#; my fics
Text
sweet girl
Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader
Summary: You and Steve are held captive in a bunker under Starcourt, forced to admit secrets and expose yourselves to one another to stay alive.
WC: 6k+
CW/Tags: enemies to lovers, fuck or die trope, dub/non-con (depends on how u view it), language, pet names, somno, toys, oral (f receiving), PiV (unprotected) rough sex, brief anal play, dacryphilia, spit play, cum play, degradation, humiliation, etc.
A/N: okay. fair warning. this is probably one of the dumbest things i wrote back in the height of covid’s initial quarantine (because being stuck inside for too long did a number on us all) but it exists, and i got tired of seeing it in my drafts, so hopefully some of y’all like it too lmao
Steve can’t remember how he got here.
There’s an ache, constant but distant, stretched across the features of his face, spreading across his torso and fading into the rest of his body, but he can barely feel it. Only if he focuses hard enough.
Right now, Steve would rather focus on you, instead.
You, gliding your wet core against his thigh as he tenses up his muscles every now and then, smirking at the whines you squeak out when he does. You, gripping onto Steve’s shoulders tightly, fingers digging into his skin while he just sits back and watches. You, practically glowing from the sheen of sweat across your features, sealing in the blush that’s crept across your cheeks long ago.
Steve’s definitely more interested in you right now.
His eyes rake over your body as your breasts bounce while grinding against his thigh. He drinks in the way your lips part and eyes roll back while the slick from your cunt drips down his leg.
All Steve wants right now is to touch you, but he can’t. His arms are stuck to his sides and he can’t figure out why. He wants to run his hands across your soft skin, wants to play with your tits and suck on them, wants to make you moan more and more with every teasing move… and he can’t.
A flash of the ache, sharper, closer now, blurs his vision. He winces, trying to focus back on you, back on how good you look coming undone on his thigh, but again, he can’t.
A sob ripples through you, breaking the string of moans, and Steve’s brows furrow at the noise. He goes to speak, to ask if you’re alright, but his mouth won’t open. It feels too… too heavy to open. A wave of fatigue washes over him, slowly making the rest of his body feel heavy, too.
Slowly, your whimpers transform from ones of need to ones of despair. The slight change in tone alarms Steve, and the vision of you in front of him begins to fade in and out.
He tries moving his arms, but they don’t budge. He attempts speaking again, and still, his mouth won’t open, but a closed mouth groan erupts from his chest the harder he tries.
The harder he tries, though, the more intense the pain grows for Steve. It spreads like lightning within his head, nearly blinding him.
Another sob slips past your lips, but this one teeters on the line of sounding desperate for help, or desperate for… something else.
“Steve…”
Voice still stuck in his throat, he tries his hardest still to say something, anything. A raspy groan finally pushes past his lips.
“Steve? God, I’m—“ You whimper, catching Steve’s attention as his vision continues to blur and fade out, his surroundings growing dark. “— I’m so sorry.”
The pain envelops him now, gripping Steve in a grim reminder of the reality he faced earlier, all rushing back to him so quickly.
The secret Russian base under Starcourt. Getting separated from the group as you and Steve held off the guards from chasing your friends. The guards locking you and Steve away in separate rooms. The… the screams that echoed down the hall from your room to his, and the way he threatened the guards in front of him that if they ever laid a finger on you, they’d be dead.
They responded with a couple of sucker punches, one good hook to the eye, along with roughing up the rest of Steve. That’s all he could remember before it all grew dark.
When Steve woke up, it seemed too good to be true. You’d never fuck around with him beyond his dreams. No, the two of you hated each other in reality. The summer was spent trying not to kill each other while working in the same mall. Empty threats and death glares were common whenever the two of you crossed paths.
What you didn’t know was how much Steve actually liked you. A crush he tried pushing aside that only grew by the days that passed by, turning into nights he spent waking up covered in sweat and his own arousal.
It was a dream, the good part, at least. As Steve begins to come to, he remembers everything.
So… why can he still hear your whines and whimpers? Feel the movements of you rocking your hips against his thigh?
“Steve, If you wake up… do- don’t look, okay?” You whimper as a sigh shudders through you. Curiosity tugged Steve further awake, though.
Another sigh echoes around him, and he wants to open his eyes despite your warning, but one of his eyes is swollen shut. Still, he pushes himself to open the good eye, the dim lighting of the room barely helping him adjust to his surroundings.
Steve notices the nearly empty room, first. The giant mirror takes up the one wall across from him, and in the dim lights, he squints when he notices movement above him. He first sees the blood covering him, his face swollen in agonizing pain. His gaze falls to the chair he’s in, slowly noticing restraints holding him tight to the back of the chair. Panic floods through him as his vision grows steadier, finally adjusting to the shitty lighting.
A figure is straddling him, moving against him, but he can’t feel them. Not fully. Only a second of questioning lasts before a moan tumbles from your lips, realization hitting him like a truck—
Steve spins his head back to the front, eyes falling on you while his jaw hits the floor. His heart nearly beats out of his chest as he notices you’re fully naked, skin prickling with shame and a sheen of sweat covering your body.
Steve’s eyes fall to his leg, the one you’re riding, just like in his dream. Only, he’s still in his Scoops uniform, with some kind of device strapped to his leg. One you’re furiously rubbing and bouncing against: a strap on, secured to his thigh.
You’re looking away, tears pricking at your eyes; you know how wrong this is, but you can’t silence the pleasure building within you. Curiosity tempting you, your gaze flicks back to Steve, only to see him watching you in disbelief, swollen lips parted as he began matching your panting with his own.
“Steve— I- I can explain—“
A sharp click and whiny feedback echo through the room, startling the both of you before a voice with a Russian accent follows. “I see your friend is awake, now it’s time to play.”
Steve can’t take his eyes off of you, wondering if this was what started his dream, wondering how the fuck the two of you got into a situation like this.
He watches as you shake your head urgently, clamping your eyes shut.
“I- I can’t,” You blurt out, hips slowing down. “I won’t!”
“You don’t want us to finish the job.” The voice counters. “Why did you stop? You know what will happen to you both if you stop.”
Tears slip down your face as you open your eyes, daring to look at Steve. He gives a look, almost silently pleading with you to listen to the guards.
“Whatever you have to do,” Steve whispers, hoping it’s quiet enough not to be picked up on whatever communication system they have in the room. “Do it.”
“Steve, I- I’m so sorry— ”
The voice cuts back in, booming against the walls, “NOW!”
“I want us to be safe,” Steve whispers, gulping before he bounces his leg gently, slightly thrusting the toy up into you. You squeak out reluctantly, but it did feel good, especially with Steve’s attention on you. “I’m here, it’s okay.”
It’s not okay, though. Steve is still fighting off the exhaustion of unconsciousness, still trying to get a grip on the reality before him, but is coming up short with rationalizing in any other way that doesn’t have a terrible outcome for the both of you.
You take a deep breath before rolling your hips again, your leg between Steve’s thighs softly brushing against his bulge, quickly growing hard. You glance at him, eyes narrowing.
“You like this, don’t you?” You breathe, slowly lifting your hips up on the dildo— a difficult feat with your hands bound behind your back— before gently bringing yourself back down. A groan escapes your lips as the toy reaches deep inside you.
Steve scrambles to say something, at a loss for words, before feeling your own slick drip down the dildo and onto his leg. He glances down at the mess you’re making before glancing back at you.
“You’re one to talk, sweetheart,” Steve bites back, causing your cheeks to flush a shade red deeper. “Look at- at this… mess you’re making on me.”
You whine and throw your head back, grinding your hips down as you take the entire toy within you while your clit brushes against his leg ever so gently.
“I’m supposed to be— ” A moan slips out, stealing your sentence. “I- I have to make you feel humiliated, Harrington.”
The grave situation the two of you are in is slowly falling away, when all Steve can see is you. He smirks, though it blooms pain across his face, but he powers through it.
“That so?”
“They… god… they want me to kiss you and I- I can’t-“
“Are you afraid it’ll hurt me?” Steve wonders, and you shake your head as you try rolling your eyes, but they roll back into your head as he stiffens his leg again, thrusting the toy into you again.
“I- I don’t give a shit about th- that, Harrington. That’s what they want.” You whine, glancing over at the mirror. The sight of you riding Steve’s thigh was insanely hot, but you were distracted by the guards beyond the mirror watching you. “You know I hate you.”
Steve chuckles humorlessly, “Do you? Because your cunt seems to say otherwise.”
You brush your leg against Steve’s erection, earning a groan out of him. “Seems like your cock says otherwise, too.”
Steve grunts, trying to shift in his seat, desperate to feel any friction against his length. His gaze grows soft, his good eye growing doe-like as he stares at you needily.
“Please,” Steve rasps out. “Let me help you through this. When we make it out of here, no one has to know, I promise.”
You stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to admit he’s joking, that it’s hilarious how pathetic you look riding a plastic cock strapped to him. He doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything to build the doubt, just waits patiently for your answer while you continue rocking yourself against him.
“Fine,” You finally agree, but as you lean closer to Steve’s face, you stop just as your foreheads touch, whispering, “Are you okay?”
Steve licks his lips as he looks at yours, nodding, “Aside from being nearly beaten to death, I’m fucking great. You?”
You blush with eyes wide, “Not the way I wanted to admit my feelings… but I guess it’ll do.”
You surge forward, lips catching Steve’s, and he whimpers into the kiss, mainly from the pain. At first, he can feel tears building in his eyes, the sting lasting longer than he expected… but he kind of likes it. A sigh shudders through him as the hurt turns him on even more.
“Looks like your friend is into pain, too.” The voice chimes in, and you bite softly on Steve’s bottom lip before tugging gently. He moans, louder this time. “Show him what you’ve got, sweet girl.”
Steve pulls away abruptly before glaring at the mirror for a moment, then back at you, trying to catch his breath.
“Fuck that, they can’t call you that. You’re mine.”
The sudden possessive demeanor catches you off guard, sending shivers up your spine. Steve slams his thigh against your core, and you cry out as the toy hits your sweet spot just right.
Before you can catch your breath, Steve thrusts the dildo into you again, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Your eyes roll back into your head and you feel dizzy from the extreme pleasure.
“Taking it so well, sweetheart.” Steve murmurs, leaning forward as best as he can to kiss your neck. You whimper as you continue bouncing on the strap, matching Steve’s thrusts.
Steve’s lips latch onto your skin, sucking and nipping at the sensitive spots in the crook of your neck. You brush your leg against his rock hard bulge, and Steve whines against your skin, responding with another harsh slam into you.
“M- more… ” You weakly mumble. Steve chuckles darkly at the request.
“Wish I could do more, sweetheart.” He grumbles into your skin, dipping his mouth lower to your chest. A gasp escapes you as you feel his tongue flick out against your nipple. “You look so pretty when you’re fucked out.”
All you can manage to get out is another long, drawn out whine, desperate to be able to touch Steve, to have him ruin you in return. The grave situation you’re both in almost melts away around you from the intense pleasure, but every now and then the static over the speakers reminds you you’re not alone.
Following the thought, the door clicks open, startling you from the forced bliss you were in. You feel Steve stiffen underneath you, but still he continues to keep his pace while bouncing his leg for you.
“Hm…” A guard you haven’t seen before, one with a thicker Russian accent spoke up as he took slow, agonizing steps towards the two of you. “It seems we’ve underestimated your friend.”
The guard circles the tangled mess of you and Steve, stopping as he ends up behind you. His hands wander from your shoulders, slowly caressing your arms, and you clamp your eyes shut in disgust.
“H- hey! Hands off of them!” Steve snaps, but the guard only laughs. Steve feels anger, white hot, building within him.
The guard circles back around to Steve, and your eyes open back up cautiously. You feel yourself almost relax as his touch leaves you, but tense back up as you watch the guard lean behind Steve.
“Wh- wait- what are you doing?” You ask as you panic. The guard smirks before the sound of metal hitting the floor echoes out against the cold, empty walls.
A beat of silence follows; with a swift motion, the guard pulls a syringe out from god knows where, plunging the needle into the side of Steve’s neck, catching him by surprise.
You gasp in horror as Steve cringes and hollers in pain, feeling helpless only being able to watch. It only lasts a moment before his head lolls forward onto your chest.
“What the fuck are you doing to him?!” You rasp out, tugging at the restraints your arms were still tightly bound in. Your eyes fall to Steve’s head resting on your chest, panicking as you wonder if he’s even still alive.
He leans down to Steve’s ear, dangerously close to you, as his eyes are still locked with yours. “Don’t disappoint us.”
The guard backs up, slipping out the door, leaving you stunned and confused. Panic continued to build in your chest; all pleasure had left your body as you worried for Steve’s safety.
“What just-“ Your eyes dart from the door, then to Steve, repeating a few more times. “- What just happened? Steve? Are you okay?”
For a moment, Steve is still silent. You hold your breath, hopeful to hear his own breathing if you listen closely enough, but your heartbeat is painfully loud in your ears.
It’s only a minute, maybe even less, but it feels like an eternity passes before you hear Steve groan. You sigh in relief.
“Oh my god, Steve,” You gasp, pushing yourself forward to try and push him off your chest. “Steve, wake up. Stay with me.”
A shaky breath rattles out of Steve before he speaks up, voice barely above a whisper. “You… you want… this… right?”
You nearly choke on air, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of emotions attached to the events unfolding in this underground base.
“What do you mean?” You dare to ask.
“I- I don’t think— I don’t know what that was, b- but I don’t feel s’good…” Steve breathes, voice wavering.
Your brows furrow at Steve’s words. “You’re not making sense, Steve. What did they give you—”
You feel the words die in your throat as large, warm hands grip your hips. Steve slowly pulls his head up, flashing a devious smirk your way that makes your heart drop into your stomach.
The restraints holding Steve back had been undone, and whatever the fuck they injected into his veins had a strong hold over him now.
With gritted teeth, Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before looking at you once more. “Tell me- tell— tell me you’re okay with this-“
“With what Steve?” You counter, still lost. “What are you— look. Just untie me, we can get out of here if we stick together.”
Gaze still fixated on you, Steve’s fingers dig into your skin, gripping you with a desire that reflects in his eyes.
“Not yet, sweetheart.” Steve murmurs, licking his swollen lips as his hands wander up your body, fingers splayed out as far as they can reach. “We’re just getting started.”
Frozen stiff— from fear or desire, you weren’t quite sure— you can only watch as Steve’s touch reaches your breasts, wasting no time in kneading. You melt into his touch, groaning, and it only tugs at the ends of his smirk even more.
Steve’s lips crash against yours, this time with more desperation and passion. You hear him whimper into your mouth as his tongue parts your lips, probably from the pain he still felt. Still, he pushes past the discomfort, massaging your tongue with his slowly.
You feel the slick of arousal build back up between your legs again, dripping down the strap still inside of you. It seems both you and Steve become aware of it again at the same time, because as you remember it’s presence, he bounces his leg up against your core.
Steve’s hands grip your hips again, guiding you as you ride the toy still strapped to his leg. A loud moan escapes you while Steve watches you with a heightened hunger.
“Y’get so wet so easily,” Steve husks, groaning as you work to build the pleasure back up within you again. “I bet you’d feel so fucking good and tight.”
Your stomach flips, but you’re so exhausted at this point, you can’t find the right words to keep up your end of the dirty talk.
“Such a filthy girl, too.” Steve groans, leaning down to kiss your chest. He trails sloppy kisses across your skin before reaching a nipple, teasing with his mouth as he did before. “Fucking a toy to save our lives.”
You speed your hips up at his words, despite the ache growing in your legs, barely holding you up. If it wasn’t for Steve holding onto you, you’re sure you’d collapse onto the floor.
“And you thought they wanted you to humiliate me?” Steve laughs sharply into your skin before biting the sensitive bud in his mouth. “Look at you, being forced to ride my leg— an inanimate object on my leg, and you’ve been dripping to the fucking floor.”
“Steve…. ” you whine while panting.
“Tell me what you want, sweet girl.” Steve encourages at first, but his eyes grow dark as he grips your throat with one hand, teasing with your breath. “C’mon, use that cocky mouth you were running all summer. You had no problem telling me how much you hate me, honey. Why so quiet now?”
The combination of the exhaustion and the way Steve is talking to you begins to make you grow weak, overcome by pleasure, and you begin to drool on yourself a bit. Steve barks out a laugh, turned on and disgusted.
“Jesus, you’re filthy.” Steve said lowly, removing his hand from your throat before slapping your face. “Don’t act cock-drunk yet, you’re not even fucking the real thing.”
While panting, you manage to get out, “I… want it.”
Steve’s brows quirk up, knowing exactly what you’re talking about but he doesn’t give in so easily. His hand snakes down between the two of you, fingers immediately reaching for your soaking, wet core.
You jolt at the sensation of Steve’s fingers on your clit, rubbing in painstakingly slow circles. You buck your hips, trying to add pressure, but Steve laughs lowly and pulls his hand back, barely touching your clit.
As you whine in desperation, Steve asks, “What do you want?”
Drained, you let your head loll forward, resting against Steve’s shoulder as your hips began to slow and stutter. Your panting is shallow as you feel exhaustion begin to grip you tightly.
Steve groans, shoving his shoulder forward to try and push you off, but to no avail; your forehead still rested on him, feeling your eyes growing heavy.
Again, Steve groans, almost like he’s… fighting with himself. A few moments pass until he strains out, “... You- you can’t s-stop…”
“... Hm?” You hold onto consciousness for dear life, both metaphorically and physically speaking.
Steve tucks his face into your neck, bouncing his leg softly, fucking the toy up into you, keeping you awake as you moan weakly.
“Let— let me take over,” he murmurs into your skin before kissing it gently. The soft touch of his lips against your neck sends shivers across your body. “D- do you trust me?”
“Y- yes, Steve,” You answer honestly, though still in a daze.
“Just— ” Steve forces out through gritted teeth before his mouth opens again, tongue darting out sharply to your skin before he bites down roughly. You cry out, feeling slightly alert again. “Ha- hang on for me, okay? I’ll take care of you… just hang on, can y’do that?”
As he waited for an answer, Steve began biting your neck again, sucking on the sensitive skin and soothing over the pain tingling across with his tongue. You groaned loudly in response.
“I need to- to hear you, babe,” Steve murmurs into your skin before biting once more, harder than the last time. You cry out at the sharp sensation. “Th- they’ll hurt us if— fuck!”
Steve inhales sharply, gripping into your skin with more force. You cry out at the pain as he shakes before crying out himself.
Whatever the guard gave him, he was able to fight off for a moment, but now it was just sinking deeper into his veins, taking full control again.
It’s probably too late at this point, but you still manage to blurt out, “I- I- I want you! I want you, Steve!”
Steve chuckles darkly into your neck before slowly licking a stripe up your skin, leading to your ear, panting heavily into it. “I know you do, sweetheart.”
In a quick, swift motion, Steve pulls you off of the toy while standing up, spinning you around before forcing your front against the nearest wall. Even through the roughness, the cool, metallic surface feels welcoming against your flushed skin.
With one hand, Steve holds you firmly by the back of your neck while he undoes the clasp of the strap around his leg, letting the toy fall to the floor. He quickly pushes his shorts down as best as he can with one hand before pressing himself against your backside.
You moan sinfully as you feel him, rock hard against your ass. Steve pants heavily while reaching around to your chest, groping your tits roughly.
“Mnph… S- Steve, please—”
One of his large hands reaches down to your ass, smacking harshly, earning a sharp cry from you again.
“You’ll take what I give you,” His voice is gravelly, serious. “Understood?”
You nod quickly, both startled and aroused. “Y- yes, Steve.”
“Good girl.”
Slowly, Steve kisses down your back, down your arms still bound behind you, before kneeling as he reaches your backside. You shiver under each, sloppy, wet kiss he leaves behind as he inches further and further down.
As he reaches the swell of your ass, he begins biting into the skin, gently, then gradually with more force as moves down.
“Spread your legs, babe.” Steve murmurs as he pushes your feet apart. He grabs you by the ankles, pulling you from the wall a bit, and you hold yourself up as best as you can with your upper body still against the surface.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck this tight, sweet cunt so bad,” Steve groans into your skin, hooking his arms around your thighs, pulling your ass closer to his face. “But I wanna taste you so much more.”
A breath shudders out of you before Steve kisses your soaked folds lightly. He sucks slowly on your folds before delving his tongue between them, collecting your arousal onto his lips.
You push your ass out further, desperate to feel more of Steve’s mouth on you, and greedily responds by sucking roughly on your clit.
“Oh… oh, fuck,” Your moans begin to fill the empty space around the two of you. Steve groans into your skin, vibrations adding to the pleasure he’s creating with his tongue. “M- more… god!”
Steve pulls back, laughing at your desperation while you whine. “Jesus Christ, I knew you wanted me, but you’re such a needy fuckin’ slut.”
He falls silent for a moment before spreading your cheeks and spitting onto your tight hole. You gasp in shock, knees growing weak as you feel Steve tease a finger around your entrance.
“Y’know, I bet your mouth would feel so good around my cock…” Steve mumbles before spitting again, spreading the saliva around your skin before slowly pushing a finger into your tight ring. Your eyes roll back in your head. “It’s a better use than you running it all the fuckin’ time. God— some days I just wanted to- to push you to your knees and shove my cock down your throat to shut you up.”
At this point you feel yourself begin drooling onto your body again, and Steve notices the mess trailing down onto the wall in front of you.
“Filthy slut… such a filthy, dirty girl,” Steve groans, slowly fingering your ass. “You’re gonna cum for me before I fuck your brains out, understand?”
Before you can answer, Steve’s lips are back on your core, flicking his tongue against your clit with precision. All that tumbles out of your mouth are breathy moans.
You look down to the floor and see Steve look up at you, position switched as he’s eating you out from the front, still fingering your ass and groping your cheek with his free hand. Though you can only see his eyes, you can tell he’s smirking while watching you come undone above him.
Steve adds a second finger into your cunt while groaning at how wet you are, how easily his digit slides in. Your head spins as he continues to finger fuck both your holes while lapping away at your clit. Your legs begin to shake, and Steve lets out a breathy laugh from between your thighs.
“M’close…” You whimper, flexing your wrists as far as you could between the restraints; you wanted nothing more than to pull on Steve’s hair right now, make him moan.
“Already?” Steve asks, pulling back from your core with his chin and lips glistening. He’s flashing a fake, mocking pout up at you. The sight makes your pussy throb as he continues fingering you. “I just started playing with you, babe.”
In your desperation to reach the high you’ve been chasing this whole time, you whine out, “I- I promise, you can do as much as you want— whenever you want!”
His tongue flicks lightly across your clit, but pulls back, leaving you whining in disappointment. “Yeah? This your truce? You finally gonna admit you’ve always liked me?”
You roll your eyes and huff, “Steve, no- now’s not the time—”
“Admit it.” Steve orders, voice low before he spits onto your cunt. You groaned at the sensation of his spit rolling over your clit, adding to the wetness from your arousal. “Admit you’ve always liked me. You’ve always had the hots for me, always wanted to fuck me—”
“Steve!”
“Sorry, right, you wanted me to fuck you.” Steve teases, driving you mad at this point. His fingers begin to slow, barely fucking you. “Just say the words, sweetheart, and I’ll let you cum.”
Taking a few deep breaths and rolling your eyes, you give in.
“Fine! Fine, okay!” You yelp out, twitching when Steve sucks on your clit for a second before pulling back again. You felt like you were going to die if you didn’t finally climax.
Which… yeah, that was technically the truth down here.
“Fine? Okay? What’s fine and okay, babe?”
You huff, ready to slam your thighs together on his irritating, cocky, pretty head. For a quick second, you almost do, but you remember neither of you are making it out of this room until the both of you climax, all for the guards’ pleasure.
This is so fucked up.
“God- fucking—”You pause as Steve leans back in to spit again, and a moan tumbles out of you. “— yes, okay, I- I- like you, Steve!”
Smirking, he leans in to swirl his tongue around your sensitive bud, just enough to feel good, but not enough to reach that high.
“And?”
“And- and- and I really like you, and always have,” You begin to stutter out. Steve’s tongue continues its pace. “I’ve always thought you were— oh, god- you— I want you to fu- fuck me, Steve. Please.”
Sickeningly sweet, he responds, “Anything for you, sweet girl,” before delving into your folds again, fully focusing his attention on the spot you needed him the most.
His fingers pick up speed again, and you’re thankful he’s got a good grip on your legs, or you’re certain you’d fall over by now.
You can’t stop the noises from escaping your lips as he continues his pace on ruining your body in the best ways possible. He hums into your core; the vibrations push you closer to the edge and your eyes close in bliss.
It’s only a moment longer before you’re shaking, orgasm ripping through your body while stars explode behind your lids. Mouth falling open in a silent scream, you feel yourself really let go. You swear, you’ve never felt this good by anyone before, not even your own actions on lonely nights.
Finally, a scream leaves your body in ecstasy, and Steve’s moans nearly match yours as he watches you reach your high above him.
“Fuck... that’s so... hot.” He rasps out. You open your eyes to his words to find his face covered in the aftermath of your high.
You feel embarrassment as heat creeps along your face in shame. “Oh- oh my god… Steve, I’m so sorry- I- I- didn’t even know I could do that-“
Steve licks his lips as they twist into a smirk up at you, pulling himself back along with his hand out of you. You whine at the loss and shiver as you watch him suck on his fingers, groaning around them.
A blush creeps across his face as he breaks through the haze of the drug again, only for a moment, but you don’t miss it.
“I- you— don’t apologize,” Steve says meekly, running a hand through his hair, also damp as well from the sweat and your climax. “That- that was my fucking dream—”
You almost laugh at how dorky he sounds, but notice how he tenses up again. His breathing becomes shallow as he winces, trying to fight it off.
“Steve,” You call out, worried. “We just have to finish and then we’re out of here, okay? You- you have to help me out here, I can’t move well with my hands still tied.”
Steve struggles at first to get to his feet, letting the substance in his body regain control again, but he manages to stand up between you and the wall. You’re more aware now than you ever have been of how he towers over you, shivering as he looks at you like you’re some sort of prey.
“You’ve been so good for me,” Steve says as he pushes a strand of hair from your face gently. His touch is soft, almost too soft for the way he’s been acting tonight. “I’ll let you pick the way you want me to fuck you.”
You gulp sharply, before responding with no hesitation, “Against the wall.”
Steve smirks, laughing lowly. “You were just against it, sweetheart.”
“I- I- yeah, I know,” You agree, blushing. Steve’s hand slowly cards through your hair before tugging, causing you to whine. “I mean like— my back against the wall. I- I wanna see you when you cum inside me, Steve.”
Steve groans and in a flash, he’s pulling you by your hair, slamming you against the wall. You gasp at the sudden movement, watching as Steve quickly pulls his clothes off before pressing himself against you.
Your heart sinks at the sight of more injuries across his body, blooming in radiant shades of purples and reds and blues. Steve slams his mouth against yours in a rough, quick kiss, pulling you from your worries of him. There’d be plenty of time later to clean up and care for each other.
He hoists you up by your legs, holding you tight as you’re balanced up against the wall. Steve looks between your bodies before spitting between them, coating his swollen cock in the makeshift lube.
“Please…” You whimper as Steve runs the head of his cock up and down your folds teasingly. He smirks at you before plunging in all at once, shuddering out a breathy moan of his own.
You heard the rumors back in school; you knew Steve was somewhat decent in bed, you just had no fucking clue he was packing the length and girth he had. Your head falls against his shoulder, biting the skin to hold back a scream as he stretches you out.
Steve’s brows furrow slightly before forcing out, “You… you… okay?”
You hum and nod in response, rasping out, “Move.”
Steve’s hips roll slowly into yours at first; you can tell he’s trying so hard to go easy on you. The real Steve would’ve wanted this first time to be slow and soft, still where he’s dominant, but caring and gentle. But, he’s not in control right now.
You, on the other hand… you’re not sure if you could say the same about your desires for the first time with Steve.
As he moves in and out of you with ease, pushing against your slick walls, you feel his cock twitch a little already.
“Whoa… you gonna cum this soon?”
Steve’s eyes turn dark as he slams into you. “Sh- shut up.”
Your stomach flips at the change back to this dominant, rough demeanor, and decide to push it further.
“Aww, is Steve gonna finish faster than I did?” You tease, and Steve’s pace picks up, slamming into you harder. You cry out, watching his expression turn frustrated.
“I said, shut up.” Steve spits, fucking you harder. Your eyes begin to roll back into your head.
“What? Can’t handle being teased, Stevie?” You continue to mock him, enjoying the way he’s reacting to it. “Don’t you like it? Don’t you— ”
Steve pulls you away from the wall and out of you before he shoves you towards the chair. As you stumble onto it, Steve unlatches the restraints, letting your hands fall to the back of the chair just in time to hold you up.
Bent over, Steve smacks your ass roughly before slamming back into you. You lurch forward and cry out again before he begins his steady, rough pace into you again.
“You’re such a fucking brat. Such a filthy, insatiable, brat.” Steve growls through gritted teeth, pounding into you relentlessly.
All you can do is continue to let your moans echo against the metallic walls in response.
Steve’s hands reach around to your face, gripping you for a moment before opening your mouth, hooking his fingers into your cheeks. You begin drooling all over yourself as he pulls at your mouth while continuing to rail you.
Again, all you can do is cry out… and make a terrible mess with your spit.
“God- fuck-“ Steve groans out, rutting into you mercilessly. “I- I’m gonna— where do you—”
“In me!” You manage to yell out around his fingers still in your mouth.
Steve’s breath hitches as he fights the drug again. “You… are you…sure?” His hands fall from your face and grip your hips tightly.
“I’ve never been so fucking sure of anything in my life,” You hurry out, gripping onto the chair while your knuckles grew white. You moan out sinfully, “Fill me up, Steve.”
Almost on command, Steve releases into you, coating your walls with his arousal while sloppily thrusting any energy he has left into you.
He feels like his high shoots him straight up to the stars. Even if it was fueled by that nasty mystery drug, it doesn’t matter to him. Not in the moment as your cunt milks out every last drop from him, just like he always dreamed of.
As you try to catch your breath, you rest your head onto your hands on top of the chair, closing your eyes as you feel him inside you. Steve slowly pulls out, groaning at the loss of you squeezing him, as you do the same at the loss of him inside you.
“Fuck… Steve….”
“I- did I just- did we just-“
You look back to see Steve, back to his doe-eyed, slightly shyer, dorkier self, blushing as he looks back at you. He can’t tell if he wants to cry or laugh this whole thing off, and you can sense the conflict in his feelings.
“Steve- it’s okay. We’re okay, I promise.” You pant out as you search his face, watching the real him break through.
His eyes fall to your cunt, dripping from your mixed juices, and he groans as he palms himself before dropping to his knees. As he grips your thighs, you gasp in surprise while feeling his tongue run up your folds slowly, lapping up every last drop.
You shiver and twitch from the overstimulation, still shaky from your orgasm from earlier.
“Fuck. Fuck.” You breathe out, exhausted and in disbelief of what just happened. Steve presses a kiss to the swell of your ass before moving to his feet.
His arms wrap around you, pulling you up right before sitting you in the chair properly. He searches your face carefully, looking for any signs of distress “You okay? I’m so- god. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
You cup his face in your hands softly, giving him a weak, but sincere smile. “Fucked up… but I wouldn’t have wanted this with anyone but you. Are you okay?”
Steve kisses your forehead softly before nodding, still shaking himself. “M- might ask you to stay over later… could use some aftercare. Kinda want to check on you too. Y’know… if we make it out alive.”
A loud buzz echoes in the room, followed by a clicking noise. You and Steve turn to see the door slowly, automatically open.
“Is… are they… can we go?” You ask, and Steve’s eyes dart between you and the door before pulling you up.
“Let’s get dressed and get the fuck outta here.” Steve rushes out, pulling you behind him.
You tug his arm back, and Steve spins to quickly run into you with a soft “oof!” Reaching up to him, you press your lips against his, savoring one more kiss before leaving this horrid room, this time, soft and slow.
You mumble against his lips, “I don’t think I’ll be leaving your side anytime soon.”
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In your honour
Feyd-Rautha x Reader
Summary: Feyd tricks you into engagement...
Warnings: implied Atreides!Reader (bc I can't help but ship that ship most) = enemies to lovers (to be), Reader is a bit of a judgy little grump, harassment, misogyny, fight to the death, Feyd is a smitten sneaky little menace, made up Harkonnen customs, hints of angst here and there
🖤 special thank you to @stopeatread and @kasagia for the comments that kept me going 🖤
~ 1,8K words
• Feyd-Rautha masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •
The celebration for eliminating the Fremen threat was planned to last for a week. You had more than enough of it on the first day though, of the party, of the people, of the black and white planet altogether. You wanted to leave but that would be an insult to the Harkonnens, the hosts of the event, and the fragile peace between your families couldn't take a blow like that.
The Baron was gracious enough to give your family the credit that was due for this achievement, and as one of the honoured guests, you had to be present for all of these nights of celebration, form start to end.
The smalltalk bored you to death, the men were looking at you like meat, and the way the Baron treated the servants made you sick. No, scratch that, the Baron made you sick.
The only remotely good thing was surprising to say the least. The na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, who shared your feelings towards the gathered nobles and who proved to be not just an excellent company for your brooding through most of the days you've had to spend here so far but his presence also scared away the men who wanted to try to make a decent or indecent proposition to you.
When you mentioned the offers you received Feyd became irritated but his slightly teasing and a bit accusatory questioning of your too high standards covered up the real reason behind his increasing anger. He didn't want anyone else to even have a chance to have you. It was only the third day of knowing you but he knew he will not be able to let you go. His initial amusement and fascination quickly became an unstoppable obsession and you had no idea.
Not even when the conversation went as far as him trying to convince you that you should take a chance with someone sooner or later and you might have a say in the matter unlike most noble ladies. Your answer stayed with him for the next few days.
"I have no illusions, I know there's no such thing as a perfect match but I want someone who will not try to change me, who I can trust just as much as they can trust me. Someone who would care for me even if love is not an option, someone who could be gentle with me."
That did not help with his anger. He knew it was not your intention but you basically told him that he had no chance. Trust? Care? Kindness? That was everything you can't find in his family. Feyd-Rautha was very well aware he was not right for you but no matter what the tiny little voice of what's left of his conscience told him, he couldn't let you go.
The opportunity came on the second to last day of the celebrations. He had other obligations, so you were left alone to mingle. Feyd kept an eye on you but he didn't notice the Harkonnen general approach you until you made a scene.
The general fell on his knees from the force of your hit that also broke his nose. He quickly recovered though, standing up in a quick motion, stepping into your personal space once again as he threatened you.
"You will pay for that," he said as he tried to grab you again but you stepped back, kicking him in the knee, making him stumble again.
"Try to put your hands on me again and I will end you," you practically growled your response but it only elicited a mocking laugh from the entitled man.
"If you want a fight, little witch, name your champion," he taunted as he straightened once again.
"I can fight my own battles." You declared with your head held high, not letting this excuse of a man making you feel small under his towering height.
The fool tutted at you like you were an ignorant child. "Not here, you can't."
Before you could respond a now familiar, oddly rough and soft voice declared, "I will fight for her."
The gasps across the room were followed by eerie silence. The natives of this planet knew what that meant, the na-Baron was not from your family or in your servitude, therefore, according to thier law his offer changed the challenge and now the price was much higher than the question of your honour.
He descended down the stairs from where he was talking with his uncle and some other nobles not a minute ago. It was a slow, predatory display of movement that made you shiver.
Feyd stopped in front of you but didn't take his eyes off the general until the man confirmed the acceptance of the challenge with a nod. The foul man had the audacity to grin at you with a dark intention of what he will do if he wins.
You look away from that as the na-Baron finally turns to you. His expression is unreadable as he studies you in silence.
"Why?" you finally ask.
His lips pull to a smile but he stops it as he leans in to be level with your downcast eyes. "Why not?"
You clench your fists, insisting,"I am perfectly capable of fighting."
"As he said, that's not how things work here." He bent down until his lips brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver for an entirely different reason as he whispered, "Maybe you can give me a private demonstration later?"
You huffed, pushing at him by a hand on his chest. He let you but he caught your hand and kept it there, right above his heart as he looked down at you with an unsettling smile glinting in his eyes.
"Show me your blade," he orders, finally letting go of your hand but holding your gaze captive with his.
You take in a shuddering breath as you reply, "I don't know what you're talking about. We were searched for weapons..."
He cuts you off with an amused and accusing look, his brows, or rather where they would be raise in a mocking but expectant move as his drags his gaze slowly over your face and neck, right to the place where your breasts are straining against your dress' corset with each heavy breath.
Your lips part in surprise and that makes him look up, mesmerised for a second before he delivers a more impatient form of that taunting look. Clenching your jaw, you look away for a second, a half shake of your head at this situation is all you can afford. Then you reach into the front of your dress, pulling out the hidden blade and hand it to him.
Fey studies the intricate design of the sheath of the weapon before pulling the blade out, testing the edge against his fingertips. His full lips turn up in a satisfied smile and you are about to comment on it when he presses the sheath to your lips, stunning you once again.
He keeps the light smile as he moves your right hand again to grab the item, his hold sliding from your hand to your wrist as he guides your moves, settling the piece above your heart, making you cross your arm across your chest.
Your heart is beating at an insane beat as you eye him with suspicion, very deep down realising what is about to happen.
"Why are you doing this?" you whisper, scared to even make the question, let alone hear the answer.
He grins at you, saying, "Don't worry, I will collect my reward after I dealt with him."
With that he stepped back, putting your blade to his lips and mimicking the gesture he made you perform, then he walked away from you to go back to the podium where his opponent was already waiting for him.
They stood at a few feet from each other, in fighting stance, ready to attack the moment the Baron would let them.
The fight would have been quick but Feyd had other plans.
It was plain to see that the na-Baron was a far better fighter. And given the stories, you know the general must have seen the younger man fight in the arena before so you concluded that he indeed was an utter fool.
You stood there where he left you, surrounded by the morbidly fascinated audience that was witnessing his display. Because that's what it was a show put on for everyone to see.
Yes, he wanted to make the bastard suffer but it was more than that. This will be an example of what happens when someone tries to take away what is his, and all the while it is a chance to show his true power over a real opponent. So Feyd attacked, cut and then retreated to observe the man then he repeated the process. Again and again, until the general couldn't stand. Then Feyd-Rautha cut his throat with a swift move as the defeated man was kneeling before him.
The Baron laughed and spoke to the room, announcing that his nephew just won a wife and everyone was staring at you with disbelief while Feyd-Rautha was basking in his victory. You didn't hear or see any of it though, your focus solely on him, already knowing your fate without anyone telling you.
The next thing you knew the na-Baron was marching towards you and he grabbed you by your nape, pulling you into a forceful kiss. His lips pressing on yours, teeth biting into your lower lip, probably drawing blood as he demanded your surrounder. You gasped at the pain, granting him his wish of you opening up to him and he didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss, claiming you publicly while your knees wobbled and you were holding onto him for dear life.
When he finally leaned back, he was smiling as he cupped your cheek with his free hand. "Aren't you going to congratulate me, my lovely bride?"
"Why? You already claimed your reward." Your answer was filled with anger but he didn't mind, he will make you forgive him, he was sure of it. But he couldn't help himself with a little more teasing because he liked to see that fire in your eyes.
"Not yet, my darling. Although if you can't wait for the wedding night, I wouldn't be against it."
You scoff and look away, your gaze finding your father and his mentat discretely arguing then looking back at you. They answer your silent question with a sorrowful expression and your father lightly shakes his head, meaning there is no way to avoid this.
Witnessing the exchange, Feyd clenches his jaw, and he roughly grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.
"No!" he quietly growls through his teeth. "You are mine."
With that, he closes the distance between you again, this time kissing you longer and in a much more gentle manner despite his anger at your reaction. It's a promise that he hopes you understand. For you, he will try.
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#feyd#feyd rautha#feyd rautha x reader#feyd x reader#feyd x you#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd rautha x you#my stuff#my fics
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I want to dance with you tonight (and for the rest of my life)
Bucktommy / E / 14 932 words
Cover by @ronordmann 💙
Mood board by me
Three months after Tommy kissed him passed so fast, but Buck enjoyed every second of it. Every date, kiss, hug, sex. Every text till the next opportunity to meet again between their shifts.
Tommy makes him feel happy, giddy, smitten and, most importantly, wanted. He isn’t the one chasing so hard he forgets about himself this time, or the passive one, letting relationships just come to him, not trying to do much. No, now he takes as much as he gets.
Of course, during their first three weeks Tommy was the one who was making most of the moves. He would set the dates, time and date, just asking Buck if he wanted to have another date and then tell him when and where it would be. Tommy was the one buying him flowers, initiating kisses or any form, even not sexual intimacy - always making sure Buck was ok with everything, never rushing him to do something Buck didn’t want to. And it made Buck feel safe. Soon he was the one to lean and kiss the man, or hug, or put his hand on Tommy’s tight, while the man would drive him to the next date’s destination, any time he wanted.
Or Buck and Tommy enjoy their relationships, fall in love and go to Madney wedding together
#my fics#evan buck buckley#fic: I want to dance with you tonight (and for the rest of my life)#evan buckley#911#bucktommy#911 abc#tommy kinard#tevan#kinley#kinkley#my 25th ao3 work
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in hindsight (tangled up with you all night)
15.7 | Explicit | Read on AO3
Summary:
“We’re gonna be stuck here for at least 5 months,” Buck said, his fingers tracing the bumps across Eddie’s back, the other man was nearly asleep, spent after going a few rounds in the hotel room, where they could be as loud as they wanted to be, “That’s a long time.”
Eddie hummed, sighing as Buck kept touching him, relaxing further into the bed, Buck smiled and leaned over to place a kiss on his shoulder, not trying to start anything again, just a soft point of contact; Eddie smiled softly at the touch.
“It is,” Eddie agreed.
“Maybe we can keep doing this? Just this, it doesn’t need to be anything more,” Buck offered, he had learnt to not offer more than just sex, he had learnt that people didn’t want him for more than sex, and he was okay with it, he truly was. Especially in cases like this, shooting on site in a foreign country, people were usually just looking for an escape. Buck could offer that to Eddie.
“Maybe,” Eddie replied, his hand reaching out to pinch the side of Buck’s hip, “Definitely maybe.”
*
Or as young actors Buck and Eddie fall into a FWB situation that develops into more, before walking away from the other. Years later they're given a second chance.
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Angel, Ignited
sterek | E | 38k | ao3
tags: Historical, Established Relationship, Arranged Marriage, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Spark Stiles, Alpha Derek, Possessive Derek, Full Shift Werewolves, Mates, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, not between sterek or either of them, Implied/Referenced Incest, Evil Gerard Argent, Murder
Summary:
He was a fool to tell himself he wasn’t thinking of Derek. How could the moon not think of its sun? How, when the light of it — the sight of him — made him yearn to live?
Stiles loved him before. Between their shared breath, upon their touch, after the tender words and giddy smiles, Stiles thought he knew what love was.
He was a fool.
This was love. This was how it felt.
Annihilative. Mournful.
Take all the air from his throat, he would still ask for Derek first.
#sterek#sterek fic#stiles x derek#sterek fic rec#sterek fanfic#sterek fanfiction#stiles stilinski#derek hale#derek x stiles#eternal sterek#teen wolf fanfiction#tw fanfic#teen wolf au#teen wolf sterek#my fics#sterek moodboard#sterek events#sterekyrround
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I find it so intriguing and interesting that Ciel, even though he has a magnificent memory and good brains, stil at the age of only 10-13 can keep up with Sebastian, a centuries old being... in terms of plotting, arguing, creating
How must Sebastian feel about his Master? Does he not question how can he be so extraordinary and so young? Or does age at this point not matter to a demon?
Oh, Sebastian does question it! He's long since reached the stage of "My Master is the most impressive, smartest, most beautiful, most utterly breathtaking human being to ever walk the earth." At this point, he even overestimates some of Ciel's strengths because he's wearing the subjective glasses of infatuation.
With the age, I don't think Sebastian fully comprehends it because to him, the length of every human life is just a blink of an eye. He holds Ciel to the same standards he does adults, and he admires him as as a person in general, not just as a 12-13 year-old.
At the same time, I think it played its role. Ciel is inherently smart and I'd argue that he always had a penchant for manipulation, darkness, coldness, and inner strength in him. But meeting Sebastian when he did, as a child dealing with terrible trauma, then being practically raised surrounded by his influence and his standards - it left its mark. Sebastian was his closest confidant, the only relevant figure aware of what happened to him and what he's like. He was also a source of power and protection that Ciel desperately needed back then, so he clang to him with all he had. After quickly realizing that Sebastian, being a demon, despises weakness and can turn on him in an instant, Ciel did everything to become his match and to wrestle him for control. He pushed himself much harder than he would have otherwise to be someone worthy of demon's particular brand of respect.
It all had profound impacts on Ciel's personality. Children this young are still developing and absorbing the outside influence, and in Ciel's case, a demon was the one affecting him. I'm sure not every child brought up by a demon would have ended up like this, but Ciel already had all the seeds that could make him a perfect match for Sebastian - all Sebastian had to do was to water them.
I think a lot of Ciel's views on emotions and human value are tied to Sebastian's opinions. Without him, Ciel would still be smart and manipulative, but he probably wouldn't find emotional displays this abhorrent. He wouldn't consider them a weakness and he'd probably see humans more like humans, not like pieces in his game.
In some ways, Sebastian himself created his ideal partner. The foundation was always there, but who knows what it would have evolved into if it wasn't for his influence.
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Six Sentence Sunday!
Emerging from the depths of the land of the uninspired, exhausted muses, Val is here to share a little bit of writing from a WIP that is close to being finished, but isn't quite there just yet. The wheels have started to turn once more, so I'm hoping by sharing this and getting some validation from y'all, it might just give the muse the push she needs to get back in the game.
No tags as of 10:30 PM ET when I'm about to schedule this, so I'm going to start us off, and if someone tags me between now and midnight ET, I'm sorry in advance haha.
“Turns out attempting to suck my brain out through my dick is pretty fucking sobering because I want to commit it to the long term memory bank, so I’m fine,” he assures, and Henry believes him. The laser focus in his brown eyes, a look that Henry recognizes all too well. He’s seen it in the middle of the night, gazing back at him from the office where Alex was hunched over his laptop and surrounded by a pile of law books. He’s seen it in the kitchen, Alex’s tongue sticking out from between his lips as he attempts one of his abuela’s recipes. And he’s seen it in Kensington Palace, what might as well be in another lifetime now, lighting the midnight dark and filling Henry with a hope that he didn’t feel he deserved for a life that he is now living. “And I want it. I want you.”
Tags for my lovelies behind the cut! I've been hearing that Tumblr's got some weird, five tags per line rule, so I hope this works!
@adreamareads @affectionatelyrs @agame-writes @anincompletelist @bigassbowlingballhead
@cactusdragon517 @captainjunglegym @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @duchessdepolignaca03
@eusuntgratie @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heysweetheart-writes
@indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @itsmaybitheway @junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes
@leaves-of-laurelin @leojfitz @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery
@msmarvelouswinchester @ninzied @nontoxic-writes @notspecialbabe @onthewaytosomewhere
@piratefalls @priincebutt @rockyroadkylers @ships-to-sail @songliili
@sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @ssmtskw @stereopticons @suseagull04
@taste-thewaste @theprinceandagcd @thinkof-england @typicalopposite @user-anakin
@vanillahigh00 @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @whimsymanaged @wordsofhoneydew @zwiazdziarka
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hiiiii i'm here to give you a big hug and request a 1k prompt 🙌
1. a biiiiiig hug
2. as for the (hehe smutty) prompt!
i think i would LOVE to see ed feeling vulnerable and safe enough to share with stede that a lot of things don't work for him in bed because of his knee and at first he is cautious and worries stede will get angry or frustrated with him, but of course stede showers him with love and care and thinks of a hundred ways to have sex that are not painful or uncomfortable for him 🫶
Ooh I really loved this one, thanks so much for sending it in (and sending you a hug right back)! Get absolutely adored and cherished Ed!!
Under the cut since this one's a bit nsfw! I'd put it at a strong M rating, no explicit sexual content but obviously it's about sex.
Ed had never really owned up to how fucking inconvenient the knee could make things, not before.
See, there are certain things that are mood- killers, and then there are things that are straight-up dangerous to admit, and Ed’s little problem was both. The hookups Ed was used to wouldn’t just laugh at him for being in pain during sex, they would’ve taken it as a sign of weakness. A sign that Ed was vulnerable, weak, easy to exploit and to harm.
So, usually, he just put up with it. If it was awful, like if a guy pushed his legs back, forcing the knee to bend at a harsh angle, he might find some excuse to change it up, but usually he just closed his eyes and hoped his grunts of discomfort sounded pleasured instead of pained. He would close his eyes, after, breathing through the pain, vowing that he’d never have sex in a painful position again for the rest of his life, cautiously listening to make sure whatever guy he’d taken to bed wasn’t trying to pull any shit. Rinse and repeat a few weeks later.
Stede, though. Talk about a hell of a difference.
He’d figured out that Ed didn’t like some things, Ed thought. He never held down Ed’s bad leg, never forced the knee to bend. Rubbed the joint so tenderly after sex. And that maybe should’ve made it easier to admit to his problem, but Stede made Ed feel so good, and he wanted to return the favor, and…
“Ed, honey, you’re somewhere else tonight.”
Ed sniffed, shifted. They’d been breaking in their new bed (still called it that, even though they’d been breaking it in for a couple months now), and he was half in Stede’s lap, legs flung across Stede’s thighs. He should’ve felt perfect.
“Sorry,” he whispered, and when Stede’s light, appraising touches traveled down his leg, rubbing lightly at his knee, he hissed, the pain making him flinch involuntarily.
Stede kissed his fingertips, then touched them feather-light to Ed’s knee. “Does it hurt?”
“Just stiff,” Ed said dismissively.
Stede just hummed. Ed knew he wouldn’t force the issue.
“I, uh…” Ed cleared his throat. “What would you say if I said I didn’t think I should ride you anymore?”
He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the anger on Stede’s face -
“I’d say that was fine,” Stede said easily. “Why? Does it make your knee hurt when we do that?”
“Maybe a little,” Ed admitted softly.
“Okay,” Stede said, and he positioned his hands around Ed’s knee, rubbing his thumbs gently along the sore, tender joint, working out the stiffness of exertion. Ed hissed, his face scrunching up at the sensation, and Stede just cooed soft apologies.
That was - that was it, though, wasn’t it? Ed knew he was safe to let Stede see him in pain. Stede hadn’t ever gotten angry or frustrated with him for being in pain or needing help with his knee before, why would this be any different?
“Um,” Ed started haltingly, “I actually think maybe we might need to be a little more careful. During intercourse. With my knee. If that sounds alright to you. Maybe.”
When he opened his eyes, Stede was getting that pinched line between his eyebrows.
“Ed?” Stede pulled Ed a bit more securely into his arms, and Ed sighed in satisfaction at the feeling of Stede’s arms around his waist. “Have you been hurting? While we have sex? Have I been hurting you?”
“Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad, I’m just…” Stede let his breath out in a long sigh. “I don’t want to ever do anything that hurts you. Not ever. Especially not when we’re trying to do something that’ll make us both feel good. How can I help keep you comfortable?”
“Well…” Ed grimaced. “Bending my knee is what hurts the most.”
“Alright,” Stede said thoughtfully, and Ed could see the wheels turning in his head. Taking out positions that required Ed to bend his knee took so much off the table. Riding, giving blowjobs, even fucking missionary, and Ed was a bit terrified he’d just ruined their sex life.
Clearly, he’d underestimated Stede Bonnet’s creativity.
Ed should’ve known he was in for a treat when he caught Stede woodworking in the backyard and was given a full presentation about all the features of the “blowjob stool” he was building, a seat designed to cushion and support Ed’s knee while putting him at perfect dick-sucking height.
Stede was endlessly thoughtful when adapting positions they already liked, too. Ed liked being taken from behind; they discovered that a pillow under his hips kept him comfortable and allowed him to keep his legs straight. When Ed missed looking into Stede’s eyes during sex, they experimented with variously supporting his knee with pillows or propping his ankle on Stede’s shoulder. Spooning, bent over a desk, the good ol’ 69… not all of Stede’s ideas or little inventions worked, but the ideas he had for supports to keep Ed comfortable meant it was the best sex Ed had ever had, full stop. It was really damn nice to be able to enjoy himself without worrying about being in pain.
The best parts, though, weren’t just the sex itself.
They’d found that Ed’s knee was least painful when his muscles were relaxed and when he was feeling good, so they often had a warm bath first. It was fun foreplay, and relaxing together while Stede rubbed tiger balm into the joint in the afterglow was the perfect way to snuggle and talk about what they’d enjoyed.
“I’m glad I told you,” Ed whispered one night, tracing their initials over Stede’s heart as they cuddled, Ed’s bad leg slung over Stede’s hip to keep it propped up.
“Me, too,” Stede said, kissing Ed’s cheek.
Ed was learning, still, that he’d never have to just put up with pain again. And it was soft, soft, as smooth and sweet as honey.
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Downpour
Din Djarin x GN!Reader
Summary: Leading a solitary, nomadic existence for much of his life means that Din Djarin has never cuddled up to someone he loves during a rainstorm. Until one night in his cabin on Nevarro, when unseasonably poor weather introduces him to one of life’s simple pleasures.
Word Count: 1k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: One suggestive line, Din having nightmares mentioned ✯ Author's Note: I miss the Razor Crest but daydreaming about domestic fluff in the cabin on Nevarro scratches an itch in my brain in all the best ways. I really want to cuddle with Din Djarin during a rainstorm. Is it too much to ask?! Thanks to @decembermidnight for betaing this one for me!! 🩷
✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯
The roof of the cabin on Nevarro has never felt like the most sturdy part of the modest-sized dwelling you share with your riduur. Especially not in the middle of an unseasonably fierce rainstorm, the severity of which has you groggily blinking awake in the pitch blackness.
Your immediate concern is for the mischievous child you tucked in just across the hallway shortly after sunset. You hope that the rain has not disturbed him and that he remains bundled in blankets, surrounded in his crib by the mountain of plushies which have been either bought for him by you and Din or gifted to him by the various people throughout the galaxy who cannot resist how charming he is.
Mercifully, your sensitive ears do not detect any wails. So, with Grogu seemingly still sleeping soundly, you turn your attention to his father. When you do not hear Din’s soft snores beside you, you vocalise your concern.
“Din, are you awake?” you mumble without turning around to face him.
Din shuffles towards you and wraps his arms around your waist. With a wordless response, he squeezes you tightly. You realise that Din is drawing comfort from your presence. Your heart grows heavy as you realise he must be alarmed by the rainstorm.
“Are you scared of the rain, my big scary Mandalorian?” you question. It is an attempt to lighten the mood, without fussing over him too much. You know how much such playful teasing gets underneath his skin.
“I’m not scared,” Din huffs.
You turn over, raising your eyebrows at him questioningly.
In the darkness, you can barely make out his handsome features. There is a soft light from the hallway, and you can faintly see his brown eyes sparkling slightly, even in the low light.
The lack of light is not an issue. You have mapped every inch of Din's face with your fingers and lips well enough to know that he will be furrowing his brow at you, exposing the wrinkle above the bridge of his nose that you love to gently trace with your fingertips whenever it becomes pronounced in times of stress.
You reach up to touch the lines of his face, as though you can ease all of his worries with just your touch, “What would all those bounties you once collected think if they could see you now?” you muse.
Din guffaws.
“Imagine if everyone you struck fear into the hearts of with merely your presence could see you now? Maybe they would feel silly for ever being so scared of a man who is scared of a little rainstorm…”
“Riduur…” Din warns, voice deep and firm.
He can excuse the teasing about the past. You have held him through enough bouts of sobbing in this very bunk after the visions which haunt him in slumber have torn him from sleep to earn the privilege of lightly teasing him. When nightmarish sights of his past sins overwhelmed him, you were always there, dutifully picking up his pieces.
But Din Djarin will never accept a charge of cowardice.
You know he is not seriously scared. Din is no coward. And he knows that you would never seriously lay such a charge at his door.
“You know I’m only teasing you, handsome,” you say with a wink you hope he can see.
You realise that Din has never lived somewhere for long enough to hear the rain pattering on the roof. His covert cloistered in the caves of Concordia. The Razor Crest was home but never docked in one place long enough for it to truly function as such.
The fact that until now, Din has been denied the simple pleasure of listening to a rainstorm in the arms of one you love is yet another detail of his life which brings you anguish.
“I think it’s very sweet, actually," you whisper, hoping he knows you meant no malice, "It's our first proper rainstorm in this cabin," you add, ensuring that he knows you understand this is new for him.
Despite how much Din's past makes your heart ache, you will not wallow in pity for him. Instead, it strengthens your resolve to make sure Din is loved every moment of the eternity he has vowed to spend with you.
You lean in for a gentle kiss, “Roll over and let me hold you, my love,” you whisper against his plush lips.
Din sighs and then leans in to kiss you again before he complies. A touch so slow and sweet, so different to the frenzied way his lips claimed yours hours before. Satisfied, he agrees to your proposal, flipping over with a grunt.
You position yourself so your chest is flush with his firm back, placing a kiss on the centre of his back, between his broad shoulders. Din sighs in contentment. You smile, relieved you can comfort him like this. It is a privilege unique to you out of everyone in the galaxy.
You slip your hands underneath the soft cotton shirt he wears to bed and absentmindedly trace circles onto the warm expanse of his stomach. His body is firm beneath your fingers thanks to his muscular physique; but there is a hint of softness there, which increases each year as he ages.
You do not mind one bit. It only makes his body better suited to cuddles.
This warrior who once terrified everyone is now a little softer at the edges, his toughness gradually eroded by the love he feels for his son and you, his riduur.
"Thank you," Din sleepily mumbles before he drifts off again, no longer disturbed by the thudding of the rain against the roof.
Fierce independence borne out of trauma had meant that Din had never previously known the simple pleasure of listening to rainfall pattering against the roof. It was a new reverberation, one initially alien and alarming to his highly attuned senses.
Fortunately, Din was not afraid for long. Now, he has you to hold him through the storm. There is no more fear or anxiety as he cuddles with you, his riduur, while the sound continues outside.
You whisper, "I love you, Din," before sleep's comforting embrace takes you too and you join Din somewhere peaceful. Far away from the downpour.
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Forget Me Not by Calais Reno
John gives up memories in order to save Sherlock.
Now the blue eye is focused on him, the brown one wandering. “Look at me, John. What happens in the mind is more than reason. You will not save him with cold, hard facts. Saving him will require your imagination.”
For just a second, both eyes line up. The world stills around him. He’s never felt so focused.
Thank you for reading and reblogging!
@mydogwatson @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @startrekker2011 @iamjustreading @original-welovethebeekeeper @meetinginsamarra @thegildedbee @chinike @peanitbear @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack @ninasnakie @13monkton @dissolvinggirl @confused-sherlockian @thesaltofcarthage @still-prefer-books @kestrelwing64 @luna06newman @whatnext2020 @demonicangeling @copperplatebeech @mxster-jocale @missdeliadili @loves-to-read-fanfic
#my fics#bbc sherlock#johnlock#john watson#amnesia#thank you for reblogging!#forget me not#many happy returns#speculative fiction
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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen
Rating: Explicit
Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen
Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.
Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm
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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen
AO3 Link
Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.
PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)
All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!
Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You
Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.
Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. “A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-”
“Hi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,” Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.
Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.
On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaena’s, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaena’s embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abby’s other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.
“I’m sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, he’ll retrieve the stag antlers for you,” Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. “He’ll love the opportunity to prove himself.” Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.
“Nay, Your Grace,” she said primly. “I would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.” Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmara’s own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.
“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,” she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. “But we’ll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. That’s how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.”
“That’s true,” Abby chimed in. “And you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? I’m sure falconry is in your blood.” Floris’ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.
Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. “This is true. I suppose I should practice.”
“Practice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,” Helaena continued. “My elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.”
Floris preened, leaning into Helaena’s side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abby’s heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaena’s ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaena’s care and attention. It did not go past Abby’s notice of Cassandra’s harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sister’s lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.
She’d be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.
As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. “With all that noise, they’re sure to scare away all their quarry,” Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.
The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on Kostōba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hull’s silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegon’s retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.
Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that he’d agreed to the offer, brushing off his mother’s gape mouthed indignation about it. “He’s the reason I still live, Mother,” Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightower’s anger that morning as they broke their fast. He’d brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.
Seeing Aegon’s confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.
“Good tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!” came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. “Good tidings to him on his nameday!”
“Good tidings!” came the call of the gathered crowd. “Prince Aegon!”
As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaena’s gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegon’s nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didn’t blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.
The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeron’s smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. “Allow me, my sister, ladies.”
As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brother’s hand tighten slightly around the girl’s fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.
The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Grover’s health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queen’s hands.
Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.
“Baela’s a Targaryen too,” Helaena muttered. “Why can’t they flock to her?”
The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.
“Because they’re afraid she’ll be a bad influence, I’m sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?” Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abby’s decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.
“Hasn’t Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?” Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaena’s, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.
“We’re doing the receiving line,” Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. “Aegon’s receiving his gifts and then we’ll have congratulations on the betrothal.” She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.
It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.
Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.
It was the King’s chair, but the king was not here.
“Are we to accompany you while you receive them?” Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.
“You look nice,” Abby told her with a small smile. “Not quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,” she teased and Wylla snorted.
“It’s a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. We’ll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things into…” She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. “Men waving around their big pointy things.”
“In a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,” Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. “And yes, I think you should. We’re receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.”
“And then we’ll go hawking,” Wylla said with a nod.
“I have to stay here,” Abby corrected with a shake of her head. “It is my duty to entertain with her Grace.”
The northerner’s brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friend’s skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “As I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully there’ll be time for me to go exploring later.” Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and she’d been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.
No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.
Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.
“Abrogail.”
Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.
The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl she’d been who he’d look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.
He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abby’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They’d only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.
“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”
“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.
Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh, “has not quite been pleased but…”
Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her Grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.
“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”
“Perhaps,” she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. “She was quite concerned about… the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.” Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day she’d been accused when coupled with Ser Edmund’s harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. “Apparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.” She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. “I have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.” Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.
“It will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,” Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake he’d plucked for himself. “What matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-”
“I may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know there’s only so much influence they have,” Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. “It will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?”
“Prince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,” he reminded her after swallowing. “I don’t recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.”
“Jeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,” she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemma’s siblings and half-siblings. She’d even traced her own tree: Harwin’s mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmo’s sister. Larys and Corynna’s mother had been a Frey. Abby’s mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. “And if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.”
She’d heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wife’s death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.
Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baela’s silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.
Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. “Ah, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?”
Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine she’d named Caelus was a little wonder. He’d been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but there’d always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.
“He did, and I know we brought him. The queen…” Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. “She said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That it’s my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.”
“Oh, did she?” Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. “Yes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.”
Rhaenyra should be here. She was the King’s eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abby’s spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?
Alone now, save for Larys.
‘Not alone anymore’, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.
This marriage, Alicent’s desire for control, Lord Otto’s keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegon’s pain was because of Rhaenyra.
Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.
“I am here when others are not,” she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piper’s wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abby’s gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.
Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.
“If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.”
Abby was not queen. She wasn’t certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didn’t matter, they would see what they wished.
“Lady Sarra,” Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicent’s eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. “I did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?”
Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.
“I don’t have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,” she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.
“That is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.” Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. “My legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?”
Even Baela’s mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princess’ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.
“Are we not taking a carriage?” Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.
“It is not a far walk,” Abby assured her. “And it’s nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.” She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.
“You all left so quickly!” she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandra’s dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?
This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.
“Of course, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “We would be happy to have you.” Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandra’s shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her family’s strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinor’s responding smile was kinder.
“Congratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,” Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandra’s eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.
“Yes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,” she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. “How comforting it must be to wed one’s childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.”
The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.
“Not to mention wedding a childhood playmate means there’s no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,” she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. “Now let’s fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.”
Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.
She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the ‘odd workings of an overactive imagination.’ That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.
‘He’ll have to lose an eye’.
“Would you care for some company?” came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?
“You’re not gallivanting with the boys?” Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jace’s gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only ‘boys’ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.
Or if he were lonely.
“I didn’t want to…” Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didn’t know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her mother’s frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemond’s nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegon’s day because of everything that happened.
The dead look in Mother’s eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.
All of them pinned to boards in the king’s Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.
The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that she’d been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.
Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.
Half fire.
Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.
Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.
Half fire.
‘But I am full flame,’’ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragon’s power. ‘Would this be what her nieces and nephews be?’ Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.
She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. “Thank you,” she said softly and Jace smiled at her. “Pity it’s not another marchpane tentacle.” He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.
“It was nice to dance with you at the feast,” he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where he’d wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.
“You're a good dancer. I should know, I’m a good dancer myself.” She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didn’t. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didn’t look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.
Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didn’t know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.
His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply… different.
“The mint winds and chokes like ivy,” she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. “The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.” She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. “I-.”
He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Helaena, are you-”
A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jace’s hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. “I’m taking you back to your tent, Helaena,” he said firmly. “We don’t know what’s- Ow!”
She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so he’d let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that he’d be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jace’s cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogail’s tent that was the source of the screaming.
Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyre’s scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.
On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.
“He-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-”
“I don’t know where he came from!” Abby’s trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. “I don’t…” She gulped. “I don’t think he meant Wylla to b-be there.” Her free hand was gripping the back of Wylla’s dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder.
“Give me the poker, Lady Abrogail,” he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. “There’s a girl.”
Harrion Karstark was shouting his sister’s name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.
Then, Aegon’s shout of, “Abby!” came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brother’s frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. “What happened?”
The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.
“This man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said. “Lady Wylla got him good.” His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.
“Did you throw it?” he asked. “Or did you pounce on him?”
Wylla blinked, her brother’s broad hands holding her shoulders. “I stabbed him.” Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. “He… I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion… I thought…” Wylla’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “He came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I just…”
Harrion’s hands tightened on his sister’s shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemond’s mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.
It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. “Well he’s dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.” He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. “Keep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.”
Wylla’s brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.
“I was half asleep,” Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. “At first I th-thought it was Wylla…” Helaena watched Abby’s hand clutch Aegon’s arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.
“How the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my lady’s tent?” Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayne’s had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. “Where were the patrols, Ser Criston?”
Their mother’s protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. “The patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.”
Aegon’s jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemond’s tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.
“Lady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,” Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. “And we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.” She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. “This is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,” she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. “These ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.” The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.
And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abby’s hand to pull her toward her tent.
Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them.
Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.
#hotd fic#hotd oc#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii targaryen x oc#aegon ii targaryen fic#house of the dragon#aegon ii targaryen fanfic#aegon targaryen fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd fandom#house targaryen fanfic#jacelaena#my fics#oc: abrogail strong#otp: do not go far from me#aegon x abby#abrogon
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~ Little Update on Fic Updates ~
I'm just gonna make this post 'cause I've been getting a couple of questions about fic updates lately. I know it's been a bit.
What's going on?
TL;DR - I've had some medical concerns, burnout & life events in general going on that's been slowing me down (hence my quietness in general). I've been focusing on taking care of myself & I'm trying to recharge for ya! <3
When will the updates come next?
I am working more slowly to prevent wrist strain (one area of concern that is getting treated, LMAO). I can estimate that I'll get 1-2 updates out this week.
What will be updated first?
My goals, in order of how I want to approach updating them in general:
The Dichotomy In Our Hearts (Outline fully completed, started writing a few pages)
Bet You'll Fall in Love With Me (Outline fully completed, somewhat started writing)
Sweet & Sour Dipplins (ideas currently brewing)
Also taking suggestions for the next chapter of Sweet & Sour "What If", but I'll likely work on this in a few weeks.
Are you going to be okay?
Yep! Lately it's been crunch time, but again, I've been trying to focus on taking care of myself. I will actually be updating more frequently once some major responsibilities die down real soon, and I'm actually looking forward to it! So stay tuned & keep me updated on your thoughts - they keep me going more than anything!!
Thank you for your support & patience. <3
With love,
dipplinduo
#updates#my fics#dipplinshipping#kieran pokemon#kieran x juliana pokemon#juliana x kieran pokemon#kieran x juliana#juliana pokemon#juliana x kieran#mintteashipping#drayton pokemon#carmine pokemon#drayton x carmine#carmine x drayton#carmine x drayton pokemon#drayton x carmine pokemon
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✧ ˚ BREAK THE CHAIN
˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚ Donnie Barksdale x Reader x Kevin Lomax
CW: toxic and abusive marriage, physical abuse, possessive and jealous behaviour, threats of violence.
Synopsis: during the turmoil of your divorce proceedings against your abusive husband, you and your lawyer confront your husband's relentless refusal to accept the end of your marriage. 2.6k words.
˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚
“How can he do this? How can he get away with spewing such venomous lies about me? He knows the truth. He knows what he put me through. Why can’t he just admit it?!” you emerge from the courthouse, alongside your lawyer Kevin, trying to seek some reassurance after yet another gruelling day in your divorce hearing. You’re on the verge of tears, wondering how much more of this you can take before you reach breaking point.
In a desperate attempt to tarnish your reputation and undermine your credibility, your soon-to-be-ex-husband, Donnie, and his sleaze-ball of a lawyer, hurled accusations of infidelity and deceit against you, claiming that any abuse you endured during your marriage had not been at the hands of your husband. His entire defence was built on a lie, shifting the accusation of abuse onto fabricated lovers, stating that you were trying to pin the blame on him and make him out to be a monster.
The touch of Kevin’s hand grounds you, takes control and pulls you back to reality before you spiral any further. Gently brushing the soft pad of his thumb against your knuckles, you can’t help but compare how smooth and gentle his hands feel to the rough and calloused texture you were used to feeling from Donnie’s.
“Listen to me,” Kevin’s velvet tone pulls your focus away from your intertwined hands and you look up into his gentle eyes that are full of calm determination. “Donnie is grasping at straws, he can make as many accusations as he pleases just don’t let them get to you. These claims only show how desperate he is to regain control over the narrative. His lies hold no weight in the eyes of the law, they’re nothing but baseless accusations. We have the truth on our side, nothing can change that.”
“What if the truth isn’t enough?” you worry, casting your gaze downward. Your mind is plagued with doubt, brought on by the accusations of betrayal to dismantle your claims of abuse.
“Trust me, Y/N,” Kevin gently takes your chin between his finger and thumb to guide your gaze back towards him. “I’ve got this, alright? Donnie will slip up eventually.” promise radiates from his gaze, while he speaks with unwavering confidence.
For Kevin, litigating a case is like playing chess, he has the skill to anticipate every move the opposition will make and he has every counterattack planned in advance. He knows when to sit back and observe and when to strike, possessing the ability to unravel an opponents case with strategic attacks that ultimately secure victories for his clients. He has no reason to believe this case will be any different.
You draw strength from Kevin’s optimism, like a soothing balm over your doubts and anxieties, once again the gentle brush of his thumb against your knuckles grounds you.
“If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I could get through this.” you mumble as you rest your forehead against Kevin’s shoulder, in return you feel his arm wrap around you, offering the comfort you were seeking.
“Enough of that,” Kevin’s melodic accent whispers in your ear, soft and mellow, as he pulls you closer. “You’re strong, Y/N, stronger than you know, you hear me? I’ll be by your side you every step of the way but don’t for a second underestimate your own strength and resilience.”
Before you can respond, the shrill sound of Kevin’s ringtone interrupts the moment. Withdrawing his embrace, he digs into his suit pocket to pull out his phone and inspect the caller ID.
“I oughta take this real quick. Wait right here, I won’t be a minute.” he sighs while offering an apologetic glance for the disturbance. Your focus lingers on Kevin as he jogs down the remaining steps of the courthouse to take his call in private.
As you stand alone, your attention focused on Kevin as he takes his call, Donnie lurks in the distance, like a predator stalking its prey. His menacing glare is pinned directly on you as he seizes the opportunity and closes in on you. Only once his rough grip is sending a jolt of pain through your arm, do you realise you’re no longer alone.
“We need us a li’l chat away from all these folk tryna fill your head with bullshit.” Donnie’s menacing drawl growls in your ear, dripping with venom as he roughly hauls you to the secluded side of the courthouse, away from prying eyes.
“That slick-talkin’ lawyers got some nerve wrappin’ his arms ‘round what don’t belong to him, I reckon he’s tryna steal you away from me.” Donnie’s rugged face is inches from yours as he cages you in against the red brick wall. “Now you might think I’m stupid but I ain’t blind to what’s been happenin’. You and that fancy lawyer of yours been fuckin’ for months behind my back, ain’t that right?”
“No, Donnie.” your breath shudders through your quivering voice as your estranged husband intimidatingly looms over you. “You’re wrong.”
“Bullshit, Y/N!” Donnie’s tone is laced with distrust as he narrows his suspicious eyes down at you. “Ain’t no way you’d be divorcin’ me if it weren’t for that son-of-a-bitch tryna lead you astray. He’s the one behind this whole fuckin’ mess, whispering his poison in your ear since the start, ‘cause I know you ain’t got the money for no know-it-all lawyer like him, so somethin’ ain’t adding up right.”
“Donnie, that’s enough. Let her go.” Your heart leaps at the sound of Kevin’s commanding voice breaking through the tense atmosphere.
Donnie’s head whips around in the lawyers direction with thunderous expression. “Mind your business, Lomax. This is between me and my wife.”
“It is my business when someone’s threatening my client.” Kevin stands his ground as he confidently steps between you and Donnie. “Now leave her alone otherwise you’ll leave me no choice but to get the police involved. And I’ll give you this tip for free, Donnie — getting arrested for harassment sure as shit ain’t gonna do your case any favours. So if I were you, I’d be on my way.”
With a huff through his flared nostrils and his chest heaving with rage, Donnie begrudgingly relents and takes a step back. “This ain’t over, you hear me?” he stubbornly reminds you both as he takes leisurely steps back with his chin raised in defiance. “I’ll be damned if I let any man think he can steal what’s mine.”
With one final menacing glare, Donnie storms off towards his pickup truck leaving you trembling against the brick wall as all the tension floods out your body. Kevin’s arms are around you within an instant, offering you the security and care you desperately need.
“Told you he’d slip up, didn’t I?” Kevin’s voice carries a subtle note of triumph as he rests his chin against the top of your head.
˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚
“Mr. Barksdale, earlier in this trial, you made some rather bold accusations against my client, Mrs. Y/N Barksdale. Accusations of infidelity and deceit. Is that correct?” With a professional tone, Kevin addresses Donnie, who is sitting at the witness stand.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Donnie responds as he shifts uncomfortably, his dark eyes bounce between you and Kevin.
“And yet, despite the seriousness of these accusations, you have provided no evidence to support these claims.” Kevin confidently paces in front of the witness stand but his challenging glare never leaves Donnie. “Meanwhile my client, Mrs. Barksdale has provided the court with medical records documenting incidents of abuse at your hands.”
You notice a subtle twitch on Donnie’s face as he momentarily glances away, a sight you were all too familiar with when he was trying to hold back the anger that was starting to boil beneath the surface.
“Just ‘cause she got some bruises don’t mean I put them there.” Donnie shrugs, triggering an uncomfortable twist in your gut as you watch him so nonchalantly reject accountability for the hell he put you through.
"Mr. Barksdale, the medical records clearly indicate patterns of injury consistent with physical abuse," Kevin rebuts, while maintaining a firm and professional manner. "These are not just 'some bruises.' They are documented evidence of repeated incidents of violence against my client."
"Just 'cause she's got some marks, suddenly it's all my fault?” he scoffs, his voice laced with contempt. “Them injuries could've come from any one of them men she was runnin' around with behind my back.”
“You know, Mr. Barksdale, it's getting rather tiresome hearing about these mysterious lovers of Mrs. Barksdale's that you've yet to prove the existence of.” Kevin rolls his eyes as a note of boredom enters his tone.
Donnie’s jaw clenches tightly as he glares at Kevin, fury burning within the dark shadows of his eyes and his nostrils flaring as he barely maintains his composer. A pulsating vein on the side of his neck displays the rage that is threatening to erupt at any moment. Donnie decides to keep his lips sealed.
“Mr. Barksdale, during your marriage to Mrs. Y/N Barksdale, did you ever exhibit signs of jealousy or possessiveness.” Kevin smoothly continues his cross examination, undeterred by Donnie’s visible signs of anger.
Donnie’s face twitches with irritation as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his darkened gaze briefly flickers in your direction before settling back on Kevin.
“I fail to see how it’s any of your damn business.” Donnie’s voice is twinged with the slightest hint of a growl as his chest starts visibly heaving with his poorly concealed rage.
“Order!” The judge immediately scolds Donnie for the slip of his tongue. “Answer the question, Mr. Barksdale.”
“I reckon every man’s got a right to protect what belongs to him.” Donnie finally admits through thinly veiled irritation.
“Is that what you call it, Mr. Barksdale?” Kevin leans forward slightly, as he steps closer to the witness stand. “Is that what you were doing yesterday, outside this very courthouse, when you forcibly hauled my client out of sight of any potential witnesses and pinned her against a wall with the intention of intimidating her?”
Leaning forward in his seat, Donnie grips the edge of the witness stand until his knuckles turn white. “You got some goddamn nerve twistin’ the truth like that.” his menacing voice rises with fury. “I was tryna have a private conversation with my wife but you can’t resist stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong. You’re nothin’ but a snake in a fancy suit, tryna fill my wife’s head with your poison and steal her away for yourself but I ain’t gonna let you have her. She’s my goddamn wife! Mine! She belongs to me and no ones gonna tell me any different!”
“Order!” once again the judge pipes up with an authoritative tone, trying to control Donnie’s outburst. “Mr. Barksdale, I will not tolerate that kind of hostility in my court! This is your final warning.”
“Your honour, I believe Mr. Barksdale’s temperament speaks for itself,” Kevin calmly addresses the judge in a composed manner. “His outburst here today offers us a glimpse at the mere surface of the ongoing abuse and intimation my client has endured throughout her marriage to Mr. Barksdale. I have no further questions.”
“Mr. Barksdale, you are on thin ice. One more outburst like that, and I will hold you in contempt of court. Do you understand?” The judge turns to Donnie with a disapproving frown after acknowledging Kevin’s statement.
Donnie offers the judge a curt nod, but the his clenched jaw and sneering expression betray the anger that is still running through his veins like boiling hot magma.
As soon as Kevin sits back down beside you, your hand is immediately enveloped by his, the soft touch is a soothing comfort easing the discomfort and tension that still lingers within from Donnie’s outburst.
“You alright?” Kevin whispers, his eyes radiating concern as gives your hand a gentle squeeze, understanding how triggering hearing Donnie’s outburst might have been for you. When you offer him a silent nod, he sends you a wink that you find comforting, as it showcases his ease and confidence. “It’s almost over now.”
˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚
“After careful consideration of the evidence presented in this case, it is clear to this court that Mrs. Y/N Barksdale has endured significant hardship and abuse at the hands of her husband, Mr. Donnie Barksdale. Therefore, it is the ruling of this court that the divorce petition filed by Mrs. Y/N Barksdale be granted. Additionally, a restraining order shall be issued against Mr. Donnie Barksdale, prohibiting any contact with Mrs. Barksdale or her immediate family. Furthermore, Mr. Donnie Barksdale shall be required to undergo anger management counselling and attend regular check-ins with a court-appointed counsellor to ensure compliance with the terms of this ruling.” As the judge announces the ruling, a wave of overwhelming relief rips through your body. Raising a trembling hand to you mouth you sob into your palm as you look at Kevin, just to make sure you are hearing correctly.
The smile of triumph Kevin’s face is enough to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, as sobs of relief continue to shake through you, Kevin pulls you into his embrace. Leaving a kiss on your forehead, his soft hand gently strokes your back, soothing the overwhelming emotion that has taken over your senses. His comforting clean scent envelopes you as you burrow into the crook of his neck and wrap your own arms around his shoulders.
“Let’s get you outta here.” Kevin whispers in your ear, before he helps you out your seat, a sturdy arm around your waist keeping you steady. Only once your on your feet do you realise Donnie is being restrained by security as his fury filled eyes glare daggers at you full of unrestrained rage and malice.
“You filthy whore! You connivin’ bitch! You think you can just walk away from me?!” Donnie’s thunderous voice echos through the courtroom as he’s held back by two security guards, his body thrashing to escape their unyielding hold. His long hair flying around his face as he spits and snarls like a wild beast. “You’ll never get rid of me! You and that damn fuckin’ snake of a lawyer! I’ll hunt you both down, you fuckin’ hear me?”
Kevin tries to get you away from the commotion as quickly as possible with a protective arm around you, urging you to not look at your now ex-husband as he swiftly ushers you out of the courthouse.
As the sunlight strokes your face, you take a deep breath of the cool breeze that welcomes you like a reprieve, sweeping away any echo of Donnie’s rage that still rung in your ears. You lean into Kevin’s side, grateful for his steady and calm presence beside you.
“You’re free now, Y/N. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Kevin whispers into your ear with a confident assurance, dismissing the validity of Donnie’s threats. When you lean your head against his shoulder, he cups the nape of your neck before leaving a tender his on your temple.
“I wanna get away from here.” you whisper, as Kevin gently tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze.
“I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go.” Kevin promises without any hesitation, “just tell me where.”
Kevin’s promise makes anything seem possible, like no dream is too big and by his side you truly feel like the world is your oyster.
“I’ve always wanted to visit New York…” you look up at Kevin, your eyes over brimming with hope for a new beginning.
“New York it is.” Kevin smiles down at you, mirroring the yearning for an adventure in your eyes and he takes your hand in his and leads you towards his convertible.
⋆｡°✩ note i: in the beginning I kinda wanted to leave Kevin and readers relationship up to interpretation but I think that ending gives away the fact that they’re a little more than just lawyer and client.
⋆｡°✩ note ii: I have an idea for a prequel revolved around how Kevin and reader met and began their affair which I might work on depending on the response to this fic!
#keanu reeves#kevin lomax#kevin lomax x reader#donnie barksdale#donnie barksdale x reader#the devils advocate#the gift#my fics
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pray, but heaven won’t let you back
Paring: vampire!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader
Summary: Since the night Steve lost control, he’s been pushing away, afraid to hurt you again. You’ll do anything to convince him you still trust him, even giving into the bloodlust he’s tried to avoid. || fic inspired by this post.
WC: 3k
CW/Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, language, vampire nonsense/lore, blood play & blood sucking/feeding (nothing gory but still be cautious if you’re squeamish), mutual masturbation, dirty talk, lots of fluff and aftercare at the end
this is a modern vampire AU! can (kinda) be read as a standalone, but it’s a follow up to love’s the death of peace of mind and the bitter and the sweet.
A/N: i will never get sick of vampire!steve, so here’s another lil fic based off this post i saw earlier lmao. song title & lyrics are from worship - ari abdul. enjoy babes <3
pretty when you say my name like that / feel your lips trace down my neck / darlin', don't say nothin', just breathe
pretty when you're looking up like that / pray but Heaven won't let you back / good on your knees
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
It took one close call to push both you and Steve to question if you were right for one another. One slip up, where his lust for your blood called to him louder than usual; louder than your moans he earned through a skilled tongue you never grew tired of.
It took one close call for Steve to become rigid, self discipline at its height in your relationship.
It took one close call to set your desire in stone; you wanted Steve to turn you, wanted to join him in an eternity of a life you once believed wasn’t real.
Blood play wasn’t foreign before that night, but it was always controlled, always with moderation and care. Now that Steve lost control, even only for a minute, he didn’t trust himself with you. He began growing distant, physically and emotionally, and it was burrowing under your skin, deeper and deeper as time carried on.
Steve still loved you, and though you could tell because of his avoidant behavior, it hurt. It was for your sake, your safety, and he made that clear; yet you were becoming lonely and agitated without his touch.
Even beyond lust, you just wanted him to hold you, and you wanted to hold him. You missed the way he’d play pretend, acting irritated when you’d kiss him one too many times on the cheek in a day. You longed for the way either of you would roll over in your sleep, searching for the other subconsciously. You felt like a stranger to him, a ghost in the walls of the home you shared with him.
Maybe you were foolish to believe this love could last; this all started with a Halloween party hookup, after all. Just another pathetic mortal that fell prey to a vampire’s charm.
You’re getting ready to go out with some friends when something breaks Steve, just enough for him to see he’s losing you, letting you slip through his fingers that once held you tightly with possession and protection.
Sitting at the vanity, the warmth of the lights lining mirror feels good on your skin. It’s not that you avoid the daylight for Steve’s sake; the lore of vampires burning up in the sunlight was nothing more than a myth. The sun does, however, irritate the fuck out of most vampires, still too bright, but bothersome in a sensory overload sort of way more than threatening. But since the night Steve lost control, and you began losing him, you rarely left bed these days.
You deserved to feel the warmth, any warmth, after receiving a cold shoulder from Steve for awhile now. You’ve lost track of the days he began to back away, but it’s far too long despite the specifics.
While you’re fixing your makeup, wrapped in a long, silky, dusty rose robe, Steve walks in; he’s surprised to find you not only up and out of bed, but all dolled up, too.
“H- hey, love.” He goes to lean against the doorframe, but miscalculates how close he is to the frame, falling into it instead. You stifle a laugh, watching his figure fumble in your peripheral vision as you dust blush along your cheeks.
“Hi.”
He holds his breath while crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for a follow up with an expectant smile; it falls flat when you continue to ignore him.
“So… going somewhere?”
You still won’t look at him, another response multitasked as you work on your eye makeup. “Uh-huh.”
Steve’s eyes catch on the deep red, silky dress you have waiting for a night out, hung up on the door by its hanger. “Th- you’re going out in that?” He remembers gifting it to you for the holidays, joking he could never let you out of his sight if you wore it in public; he trusted you, but surely not any men around you.
Now, you’re planning on wearing it for the first time while out with your friends, and not him. Jealousy bubbles up within him.
“Your observational skills are great, Steve.” Your response is so harsh; even you feel bad for giving the frost right back to him.
“Thought you’d save it for one of our date nights,” He grumbles, like a child. You finally glance over at him, eyes narrowing as they meet his.
“What, do I need your permission to wear it?”
“No, don’t twist my words.”
“Steve, this is the most you’ve talked to me in weeks.” You leave the vanity to change into your dress. With a quick tug of the tie of your robe, it slinks to the floor. Your back is to him, missing the way his jaw slacks to the floor at the sight of your lingerie set: a red, lacy set that hugs your curves deliciously; another gift from him, one without reason. “What, are you jealous? I’m done moping around and waiting for your attention.”
Steve loved showering you in gifts, especially in his favorite color— how typical of a vampire to love the color red; though you tried insisting you needed nothing more but him, he couldn’t help himself from spoiling you.
A groan slips out of him as two things push to the front of his mind:
He’s painfully aroused, tenting in his tight pants, in need of relief.
That, and the bloodlust he’s been fighting since that close call is back, full force.
One minute, you’re reaching for the dress to change into, the next, he’s shoving you against the nearest wall. You gasp as he pins your arms above your head with one large hand easily holding both of your wrists.
“Steve—“
“Might wanna text your friends, let ‘em know you’re running late.” He rolls his hips into yours roughly, earning the first pleasing sound from you tonight; you whimper and pout as his other hand grabs you by the chin, grip hard. “Oh, princess, am I throwing your night off?”
You can’t bring yourself to answer while his hand leaves your face, wasting no time to grope your chest with a cruel touch. You arch into his grip and mewl, eyes fluttering shut as he kicks your legs apart before slotting a leg against your core. Instinctively, you grind onto his thigh, heat already sticky through the lacy fabric you wear.
“Might not make it there at all, huh?” He’s mocking you, taunting you, and you’re infuriated. You’re pissed he’s pulling this after weeks of being distant, and you’re really pissed at yourself for instantly melting under his touch.
Pushing through the haze of desire, you glare at him. “Steve, enough.”
“Oh, c’mon, since when are you not into—“
“I said enough.”
You’re trying to steady your breaths as you hold a cold stare with him; his features falter, hands releasing you before stepping back.
“I’m sorry,” Any and all confidence is thrown out the window as he shrinks under your vexed gaze. “I- I— I’ve just— fuck. I fucked up, alright?”
You’re nowhere near as strong as him, yet when you push him back with your hand on his chest, he stumbles back. You push him again, and again, and once more, until the backs of his legs hit the bed, throwing his balance off. He falls back onto the mattress, panting lightly as his stare is fixated on you above him.
“You can’t do this shit, Steve. You can’t touch me when you want then leave me alone like nothing matters. I told you I’m not afraid of you, I trust you.”
“Yeah, and I cracked any trust by losing control—“
“Steve, this is who you are!” You reach out, cradling his head in your hands on either side of his face. He can’t resist leaning into your touch, guilt playing up on his features. “I’ve accepted that from the start. I’ve accepted the risk since the first night together. What I didn’t accept or agree to was being treated like a total stranger by the one I love most.”
“I know. I know. I just wanted to keep you safe. All I want is for you to be safe, and happy. All I want is for you to feel loved, and I hurt you instead. I’m sorry.” He sounds so pained, nuzzling into your palm while he grabs your arm, pushing your hand against his face harder.
Aside from the last few weeks, there have never been moments where you felt shoved away, or less than Steve. And now, it’s only happening because he thought it would protect you. Just the honest admission alone shows you he meant well, even if he hurt you. It wasn’t intentional, just like the night he lost control. He knows he hurt you, but it was never intentional.
You can tell Steve is fighting the instinctual hunger for your blood; his eyes are dark with desire, but teetering on the edge of falling into that deep red shade that could only signal trouble. His grip on your arm shakes as he restrains himself from overpowering you again.
You try to keep him with you, asking softly, “Make it up to me?”
“H- how? I’ll do anything, anything you want, love.” His breaths run shallow as you straddle his lap, hands snaking around to the back of his head; you gently push his face towards your neck, but he leans back. “I— okay, anything but— honey, I can’t.”
“You want to.”
“Doesn’t m- mean I should.” Steve is so conflicted; he wants this, he needs you. You want him, you need him, too. But it’s a risk with the odds against him.
“I’m giving you the green light, Steve.” You kiss his forehead, then his cheek, leading to his lips. Before you kiss them, you murmur, “I trust you.”
He closes the gap with a frantic kiss, one arm slinking around your hips to your back, the other exploring your body clumsily. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, fangs scraping along the skin. You yelp, and Steve stops.
“Love, we— this is—“ His gaze sinks deeper into that shade of red you once knew as a signal for danger, but you trust him. You know him. You know he’d never take it too far, not to a level where you couldn’t handle it. “You’re not— I’m not ready to turn you yet—“
“I didn’t expect that. I wouldn’t complain, but I promise that’s not what I’m asking for right now.” You roll your hips onto his bulge, strained under the tight fabric of his pants still. “I’m just asking you to trust me. Trust me, to trust you.”
Steve searches your gaze for any doubt, any signs of faltering or second guessing; there’s only certainty and adoration. You nod softly, encouraging him once more.
In a flash, you’re thrown to the pillows at the top of the bed, landing on them with a surprised laugh. Steve crawls above you, with a warm smile of his own, despite the red in his gaze.
“You’ll stop me if—“
“Yes, yeah, just—“
He cuts you off with a rough kiss, fangs poking at your lips before he kisses along your jawline, trailing to your neck. When he reaches the crook of your neck, he sucks softly, earning airy moans from you while you grab him by his shirt. He laughs breathily into your skin, tickling you.
“Starting to think you like this more than I do,” He teases after pulling off your neck, spit with a hint of red dripping from the corner of his mouth. You nod with a dazed giggle, a sound he’s missed so, so dearly since pushing away. “I’m so sorry, love.” He ducks into your neck again, murmuring in between kisses, “You’re my everything.”
Stealing the spotlight from your answer, he tests the waters by sinking his fangs into your neck, ever so slightly. You gasp, arching up into him.
“Sensitive little thing,” He teases, kitten licking at the few drops of blood on your skin. He delves back in, sinking his fangs a little deeper. A sharp, pained gasp leaves your lips, and it’s almost enough to make him stop, but it dissolves into a satisfied moan. “What’d you think was gonna happen tonight? You’d find someone else?”
Here comes the possessive attitude you always crave.
“N- no, don’t want anyone else but you.”
He’s lapping at the blood now, sucking intermittently as it flows out. He’s in such a heady daze, beginning to whimper into your skin.
“S’what I thought, princess.” He sucks stronger this time, groaning into you as he feeds. “Fuck, y’taste so goddamn good, love.”
You’re reaching the dizzy, intoxicating thrill achieved only when Steve takes you like this. The only sensation that has ever come close is when he chokes you, plays with your air and blood flows, but it’s never the same as when he feeds off your blood.
Giggly and growing lightheaded, the pain has become full pleasure to you at this point. “You ever cum from sucking blood?” The question is silly, to you, but not to Steve. He lets out a guttural moan, mouth still on your skin. The teamwork of his fangs in your neck, his lips sucking blood out, and his tongue soothing over the wounds make you whine and writhe underneath him.
“Every time y’let me drink yours— f- fuck—“
You didn’t even notice his pants were finally down, halfway, at least; he’s fisting his cock, precum spilling onto you from his rosy, swollen tip while he continues to work at your neck. The noises he makes are pornographic at this point. You reach around to hold him, hand to the back of his head, cradling him close.
“Touch yourself, love.”
Obeying, your other hand slides down between the two of you, fingers finally meeting your clit. You lazily rub in circles, eyes fluttering shut with a blissed out smile. “Steve…”
“This turns you on just as much as it does for me, huh?” You always gonna be fucked out every time I drink from you?”
You nod, head in the clouds; the two of your hands continue to bump against one another every so often, setting off little grunts and whimpers. “Uh-huh…”
“Imagine h- how wrecked you’ll be when I…” His hips stutter as he continues jerking off. “… when I turn you. Might like sucking blood more than y’like sucking my cock.”
You gasp at his words, nodding wildly as he pulls back, looking down at you with devotion and desire.
“You doin’ okay, love?” Steve asks, shuddering, close to his high. “Can I- I- m’so close…”
You hum with a dopey smile, “Here,” is all you can manage to say as you pull your bra down, exposing your chest. Steve only lasts a second longer before he finally reaches his high, spilling onto your tits as he moans lowly, echoing against the walls. The sight of him coming undone above you, the feeling of his spend against your skin, the intoxication of losing blood, it’s all more than enough to follow him with your own climax.
Moaning for only a moment, Steve pushes forward, crashing his lips into yours, melding together with the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue. When he pulls back, you’re left panting sleepily, fucked out despite only getting off from your own touch and his fangs in your neck.
“Love, you know it’ll be hard to turn you knowing I’d have to give this up, right?” You reach up to him, gently touching his face. He takes your hand in his, kissing the back of your knuckles softly.
“S’okay, we can wait a lil’ longer.” You watch the shade of red in his eyes settle into the calm, muted red they usually are. Before you can praise him for being successful in holding himself under control, he kisses you quickly.
“Stay here, gonna get some stuff to clean up,” He does exactly that, returning with towels to clean off with and a first aid kit. He hands over a water bottle to you, careful not to make you spill it as he runs his tongue softly along the wounds, healing them with ease as he’s done plenty of times before. The first aid kit is kind of useless by now, but he still properly cleans around the newly healed wounds.
When Steve finishes, he gently lifts your head up toward his, searching for any signs of distress. “How’re you feeling?”
“Sleepy.”
He nods, “No tingling or weird feelings like last time, right?”
“Right,” You smile, curling up next to him with a content sigh. “Can we take a bubble bath?”
“You’re half asleep,” Shaking his head, he chuckles, “I don’t want you to drown.”
“Says the guy who just stabbed my neck with his teeth.”
“Yeah, you’re fine. The sass is back.” Then he remembers, you had plans. “Hey, did you get to tell your friends you weren’t coming? Sorry for stealing your night, love.”
“I didn’t have plans, just was hoping that’d get your attention finally,” You snuggle even closer, resting your head on his chest. Meanwhile, he scoffs out a laugh as he finds out you tricked him. He couldn’t even be mad, though, because it worked. Breaking his thoughts, you mutter, “You did it, y’know.”
Steve’s brows furrow, “What’d I do?” He’s lost, assuming you’re babbling sleepily.
“Your eyes changed back. You didn’t lose control.” You’re falling into slumber fast. “I meant it when I said I trust you, Steve.”
He kisses the top of your head, arms holding you close. “I trust you, love. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
You’re down for the count, only able to murmur back, “Love you, Steve.” He watches as your breaths fall low and steady, finding safety and comfort while the two of you are back where you belong— in each other’s arms.
Steve’s nowhere near ready to turn you, but when the time comes, he’s certain it’s part of both of your futures, intertwined into one. He knows now the two of you are meant to spend eternity together.
Until then, he’ll cherish this complicated love between human and vampire; he’ll cherish you as you are now, before that becomes a mere memory once he brings you over to his side of life.
Eyes growing heavy, Steve whispers to you, now fast asleep, “I love you, too. ‘Til the end of time.”
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington smut#vampire!steve harrington#my fics#pray but heaven won’t let you back
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Can I have whip and infection for thw prompt list? If not, just whip is fine :)
For sure ;) (For this prompt list)
Whip/Infection
The whip comes down with a violent crack, a flash of fiery pain licking Leon's split flesh as he jerks against the chains holding his hands above his head and sucks in a ragged breath. He can barely see through the reflexive tears blurring him vision, lost in a haze until another snap of leather drags him back to momentary awareness with a strangled scream. The metal grating of the cargo ship digs painfully into his knees through the fabric of his tactical pants, stifling air doing little to soothe the inflamed, angry wounds opening on his back with every lash.
His muscles lock up when yet another comes down, the twentieth--thirtieth? He's lost count--strangled cry scraping through his trachea. Strands of damp hair hang limply in front of his eyes, teeth chattering despite the heat. He can't breathe right.
Leon hazes in and out of consciousness as blows continue to rain down, time warping in the wake of the all-encompassing burn. He comes back to himself just long enough to find two of the sailors untying his hands, the bearded man he recognizes vaguely as their leader stepping forwards to crouch in front of Leon's limp form.
"Let's hope you've learned your lesson, hm?" He sneers, nodding to the sailors. They hoist Leon to his feet by the arms, the pain of muscles flexing along his back enough to send Leon spiralling into darkness. He only returns to daylight when his body hits the floor of the cell they've been keeping him in, a tiny moan all he can manage as the agony races up and down his mangled back. He sobs.
"The hell did they do to you, rookie?" a gruff voice asks, and then there are large hands on Leon's shoulders, holding him in place as he tries and fails to lift his head.
"Krauser," he slurs, and blacks out.
He drifts for a long time, eyelids flickering open every so often. Whatever he sees must not make sense, because he dips back under every time, sleep drawing him into its soothing embrace. All the while, the flames grow in intensity, burning down through his damaged back and into the rest of his body. The next time he manages to pry his eyelids apart, his very bones have been turned to embers, whimpering at the sheer agony that seems to pulse through every fibre.
"Hang in there," Krauser says from above, broad figure barely visible when Leon turns his head weakly to the side. His lips are dry, throat parched when he tries to speak. There's something damp on the back of his neck, a spot of coolness that does little to put out the fire. He shivers.
"Wha--" Leon swallows, panting for breath. "What--"
"Take it easy. They did a damn number on you." A cool hand comes down on Leon's forehead, the relief of it prompting a groan. "You've got yourself a hell of an infection, too."
"Feel like a pirate," Leon mumbles with a strained laugh. "Didn't know they still whipped people like--"
"Shut up, Kennedy. The last thing I need is to hear your jokes."
There's something musty and stiff beneath Leon's cheek, the sight of a dingy, water-stained mattress swimming into focus as he groans tightly and clenches his fingers against it.
"Hurts," he moans, panic and nausea fluttering in his chest. The fire has grown excruciating, every broken nerve in his back screaming out from the abuse it's suffered. "Krauser--"
"Breathe." The cool cloth dabs at his bare shoulders, swiping over his cheek a second later. Leon leans into it as much as he can, a brief flash of comfort to the fever charring his insides. He tries to do as Krauser says, but the agony is too much to bear.
With a whine, he lets it swallow him up, slipping into a fitful sleep that does nothing to stop the pain from following.
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Moonburn
Prologue
Two of Swords, Reversed: Delays, indecisiveness, extreme dread, anxiety, and stress.
Vampire Hunter!Jake x Witch!OC
Authors Note: Hello!!! This is the start of Jake’s story! I hope y’all like it as much as I do. His side of the story has been in my mind the whole time I’ve been writing ISHIYE and I’ve been itching to share it with you. This is only the prologue but I promise there’s much more to come! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ❤️
*Set prior to the events of I See Hell in Your Eyes. This is the beginning of Jake’s story. This can be read independently from ISHIYE but there will be cross references as it’s in the same universe.
Word Count: 3,845
Warnings: Brief violence, descriptions of blood, that’s about it for now.
He wasn’t even supposed to be in Tucson, but a blown motor had him stuck there for God-knows how long. The shop he towed his car to didn’t give him much of a time frame, just that they would call him whenever it was fixed. In the meantime, Jake Kiszka had settled in a cheap motel. Well, not extremely cheap, but it was comfortable enough that he knew wouldn’t get scabies from sleeping there.
Nevertheless, he took this as an opportunity to take in the sights of the Grand Canyon state, at the very least Pima county. The sights in question were any local Nests that he could find and snuff out any Undead that were loitering around places they shouldn’t.
The last three days (or nights depending on what species you were), he had been tracking a small group of them that were dumb enough to hang around the same places in the city. Vamps were always easy to spot. Their attempts to blend in with humans were awkward and stilted. Like aliens who had landed on earth the day before and had never seen a human before. That was also how you knew you were dealing with one of the young, and dumb, ones. The older the Vamp was the easier it was for them to blend in. If they’re smart enough to survive past fifty years or so, they usually start adapting to whatever environment they’re in.
It was one of those Vampire details that confused Jake as a kid. How did they forget their humanity so fast? You’re human one day and the next night you’re a blood sucking monster, his dad would tell him. But the idea that it only took a few hours to forget whatever life you had before was almost fascinating to him.
He was always taught that the new ones were practically feral and sloppy, which was how they got picked off so easily. They’d leave bodies behind, risking exposure to the humans who walked around in pure ignorance to the creatures that walked among them.
Sometimes, if you were lucky, you’d catch them before they even claimed their victims. Skulking around in the dark trying to remain unseen but all of their movements looked the same, at least to Jake, which was why he was always able to figure them out faster than his siblings. He was the quiet observant one, always having his eyes on a swivel. His twin was the social one. He could talk his way into any place or establishment that he wasn’t supposed to be in, and he had a particular knack for being able to build a rapport with some of the Vamps they’d be tracking.
It worked even better when they were in parts of the country where the only thing anyone knew of them was their last name, and the weight it carried. Knowing their name was one thing, but knowing their faces was another, and they used that to their advantage. It was also well known that they were identical, but over the years their personal aesthetics had skewed so hard in the opposite directions that they’d have to be side by side to truly see it. Though sometimes the confusion as to who was who worked in their favor.
Jake turned his attention to the horizon from inside the car. Due to a low inventory from a week full of fender benders the rental place only had a Toyota Corolla available on the lot. A silver Corolla from 2006, to be exact. Jake had stared at it for nearly five minutes behind his dark sunglasses, as if he could turn it into literally anything else with his mind. But when the rental agent informed him of the only other option, a burgundy minivan, the hunter agreed and signed the papers for the car through gritted teeth.
There he was, ridding the earth of Hell-borne filth in a clunker with hubcaps.
The sun was peeking over the horizon; the sky turning different shades of pink, yellow. and blue. Jake had a strict rule to not move in on a target until the sun was fully up and visible. “Your shadow is your friend, and your clock no matter what,” his dad would tell him. A hunter never wanted to risk a Vamp having the home field advantage that was the night. Even overcast days were iffy at times.
Once a Vampire laid their head down they, as obvious and cliched it sounded, slept like the dead they were. It was some biological failsafe to protect their species from accidental sunlight exposure. Or at least that's what his walking-encyclopedia of a little brother reminded him along with other scientific facts about the species.
He was parked on the side of the road a blocks-length away from the house he was watching. Vamps were known for their practicality when it came to their Nests. They liked invading houses and squatting in them after they made the residents their evening meal. This particular house was by its lonesome on this road, the nearest house was almost two miles away, which Jake didn’t mind because his plan for the four Vampires he had tracked to this location would be fucking cake.
At last, the sun shined its beautiful rays, warming up the world and preparing it for the day. Jake could almost hear the joke his twin would’ve made about it being a “dry heat” had he been there. His right hand reached to the passenger seat for his crossbow, lifting it slowly with reverence. He kept his gaze fixed on the house as he carefully opened the driver’s side door. He didn’t shut it all the way, just enough to make that first little click in the frame.
As he approached the house he looked at all the windows to see which ones were covered up, a clue as to where in the house they were sleeping. He walked the perimeter a couple of times, going slow to make sure he didn’t miss anything and to let the sun rise even higher.
Rounding the back of the house, Jake went up to the back door. He reached out and gently twisted the doorknob, and it fully turned without protest.
They really were stupid, he thought to himself.
The revelation that the door was unlocked let him know that they were also over confident that they’d be safe during the day time. Jake couldn’t wait to prove them wrong.
He walked into what was the kitchen, before it had been ransacked by the real intruders sleeping elsewhere. Multiple cabinets were flung open, their contents strewn everywhere on counters and the floors. Smears of blood decorated the surfaces and the floors, streaked with what had to be fingerprints.
Going from room to room, he saw similar scenes around the house. He still hadn’t located what he was there for but there was one bedroom at the far end of the house left. The door was slightly ajar, and from his spot in the hallway he could see a window with the curtains firmly drawn. Bingo. They were all in there, soundly asleep. A classic, “shooting fish in a barrel” situation.
Carefully he opened the door further and peaked around the room. This had obviously been the primary bedroom, with a sizable king size bed against the far wall, with two Vamps sprawled out on the duvet, with a third curled up on the carpet at the foot of the bed.
The hunter silently aimed the crossbow at the one on the floor, directly at its chest. At this point it was muscle memory, his finger squeezed around the trigger automatically, shooting the stake right into the Vampire’s heart. His eyes flew open in surprise, but it was too late, the color drained from his skin and it shrunk back against his bones. The usual yellow cast bled into his eyes, and as a final signal that all too familiar death rattle bubbled up from his mouth, a little too loudly for Jake.
At the sound the female Vamp on the bed sat straight up, looking directly at Jake.
“You bastard,” she hissed as she slapped the male Vamp next to her awake. She lunged at Jake knocking the crossbow out of his hands as he tried to shove her off of him. The two rolled around on the floor, battling for control. The hunter managed to get on top of her, straddling her waist as he quickly grabbed a stake from inside his jacket with one hand, and used the other to try to control her hands and keep her pinned down. His reflexes worked perfectly and he was able to shove her arms out of the way fast enough to drive the stake into her chest in a flash. Like the other Vamp before her, she withered in front of his eyes.
Just as her death rattle completed the process the other male Vamp jumped on Jake’s back, straining his neck to nip at Jake’s flesh with his fangs. The hunter nearly growled as he twisted his body to fling the Vamp off of him. He didn’t go very far, but it was enough for Jake to get on his feet and grab another stake from his jacket. The Vamp stood up and lunged at Jake again, this time shoving him against the nearest wall. Jake winced as he was forced backwards and felt the drywall crack; the breath nearly knocked out of him. The stake was pinned between the two, curled in his fist and pointed down at the floor in a useless position.
Jake looked over the feral Vamps shoulder, and realized he was close enough to the corner of the room that he could potentially gain control. With another growl, he used all of his strength to push him away and into the other wall. The Vamp's head bounced back against the wall, and in the nanosecond of delirium Jake was able to tilt his other hand up and ram the stake into the remaining Vamp, directly next to his sternum.
The Vamp sagged against the wall as whatever “life” he had faded away. Jake let him go completely and didn’t care where he landed on the floor. He stepped back and didn’t let his guard down until he was sure they were the only creatures in the house. He ran a hand through his messy hair, wincing when his fingers hit a few tangles and pulled at his scalp. Instead of fighting through them to the ends of his hair, he pulled it back, wanting the feeling to stop instantly. A brief flashback of dirty gnarled fingers twisting into his hair and yanking upwards flashed before his mind’s eye and he shook his head to rid himself of the memory and rubbed his hands quickly over his face.
Jake turned back to his crossbow and strapped it on his back. Now the fun part was about to begin. He looked down at the nearest corpse, the one he had just killed against the wall, and grabbed him by the ankles and started dragging him through the room. He flung the back door open once he got to it, and heaved the Vamp outside and into the sun. The corpse started to sizzle and burn before it hit the dirt. One down, two the go.
He repeated the process until all three were piled on top of each other outside, burning through their clothes and turning their bodies to ashes. As Jake watched the flames, he reached into his jacket again, this time for the celebratory cigar he always brought with him on Nest raids. He brought it to his lips and leaned forward, lighting it using the flames of his latest bounty.
He stood there, and the fire reflected off his dark sunglasses. He took long and slow drags of the cigar, satisfied with his work that morning. For a brief moment he wished his twin had been with him. He didn’t mind doing things on his own, but it always felt a little sweeter to have Josh standing next to him.
Soon enough the three Vampire’s were nothing more than a pile of ashes. Jake found a shovel in the yard, and used it to dig a shallow pit to dump the ashes into. It wasn’t to “bury” them, no, there was no honor in this. Instead it was just a quicker way to quite literally cover up his tracks.
As he drove back to the motel, he couldn’t wait to sleep the day away, satisfied that there were three less bloodsuckers walking around.
~!~
A few days later, he found himself in front of a dive bar just outside of town. The Tipsy Tumbleweed stood before him, its red lighted sign blazed into the dark of the parking lot. A few of the letters blinked, indicating some of the bulbs were on their last legs.
The heels of his boots clacked against the wooden floor inside, and the idle chatter amongst other patrons met his ears. He loved a good bar like this. Understated, knew exactly what it was, and didn’t try to be anything more. The walls were covered in various purple neon signs, the biggest one was on the wall behind the bar itself, with large letters spelling out: Sinners Welcome. Yeah, he was going to enjoy himself tonight.
Just as he sat on an empty barstool, a loud and melodious laugh floated through the air behind him. He nearly broke his neck to look at the source, and that was when he saw…her.
Her back was to him, her dark jeans and black t-shirt wrapped around her curves beautifully, her dark hair tied up in a ponytail but was long enough that the ends fell between her shoulder blades. She was standing in front of one of the booths against the far wall, chatting with the two people who sat on either side.
He couldn’t see her face yet, and everything in his body told him to sit fucking still so he could possibly get a glimpse of it. He barely registered the young voice of the bartender asking him for his order. He kept his eyes set on the mysterious woman while he quickly mumbled something about a whiskey. He wasn’t normally that rude but as the bartender went off to make his drink she finally turned around and started walking towards him. Her large hazel eyes scanned the room as she walked and she waved at one of the tables, telling who-ever-the-fuck hi. The same dark hair framed her face in some loose layers and when she flashed a smile at someone else, Jake nearly fell off the stool. He suddenly felt like he was back in sixth grade, when Abbie Willis picked him for her kickball team in P.E. and he tripped over absolutely nothing while walking over to her. Josh never let him live that down.
For a moment, Jake thought she was walking towards him, but she breezed right past him to exit through the Employees Only door. He turned on the stool to face the bar, hoping to god that the heat in his face wasn’t obvious. Instead, he made the most awkward eye contact with the bartender who was placing his drink in front of him. She was a tiny thing, definitely shorter than him with sharp cheekbones and curious round eyes. She couldn’t have been older than 21.
“Umm…thanks,” he said, trying his best to recover from whatever that was.
“You're welcome, I’m Stacey if you need anything else,” she said brightly before turning to walk to the far end of the bar, where another man was sitting at the corner.
Jake’s eyes followed her and silently observed that side of the bar, taking in everything. Part of him wanted to turn around and watch that Employee door in hopes that she would come back out, but he didn’t want a repeat of what just happened.
He took a sip of his drink while he observed, but just as he started to relax the man at the end of the bar tilted his lowball glass back to take his own sip, and one of the lights on the other side shined through the glass and displayed the…red…contents. It wasn’t runny, it wasn’t grenadine, it was blood.
Did he sneak that in here? Jake had obviously seen Vampire’s drink from glasses before, they could be formal when they wanted to, but out in the open like this? That was ballsy as hell.
A drop escaped the glass and landed on the corner of the man’s, well, Vampire’s mouth and his tongue darted out to catch it. The bartender Jake now knew as Stacey was just standing there, chatting away as if she hadn’t even seen it. The hunter immediately thought that the Vampire had Persuaded this young girl into not noticing, and if he was already doing that, what else was he planning to do?
Jake immediately shifted into hunter-mode, his casual evening cut short by duty calling. He sat there, listening as best he could over the loud music and crowd noise. Soon his glass was empty, and as Stacey walked back by he got her attention and she stopped in front of him.
He ordered another whiskey, but before she could hop off to make it he asked her a question, “hey umm…who's that down there?” He tilted his head slightly in the Vampire’s direction.
A sheepish smile spread across her face, “oh…that’s Lou. He’s in here a lot.” Even in the dim lighting Jake could see the color rush to her cheeks when she said Lou’s name.
A regular Vampire, huh, not for much longer, Jake thought.
He opened his mouth to ask another question but Stacey’s eyes suddenly went wide and she darted off to the Employee door without another word. He vaguely heard her say the name, “Cecilia” as she exited but he wasn’t sure.
Jake sat there confused as to what spooked her so quickly, and he stole another glance at “Lou” the Vampire.
“So, another whiskey for you?” A smoky voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Jake whipped his head back to the direction of the voice and suddenly, she was in front of him. He gaped at her, once again reverting back to his awkward prepubescent self. All he could do was nod like an idiot. A new glass was placed in front of him, the amber liquid perfectly poured.
“This one’s on the house,” she said as she leaned against her hands on the edge of the bar. The motion made her collar bones visible just beneath the scooped-neck of her t-shirt. Fuck.
“O-oh you don’t have to-”
“Nonsense, I like giving out a free drink once and awhile, especially to new faces. I even top shelved it for you,” her lips formed a smile and she tilted her head at him, as if she already knew the effect she had on him.
He took a sip, savoring the liquor on his tongue before swallowing. Perfectly smooth.
“Now, what are you doing here,” she asked, a little less friendly than before.
The question threw him off, why would she ask that?
“Just checking out local places while I’m in town,” he answered with a level tone as he took another swig of his drink.
“Hmm…yeah but what were you doing just a couple minutes ago?”
He looked at her strangely, “just sitting here?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt his throat tighten up out of nowhere. What the fuck?
“Uh-huh, just sitting here? Not scoping out the place?”
“No? Why would I-,” his throat tightened up even more, making it harder to breathe. Jake struggled to take in a breath as he gripped the glass in front of him.
“You do know where you’re sitting, right?” She leaned even closer to him, lowering her voice.
“At a bar…?” That was the truth, partially, but he didn’t know where she was going with this.
She smirked at him, “oh I guess you didn’t notice that this bar happens to be next to a cemetery?”
Cemeteries were probably one of the few truly neutral places you could be. Neutral in the sense that creatures knew better than to start trouble in them, and hunters were lumped into that protocol as well. They were their own liminal space with their own rules, and Jake remembered Sam rambling about the spirits that reside in them did not take kindly to truces being broken on their land. If Jake had actually killed the Vampire at the end of the bar, it would not be pretty for him once the spirits figured out what happened. If the woman in front of him knew this rule, then what was she?
“Fuck,” he rasped.
“Yeah, fuck is right. So what is a hunter like you coming into my bar where we mind our own business and coexist as best we can?” Irritation was evident in her voice.
This was her bar? Oh, he really fucked up.
“Listen I wasn’t trying to start anything,” he tried to explain but his words had his throat nearly closed completely.
“Sure you weren’t,” she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small vial full of pale green liquid. She held it up in front of him, “sir you look very…purple…are you feeling alright?”
He stared at the vile in her hand, and he wasn’t sure if he was connecting the dots or just seeing them, but he tried to whisper a guess.
“W-witch..?”
“Oh nothing gets past you,” she mocked. “And yes, I am, thank you for asking.”
At this point all he could do was wheeze at her.
“Now, I can reverse that little concoction you happily drank, but only on one condition.”
His big brown eyes started watering and he nodded.
She twisted off the cap of the vial and slowly poured the contents into Jake’s glass as she spoke, “you have two minutes to get out of my bar before I get that Werewolf in the corner to throw you out.”
Jake quickly drank down the whole glass as best he could, oxygen finally entering his system as his throat loosened back up.
“S-sorry…” he whispered.
“If you ever come back here and try that shit again, it’ll be a lot worse. Now go,” her voice was final, and she flicked her eyes over his shoulder and at the door.
Jake didn’t hesitate to slide off the barstool and walk right out, not looking back even though he wanted to.
As he drove back to the motel, all he could think about was the Witch that just nearly killed him, and how her eyes bore into his, and for once in his life, Jake Kiszka was the one intimidated and outmatched.
To be continued…
Tag List: @dannyandthekiszkas , @readyforthegarden , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne, @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @sadiechar , @char289 , @stardustvanfleet , @sunfl0wer-power , @holdingup-fallingsky , @bladenotblaze , @gretavanlace ,
#jake kiszka#jake kiszka x oc#moonburn#strangers to lovers#starcrossed but they don't know it#angst#hurt/comfort#themes of PTSD#lingering guilt#parental issues#abandonment issues#and just two broken people trying to figure the fuck out of life#greta van fleet#jake gvf#my fics#my writing#🌙🔥
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