadowed light, the aisle is dappled in a technicolor glow. The air is thick and heady with the smell of wine and smoke and from your spot at the end of the aisle, you can see The High Priestess intoning her mass. The Priestess is obscured by plumes of incense smoke and the flicker of candle flame illuminates her face. She is a vision in the lonine orange light; she is heavily veiled, runes adorn her arms and face, and her eyes shine with a cerulean clarity as she chants her blessings to the Fae in attendance. Her altar is littered with offerings to the mated pair, amphora’s of fae-wine, bouquets of lilac and patchouli, small trinkets and garlands of laurel and pomegranate. The temple is alive with ceremony; a possession of veiled priestesses, anointed with incense, leave a trail of petals in their wake, as they kneel at the foot of the altar before filing into the pews. 
“Last chance to run!” It’s Cassian’s voice that jolts you from thought. 
He laughs as you clutch at your chest as you reel from his intrusion. He’s dressed in his ceremonial uniform; it’s much prettier than the frayed training leathers you’re used to seeing him in. His broad shoulders seem to strain against the navy fabric that is decorated with embroidered silver brocade. His hair is pushed back behind his ears neatly, a few errant strands catch on the breeze and he looks more like the Cassian you had grown to care for. 
“I think it’s a little late for that now.” Rhysand says pointedly to Cassian as he retreats into the aisle to find his seat at the front of the temple with the rest of your family and friends.
On the opposite side of the aisle Beron Vanserra stands near the altar along with Eris and his favorite courtiers and trusted soldiers that gather behind him to bear witness to the hastily brokered mating ceremony his father had managed to coerce you into. And there’s a woman. She’s tall and beautiful with hair the color of sand and a face that is bright and warm. She looks out into the aisle with contempt and then back again to Eris and from here, on the outside looking in, you can see it. Not quite love but fire; consuming and searing through her and the heat seems to seep into his bones as he turns around to meet her eyes and you can swear you see the ghost of regret grace his face. 
You will make him kneel to you, you think. As you had done that night in Hewn City. He had called you Goddess then. 
A storm incarnate, you remind yourself as you approach the aisle hesitantly. Violent, merciless, and beautiful. With all the force of a raging tempest. 
As the orchestral music begins to sweep through the temple you feel Rhysand clear his throat and come to stand at your side, his eyes burning holes into the side of your face. Rhysand is dressed all in black. In his High Lord robes he cuts an intimidating figure. In this holy light he looks quite beautiful, in a boyish sort of way, never really having shed that youthful magnetism that seemed to enamour everyone so. On any other day, you wouldn’t have looked twice at Rhysand but as your freedom hangs precariously in the balance you want to cling to something you know-- something warm and familiar and safe. So you take his arm as he guides you out into the aisle. 
Your vision is partially obscured by the light mesh veil that adorns your face. It’s honey coloured and decorated with tiny ruby crystals that fall like tears. The dress itself looks like wine red; satin and chiffon that clings to you like water as it marks the contours and caverns of your body in a way that makes you feel laid bare. The fabric is gathered about your bust delicately and accentuates the slope of your shoulders. Rhysand’s cool fingers rub comforting circles into the flesh of your arm where he holds it tight. He feels your tense involuntarily as the harps swell to a stop when you step up to the heart of the temple. 
Then you see him; it’s hypnotic and slightly aggravating as he examines you, his eyes trailing over your body and coming to land on your face. He looks at you and you feel as though light goes all through you. He’s steeped in jewel tones that saturate him in autumnal light as he stands against the cool marble and stone of the temple. His hair is tousled and rust coloured in the half-extinguished candle flame and his eyes shine like amber, incandescent and devastating. His tunic is jade coloured and embellished with gold thread along the cuffs and collar. 
“Come forward, child,” the Priestess gestures to you as you take a step towards the altar, bowing your head in a show of devotion. She takes your hand in hers and kisses it chastely, murmuring a blessing against your skin. She repeats the action for Eris before gesturing to you to face him. When you turn to face him he takes a step forward on certain feet and takes hold of the sheer fabric that veils you, briefly admiring the feel of it between his fingers before bringing it over your head in one fluid movement so that your face is entirely unobstructed from view. Eris burns bright; a slow-burning flame. It’s warm and all-consuming but no less volatile, no less devastating. As the priestess continues to intone her blessings, you and Eris stand, looking at each other in the light searching for something to cling to in each other’s eyes in those sinking moments. In a flurry of movement the priestess takes your hand again before pressing the ceremonial blade to your palm, the metal glints in the dappled light and a slicing burn gives way to blood that pools like rubies at Eris’s feet. 
Stepping to the altar he grasps your hand in his as a pained hiss escapes you. His hands are broad and warm and his fingers are long and graceful as they ghost over your cold skin. Your fist clenches in his unrelenting grip and when he feels it, he yields to you, his hand going slack as your fingers curl around his. He had the strange tenderness of someone who has never been loved, it seems almost rehearsed. His palms and the pads of his fingers are rough and mottled with fire and the way he holds your hand in his is possessive. 
Sacred and perverse. 
His hand pulls away from you now and in turn he offers it up to the priestess, she turns it over in her grasp and slices into his palm as she had done to you. He places his hand in yours again. Palm to bloody palm as he sinks to his knees before you. He kneels to you in his own show of reverence; you, the visage of some ancient deity and he, the last devotee. 
Eris Vanserra works diligently, threading the ribbon through your joined hands, binding your bloody hand to his. The crimson ribbon that joins you, a representation of the oaths by which you are bound together. 
Your shared sin.
The words come next; spoke in unison and recited like a prayer:
Ode to my love; 
Blood of my blood, bone of my bone;
Here, I surrender myself unto you;
In sight of The Mother; 
I give that which is only mine to give;
My word, my bond, my fealty,
I pledge to shield your back, and keep your counsel,
I pledge that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,
And yours the arms in which i wake
I pledge to you my living and dying;
I am yours and you are mine,
From this day until our last day.
The next few hours seem to pass in a perpetual state of anxiety induced haze and you bear witness to it all from somewhere outside of yourself; a ghost or spectator to the tragedy that had become your union to The Autumn Prince. 
Your beautiful mate. 
This should have been a happy occasion; the union of two souls, bound together by the Gods themselves. Born from the same star. But Beron Vanserra had robbed you of any romantic notions that today is anything but a warning fire. 
You are a vulnerability. His mate. And whether Eris Vanserra loves you or not Beron intends to exploit that vulnerability; a pretty ornament to bring Eris to heel. 
The ballroom is a show of opulence; soaked in the amethyst fae-light and chandeliers glitter like moonglow on open water. The paintings hang on the wall, rich oil on canvas, framed in gilded gold and the high table is decorated with fine ivory place settings and delicate china adorned with painted autumn leaves. The retinue of Beron’s courtiers look like a jewel-toned fire; flames of amber, topaz, and ruby that burn through the cool light of the ballroom as they take to their seats. It’s a great farce. The way that the colours of night and autumn come together in a crude harmony. You wonder if Eris sees it too. 
The music is soft and loud and mixed with the laughter and idle chatter the hall is a cacophony of sound, no longer ceremonial and orchestral but rather, jovial and light-hearted with an undercurrent of anticipation. From your position at the heart of the high table, you can see the courtiers of Night and Autumn mingling on the lower tables, and as the fourth course is served, it seems inebriation is beginning to set in. Their faces in the crowd are exaggerated and expressive, the distinct wine-blush staining the room a specific shade of hedonism. The air is thick with it, wine and body heat. It’s almost tangible. 
The sound of Cassian’s voice echoes along the high table as he and Nesta seem to be in the midst of a heated debate. Feyre and Mor are quietly discussing court gossip with animated gasps and hand gestures that you only catch from the corner of your eye. All of that is drowned out by the conversation between Rhysand, Beron and Eris. 
You only stare on, watching and waiting as the evening begins to unfold before you. 
You cast your eyes along the table to see that it is laden with food; roasted meats, and seasonal vegetables, garnished with fragrant spices and herbs that taint the air with their aroma. It’s pure gluttony. More food than you have ever seen, piled high and largely untouched. It seems cruel to you. To be confronted with such abundance now, when once, hunger was all you knew. It should feel like heaven to live in the knowledge that you will never know poverty again but sometimes it feels like condemnation. To live knowing that your life, meagre as it was, had been stolen from you and in its place, this. 
The stiffening of the body next to you brings you back from the precipice. Eris is a vision in the sapphire light; his face is beautiful in the most conflicting ways. He’s all delicate and angular; soft slopes and harsh lines that come together in opposing harmony. His face is a perfect juxtaposition. He’s a slow-burning fire tangled in the amethyst moonglow. 
“You should eat something,” His voice is tense and low and he doesn’t deign to look at you when he speaks. Even his presence is contradictory in nature; the way his face is set in a neutral expression that arches on contemptuous, and yet, his hand, still bound to yours, is warm and tender, as the calloused pad of his thumb strokes slow tortuous circles into the skin of your hand. 
“I’m not hungry,” it is a lie, an obvious one at that, as at that moment your stomach seems to betray you. He laughs then. Much to the ire of Beron who sends one measured glance to his heir, never quite looking away from Rhysand as he talks about some foreign policy or the other.
The laugh itself is not wholly cruel but teasing, meant to make you feel small as he finally turns his gaze on you. It’s fierce and piercing, warm and you think that when he is looking at you the whole world melts away for a few moments. Eris is handsome; of that there had never been any doubt. Especially in this light he almost takes your breath away. 
“Please eat something, little fox.” is all he says finally, cutting through the tension that had settled over the two of you. 
You laugh back at him now as he watches you carefully, his stare is unyielding and burns into the side of your face. Yet you refuse him the satisfaction of looking back at him. It is Beron’s stare that has you shrinking in place, searing and critical as it bores into the side of your face. It is then you notice the woman he had brought with him looks at you both with a peculiar mixture of envy and scorn that makes heat coil in your stomach, it creeps up on you, kissing its way up your throat and ghosting over your cheeks, leaving blush stains in its wake. 
You look at him once more, forlorn and dejected when he won’t meet your gaze. You look down to the space between you to the place where your hands are bound to his. Your hands are clasped together and come to rest on your thigh innocently as his thumb continues to rub small circles into the skin of your hand. It’s absent-minded and self-soothing on his part. You doubt he realizes or cares about the comfort it has been bringing you in these moments when you feel like you are drowning. So you surrender yourself to the tide.
You are the sea; wild and untamed, sacred like salt. A force to be reckoned with. And try as he might, he will not burn you. 
When your stomach elicits another growl you relent to him and decide to eat something after all even if the satisfaction on his face is enough to awaken the storm brewing inside of you. It’s not quite anger but either way, it washes over you and awakens you with a jolt. 
With your free hand you grab the first thing in front of you; pomegranate, ripe and sweet-smelling and red. Red like the thread that binds you to him. You spend a few moments contemplating it before letting your free hand fall to your thigh, to the place where his body joins with yours. You begin tugging at the binding in an attempt to free yourself from his tender grip. 
“No!” His voice is louder and sterner than he meant for it to sound as he pushes you away with his unbound hand.
“Why not?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at the harsh tone in his voice, “it’s just a stupid ribbon.” 
You attempt to free yourself again, only this time his grip is rough and unrelenting.
“That stupid ribbon is thousands of years of tradition, girl.” It is Beron’s voice, cruel and malignant that chastises you. 
“My apologies.” you say dumbly in response, looking down to where your hands are joined in shame, “forgive me High Lord.” You’re not sure if it's Beron of Eris you are apologizing to. But it is Beron’s words that play on your mind. 
Eris bids you to look at him when his father is once again taken into conversation with Rhysand and you notice then how Eris’ amber gaze softens with his grip as he lets go of your free hand and he waves you off as you look on apologetically. These are the traditions of his people. And foreign as they are to you, they are his; yours now too you suppose.
“The ribbon signifies the sacred vows we have made to each other.” Eris explains carefully and those amber eyes never once leave yours. Even as he brings his free hand to cradle your face in one hand, or as he runs a tender thumb over the the smooth flesh of your cheek. 
“I’m sor-” you move to apologize again though the words are cut short when Eris squeezes your hand comfortingly beneath the table and offers you a secret smile. A secret courtesy to be kept between you and him.
“Think nothing of it, wife.” There’s a little bite to the words that speak to his jest and you feel once again that you are talking to the man that had enamored you so that night in Hewn City. 
He clears his throat again to speak. 
His voice is measured and calm this time as he says “It can’t be removed until the wedding night.”
“The wedding night?” you ask, looking up at him as he turns away again.
“Until the marriage has been consummated.” Eris clarifies, not daring to look at you he shifts a little in his seat, crossing his boot-clad leg over his knee.
“Ahah! The bedding!” Beron leers at you and you notice the twitch in Eris’ jaw but his face remains set in a perfectly neutral expression before morphing into his own rehearsed smirk. He mutters something to his father that you can’t quite catch but whatever it is, it is enough that Beron hums in satisfaction and turns back to The Night Lord of Night with a dangerous smile on his lips. 
You swallow hard. 
Your throat goes dry and makes it harder to swallow your dread. Silence settles over you both again, you’re not sure that he notices or pays much mind to you in those moments but drowning in the silence, you feel his hand squeeze yours with a fond pressure that makes your heart swell with something close to affection. 
After a few more moments of that awkward silence and his hand squeezing yours, you dare to look along the table again. Beside you Rhys is sat in a grand chair that marks him as a High Lord, next is Feyre who cradles Nyx in her arms as he sleeps soundly despite the music and chatter of the courtiers. Nesta and Cassian seem wholly immersed in each other, each drinking deeply from their cups as their conversation becomes louder. At some point, she catches your eye and quirks a brow at you in question. You can’t think of what to do so you only shake your head a little in response, hardly enough for anyone else to notice. 
Moving on you find Azriel in the crowd, he’s pressed against the wall, drink in hand, spectating from the sidelines as he does, lying in wait for something to catch his attention. Something does catch his attention though; it’s you. He sees the way you watch him carefully. There was something dark and reassuring in his eyes, a wordless conversation contained between you and him in that moment. He’s been a friend to you this whole time, and his distrust of Eris meant he was the only one openly vocal about his reservations regarding your marriage to the Autumn prince. Apart from you of course. Azriel slinks off into the shadows and not long after you notice that Elain has also managed to escape. There is some amusement in how obvious they are in their affections for each other and yet, not one person is observant enough to take notice of it. 
“Your sister, Elain,” he starts, there is a menace in his voice and a thread of amusement as he cocks a brow to Lucien who is dancing with Feyre now,  “She’s my brother's mate, yes?”
“She is, My Lord.” You nod, your eyes fixed on Lucien, who had been begrudgingly invited and you find yourself enamored by his graceful movements as he sweeps Feyre up in one fluid motion, turning with her in his arms before placing her on the ground again. Lucien is beautiful you think; not in the same way as Eris perhaps, Lucien is sunlight where Eris is fire-- but beautiful still. 
“Have you noticed the way she always seems to disappear in a room full of people and no one seems to notice,” It’s not meant to be a jape or a taunt just simple observation on his part as his eyes scan the room and Elain is nowhere to be found amongst the masses of bodies. 
“The spymaster, too.” he adds, his tone is careful and bereft of emotion. 
“How strange,” you say, offering him a weak smile in response. Any smart retort lives and dies on the tip of your tongue at that moment and you’re left trying to scrape some dismissal together but no matter how hard you try, nothing will come forth.  
“Perhaps they have retired to their beds for the night.” he offers, a sly smile on his beautiful lips.
Clearly, someone else is taking note. 
He turns to you then and you can see the wicked smile that takes over his features but it is gone just as quickly as he looks down at you clumsily holding your knife in hand in an attempt to tear open the fruit in front of you so that you may finally eat. 
“Here,” he says softly, reaching over you with his free hand to take the pomegranate from your hands, “give me the knife”.
“Don’t trouble yourself, My Lord,” you say quickly, your hand covering his to stop him in his tracks.
“No you don’t” he says simply waving your hand away again. Eris holds out his large hand to you, his palm open and expectant as his eyes find yours. Gods, he is devastating, you think. And intimidating. You see a flash of fire cross his eyes and Beron’s words play in your mind once more. 
You twirl the cheese knife in your hand once more before handing it to Eris with a trembling touch. Eris is skilled with a knife. His fingers are elegant and deft with a blade like he knows it innately. It is malleable under his touch and glides through the air as he carves into the pomegranate. Fruit flesh relents to the sting of his blade; sweet liquid spills onto his fingers like blood and the seeds shine like rubies in the candlelight. Eris takes a seed between his thumb and forefinger, holding it to the light before holding it to the sulk on your lips. Fruit flesh is cool and wet against your lips, the juice is tart and sweet and red. 
Almost metallic.
Almost like blood. 
It takes you a few moments to relent to him but when you do, you obediently open your mouth to him; all pretty pink lips and canines. It’s feral the way he watches you. The way you watch him. Like two predators circling their prey. There’s the ghost of a dare glinting in his eyes when you lean into him and wrap your lips around his fingers. It’s metallic and sweet, a heady mixture of skin and seed. You moan gospel around his deft fingers and when you are done he looks as though he is ready to devour you. 
The little peace that you had found in those moments seems to subside with the abrupt ending to the music as Rhysand stands beside you raising a glass to the room, with others following one by one to also raise their glasses.
“As the night draws to its close, let me be the first to wish you both well; my greatest wish is to see your bond grow strong, and with it the pledges we have borne witness to today. Your union is tangible proof of the alliance between our two courts and with your love, let those allegiances too grow strong so that we may all know peace and abundance in equal measure.”
As Rhysand’s speech draws to its close you feel Eris’s hand again squeezing at yours as if in warning for what will come next. Rhysand’s words didn’t surprise you as you thought they might, they lacked any brotherly sincerity and in its place was the proof that you had been sold to Eris so that Rhysand may profit off your sacrifice.
“As is tradition, the bride and groom will now retire to their bed.” As those words leave Beron’s lips you feel yourself pale in a mixture of embarrassment and dread. It’s Cassian who draws your attention as in his drunken stupor he hollers at the mere mention of the bedding. Nesta is quick to silence him with a jab to the ribs and she sends you an apologetic half-smile. Not that it appeases you any. This is the fate they have designed for you. It is easier to resign yourself to it, and relinquish control instead of having it taken from you. Breaking is easier than being broken. 
As the music begins again Eris seems to don a mask; his smile is saccharine as he rises to his feet in one fluid motion and you follow shortly after. He leads you to the middle of the ballroom and looks again at where your bodies are joined together. He places his free hand on the small of your back and in turn, you wrap your arm around his shoulder. He leads you effortlessly into a slow, sultry walk as you and he slink from the opulent ballroom and into the long, narrow corridors of The Forest House. 
“Are you afraid?” Eris asks gently as he examines you carefully and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger at the swell of your breasts or the way his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip as he leads you up the grand staircase.
“Should I be afraid, My Lord?” you ask incredulously, offering him a sweet, amenable smile. That is what they want you to be, isn’t it? Agreeable, obedient, docile. A pretty thing to warm his bed and keep his counsel until his father is dead and buried.
He looks down at where your hands are bound together and you swallow hard.
You have already been bought and sold and with every passing second you can’t help but think your fate is to be a broodmare to birth sons and live in quiet isolation. 
As Eris’s own mother has. 
That behind Eris’s scheming and his initial hesitancy to claim you, there is still a lingering sense of ownership. That he felt entitled to you, to your body and your life should it come to that. All because The Mother deemed him worthy of you. For all his solemn promises he still bought you for a price.
“I won’t touch you,” there is sincerity in his voice that warms you, nerves set alight as his broad hand ghosts your uncovered shoulder.
“Not until you ask me to, anyway,” he adds, there is an air of playfulness in his voice but there is something else. At that moment you are assured that if you would have him, Eris would ravage you. He might be a cruel prince with a wicked temper, but there is an irresistible and undeniable tension between you. Something that calls your body to his. Perhaps it is the wine, or the gravity of the vows you have sworn to one another but either way, this man before you is lust incarnate. 
“What if I never want you to touch me?” you retort, there is something unserious about the way you say it. Both of you know that it is only a matter of time before you permit him into your bed.
“I can’t say I’ve ever dreamed of the priesthood.” He laughs a little. It is sweet and careless as his hand dips a little lower on your hips.
“I’m sure you’ll find some pretty little nymph to devote yourself to,” you say, thinking of the sandy-haired woman who had been watching you all night. Eris’ face twists into a fox-like grin. Like he has finally got you right where he wants you. 
“Who was the woman here today, the one with the golden hair?” you ask, your gaze wavering under the heat of Eris’ stare. 
“Her name is Chryseis, but you needn’t pay her any mind” he reassures you, forcing you to look at him. And only him. He’s right. She isn’t important, not truly. What’s more pressing is the way her eyes trailed you contemptuously and the feeling of volatile jealousy that toot root in your body. It is unnatural and selfish. Whatever Eris and that woman share predates you, and any vows he made to you. 
“She is very beautiful” You don’t quite know where the words come from but it tastes like saltwater on your tongue, “Is she what you gave up to have me?”
“She is nothing to me,” he says honestly. You think it is nice to see him like that, in those small moments where he is unencumbered by all that plagues him.
In that moment, you stand there, your hand still bound to Eris and again you allow the world to dissolve like sugar on your tongue when he is looking at you like that. His fire is gentle and slow-burning now, it comes off him in hot plumes of smoke.
“Do you always ask so many questions?” he quips as he tries to catch his breath, painfully aware of how your hearts beat in tandem, “Or only when you’re jealous?” 
He’s toying with you now and humiliation coils tight in your chest.
“Why would I be jealous of your lover?” you say, all bared teeth and venom as the tension between you cools to anger. It’s unnerving, and your hairs stand on end in morbid anticipation. As he closes the gap between you so that you are chest to chest. So close that his lips ghost over your own as he comes to whisper in your ear. 
“I never said she was my lover” Eris jibes, only half-amused as he takes in the way you shrink before him as his fathers words ring in your ears once again each time you bring yourself to fan the flames of his anger. 
“If you want me to forsake all other women, all you have to do is ask.” his breath is hot on your neck and he stares down at you, hypnotized by the rise and fall of your chest. “I offered as much that first night in Hewn City, don’t you remember?”
“Let it be my first act as your husband.” The way he says it is full of ardour and taunt. You’ve no doubt that he would too. But you are the sea; violent and willful and you will not surrender to him yet. 
You don’t say anything then only press your bound palm to his before leaning into him. His eyes pierce your soul and warmth pools in the pit of your stomach as his hot breath fans your face, lips coming to meet yours in a tender kiss. Only before you can heed the call of your soul to his, you pull away from him.
Eris hisses at the sudden loss of touch and he drops his free hand and begins to untether your hand from his. He turns his back to you, readjusting his posture to a cool, calculated slouch that exudes an aura of arrogance that he wears so well. The sounds of his riding boots against the tile cut through you like a knife. He tosses his head to the side, long russet strands framing his profile as he speaks again.
“You called me a Goddess once, do you remember?” Your eyes search his and in that strange amber gaze you see the man you saw that night is Hewn City. Wicked and vulnerable and good, despite it all. Eris nods and you watch the long column of his throat as he swallows thickly.
“Tonight I will let you kneel at my altar.” Eris Vanserra moves like a man starved; all teeth and tongue and ardent hands as he pushes you up against the wall outside of him apartments. His kiss is all consuming and devouring as he claims you with reckless abandon. His hands are warm and sure against you; one that holds your jaw gently and the other holds your hip in a bruising grip. 
“You are going to be my ruin, wife.” His echoing whisper answers as his figure retreats into the darkness with the promise of what is to come.
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