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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 5 months

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Not Alone - Logan Sargeant

Piastri! Reader, side-pairing with Lando

Summary: Oscar's little sister always liked Logan but seeing him be cast out by the rest of the F1 grid while Oscar seems to be accepted via his rookie year success. She doesn't like what she sees. But she doesn't expect to find herself catching feelings for him.

Y/n loves coming to races with Oscar. She loves rooting for him in a car that's finally performing well enough to reflect his talent.

Right now, she's just walking through the paddock and it's not till her eyes catch on a certain blonde haired man that she hadn't forgot but had certainly not been thinking about until spotting him.

"Logan!" Y/n exclaims moving towards the American who seems to brighten at the sound of someone yelling his name and he completely beams when she rushes towards him, being caught in a hug. "It's been too long. How have you been?"

"I'm good. I'm good. Yeah." Logan nods laughing lightly as she hugs him. "How are you?"

"I'm amazing. Oscar is bringing me a long for the last few races and I'm getting to see him in his element." Y/n beams then sighing softly. "It's really good to see you too though."

"Yeah, how about we get lunch? I was just going to grab something to eat." Logan offers sounding so hopeful, not that there's any risk of y/n saying no.

"I'd love to!" Y/n smiles then beginning to walk alongside the rookie.

The two of them walk alongside each other, not noticing her brother and his teammate who may be slightly crushing on y/n see the two sit down outside of the Williams unit after grabbing some food from catering.

"I didn't realise y/n and Logan were close." Lando comments making Oscar look at his teammate who he is no fool to. He knows Lando has been flirting with his sister, but his sister has assumed it's just Lando's personality and how he befriends someone so it's not worked out like Lando was hoping.

Oscar made it clear that why he's not disapproving of the match, he also won't be stepping in to make her see that Lando's flirting is something that she could take seriously.

"Yeah, they're pretty close. Or they were. Y/n loves spending time with Logan." Oscar shrugs thinking nothing of it.

"Do you think she might have a crush on him?" Lando asks earning an eye roll before Oscar moves away refusing to even acknowledge it. "Is that a yes?"

Y/n and Logan end up spending the rest of the day together. Y/n not realising how much she'd always enjoyed Logan's company till now.

"You don't have to walk me to my room." Y/n laughs as Logan walks along with her into the Hilton, which isn't even his hotel.

"I'm not letting you walk alone. I know Lando has a crush on you, wouldn't want to risk him getting a chance to snatch you." Logan jokes while y/n's eyes widen at the thought. "What?"

"Lando has a crush on me?"

"Y/n...stop...how have you not noticed? I was even talking to Oscar about it and he knows." Logan laughs while she groans then sighs shaking her head. "I assume the feelings aren't returned."

"No. They're definitely not. I mean Lando is a very nice guy, but...I don't know if he's my type." Y/n shrugs then sighing and looking down. "I'll talk to him...I think-or at least I'll try."

"No you won't. You hate confrontation like that." Logan cackles making her groan and drop her head back since he's completely right. "I wouldn't worry about it. I don't think he wants you to tell him that he's not your type. I don't think anyone ever wants to hear that."

Y/n hums as they reach her hotel room.

"Well thank you for getting me to my hotel room safely. I don't know how I'd have survived the journey without you." Y/n giggles before she moves to hug him tightly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I love forward to it." Logan whispers with a sincerity that y/n can't help but frown at slightly since he sounds almost sad. Her arms instinctually tighten around him for a moment before she moves back.

"How about breakfast tomorrow? I'll come over to your hotel." Y/n offers making him smile and nod, that usual Logan smile that she's so familiar with.

"Sounds great."

"Ok, see you in the morning."

Y/n spent most of the next day with Logan before he had to actually do some things for Williams and she obviously had to leave. So she's sitting with Oscar while he has some free time and she can't stop the thoughts that have been stuck in her head from rolling around.

"You know I can hear you thinking too hard so you might as well just speak now." Oscar sighs since he knows when his sister is over thinking.

"Logan is always on his own...none of the other drivers really...talk to him like they do with each other or with you." Y/n murmurs making Oscar frown at her before he shifts. "Oscar, the two of you are rookies together and he's on our fridge at home...please tell me you've noticed how isolated he is?"

"I do. It is hard." Oscar admits before swallowing thickly. "I should probably make more effort."

"Yeah, you should." Y/n frowns a little disappointed that her brother hasn't been making the effort. Though when Lando sits down next to them, smirking at y/n with that cheeky glint in his eye that she'd almost grown immune to. "Hi, Lando."

Her tone seems to immediately change his expression.

"What's happened?"

"Nothing. I'm going to go exploring."

"Are you watching from the garage?" Oscar asks still caught up in his own thoughts and guilt of neglecting the only friend he really had coming into F1.

"I don't know yet." Y/n shrugs while Lando continues to try and figure out what has happened that he's unaware of. "I'll see you later at some point."

Lando being Lando and also still slightly hoping he has a shot with the young woman, he gets up to move after her. Also thinking he might be able to help the two of them reconcile whatever has them so upset.

"Y/n, you mind if I come with-"

"Lando, you're a really good friend and I'm so happy we've met. I'm a fan, but...a friendship is all we have and that's how it's going to stay....I'm sorry." Y/n sighs deciding to cut the dreams short before they potentially go too far. Or he goes to far in wanting to pursue her. "Whoever you end up with is going to be probably far luckier that I'll ever be. But it's just not going to be me."

"I get it." Lando nods a little sadly then shrugging with a small smirk as he looks at her with those green eyes that even she can't deny have some sort of mesmerising effect. "But let me know if you need a night of company."

Y/n does manage a laugh and pushes him away then shaking her head.

"You're so stupid." Y/n smiles then hugging him which he returns the gesture of. "I know Oscar seems pretty relaxed, but I think his teammate and his sister dating might even be a step in a direction he doesn't want to go."

"That's true. You go ahead, I'll get back to him. He seemed to be in a crisis. I just wanted to make sure you're ok."

"I will be." Y/n sighs sucking in a breath as her shoulders raise and drop again.

She moves through the paddock wondering for a couple hours till she sees the face she was subconsciously searching for and moves towards him.

"Can I ask a favour?" Y/n asks making him frown but nod since he'd do anything for y/n.

"Here's an interesting little tid bit for you." Ted states as the cameras gaze into the Williams garage. "The feud of McLaren taking Alex's girlfriend in her golfing career has taken a turn. Because Oscar Piastri's little sister, who has been around the paddock for a few races, I think she's meant to be around for the rest of the season. But She is sitting in Logan Sargeant's side of the garage in a Williams headset and is watching in with Williams. Very peculiar, but she has been spotted with Logan through the week so maybe there's a bit of romance going on there."

Y/n watches Logan, neither of the Williams are having a great race. Which generally is a running theme. But being the rookie with little to no testing ahead of his debut. He's the one who performs with fewer results.

When the race ends, Logan is surprised to see y/n waiting for him. She's bouncing on her feet to contain her excitement and when he moves over to her, he picks her up as she wraps her arms up around his neck while he smiles.

The race was nothing to smile about. But he underestimated what it would feel like to have someone there waiting for him. Just for him.

"I know you have the debrief and media but...I wanted to see you." Y/n smiles as he places her down from having lifted her slightly off the floor. Their eyes locked in on each other as soon as she's back on her feet.

There's not even a moment of hesitation between them, the kiss even earns a small gasp from the Williams media personnel nearby who was just waiting for Logan to get to the media pen.

Y/n's hands are cupping Logan's face softly as she smiles against his lips before breaking the kiss to whisper.

"You need to go."

"So long as I get to do that again afterwards."

"I promise." Y/n laughs softly before moving back and sighing, her hand linked to his in a quick grab as he tugs her forward back into another kiss.

"Ok, I can handle media now." Logan smiles earning a small laugh before he takes off and as he does, she catches sight of her brother who looks at her with raised eyebrows as he nears her.

"I guess I should've seen that coming?" Oscar jokes while she tilts her head keening away. "I'm not mad...even if Lando might be sore that you rejected him and went with Logan instead."

"So you're ok with this?"

"I mean...that might be a bit too nice. I'll be giving him a speech about what I'll have to do as my brotherly duty to protect you." Oscar sighs then tilting his head. "But also, don't hurt my friend."

"You know I could never."

"Did you really watch the race from the Williams garage?"

"Yes."

"Will you be doing it again?" Oscar questions making her nod.

"Almost definitely."

"Great..." Oscar sighs before he moves to walk around her, nudging her in a playful brotherly way while she tries to return the gesture but fails miserably, almost falling over in the process while he makes no effort to save her. "Behave."

"You're annoying."

"You just kissed my friend." Oscar shoots back making her face flush while she huffs knowing this is going to be something he'll be holding against her for quite a significant amount of time.

Logan gained two things today. He got a girlfriend. But he also got his friend back.

Oscar made more effort to make sure Logan knows they're still friends and the trio might be a little bit iconic for their new dynamic both in person and online.

"Y/n, please! I don't need to see this." Oscar groans tossing his phone onto the table after seeing her most recent photo dump which includes a picture that is revealing far too much skin and Logan is the one who clearly moved the blanket to maintain her modesty for the picture of the two of them.

"I gave you a warning in the caption not to swipe too far into the photo dump." Y/n states as Logan sits down with them. "Tell him he got fair warning."

"I'm not telling him that." Logan laughs, one rule between him and Oscar being that they do not get involved in any disputes that y/n has with the other. So Oscar can't be involved in arguments between Logan and y/n and Logan can't get involved in the sibling arguments. "But...I do like the photo."

"Of course you do." Oscar sighs making him smirk and shrug while y/n looks smugly at her brother since Logan isn't taking sides but he is certainly appreciating her like a good boyfriend should which in her books is a win.

"Not sorry for it."

"Are you going to that dinner everyone is invited to after Abu Dhabi?" Oscar asks after a while, taking the opportunity to change the subject.

"No. Y/n and I are flying out on our vacation." Logan states making Oscar frown and look between them, then making Logan look at y/n. "You didn't tell him?"

"I was getting around to it." Y/n shrugs then smiling at her brother and reaching out to put her hand over his own. "We're going on a trip to...Canada to kick off the Winter break and just spend time away from literally every other F1 driver."

"Ouch, including your own brother?"

"Especially my own brother, who even in a relationship of his own has managed to gain a reputation of being a third-wheel." Y/n states while gesturing to their current positions. "Don't worry, we'll be back in England before you know it. and you won't have to miss your favourite sister or your best friend."

Oscar grumbles at her words but really he has grown to love seeing Logan and y/n's relationship. He's not one to think too much about things, but it's fairly obvious their love is one of the most pure forms of love that he's been a witness to. He'd be lying if he said he really condemns the relationship or thinks it's anything of a negative thing.

If you were to ask y/n or Logan. They'd both tell you to expect a happy and long future between them. Especially since y/n makes sure Logan knows he's not alone and she'll never let him feel that way again.

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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

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A Good Catch ~ Part 3

This was part of my 600 Follower Celebration and I can't thank you enough for all the support. I was glad y'all voted for Shanks... until I wrote this!! It was supposed to be the end. But I wanted them to have more sex. And that led to more fluff, and that led to... Anyways, I know what the end will be, but I'm not going to embarrass myself again by saying it'll be the next chapter. 😅 I have been consumed by this story, and I really hope you enjoy it!!

Pairings: Shanks x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4613

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 (End)

Ao3 Link

Summary: Your unplanned vacation is filled with more than just the pleasure of a certain pirate's touch. Turns out that pirates and fishermen share a love of stories.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Teasing, Flirting, Alcohol, Hair Pulling, Penis in Vagina Sex, Unprotected Sex, (Be safe out there), Birth Control, Pet Names, Rough Oral Sex, Face-Sitting, Outdoor Sex, (Very Mild Exhibitionism), Porn with Feelings, Aftercare

A/N: I need help

“Thanks for takin’ pity on our captain.”

“None of that, Lucky Roux,” Shanks scolded, grabbing the bowl of food the man had set down on that dingy table by the fire.

Sunset was on its way, and your stomachs had dragged you reluctantly out of his bed, only to be greeted at the camp by the loudest, and rowdiest cheers you’d ever heard.

Shanks had gotten them to tone it down a bit, kissing your burning cheeks as you sat at his table, but it seemed that Lucky Roux had started it up again.

“He’s right,” Benn agreed, raising his mug to you. “I don’t think we would have survived another night of that.”

“Isn’t Y/N just beautiful? Isn’t she–,” another pirate called in a sing-song voice as he mimicked his captain, and your mouth fell open as the whole crew joined in. Shanks started blustering, trying to rein it in, but it was too late.

“Did you hear how funny she is?”

“And she's soo fiery, did you see her?”

“I was drunk! I was out of my wits,” Shanks yelled over the din while you sat back and laughed.

“I will personally murder each and every one of you!”

He gave up, taking a long drink from his mug while you studied his profile. When he finally looked at you, you couldn’t fight the evil grin on your face.

“Fiery, huh?”

“Alcohol does a lot of things to the mind, and–”

“Are you blushing, captain?”

Your red haired pirate didn’t allow you to lean close to find out before he pulled you to him, kissing you hard. You felt his low hum of approval at the tiny noises you made for him, but it was all drowned out by another round of applause.

“I'm gonna need more booze for this,” he grumbled, waving his now empty mug in the air until a pirate came to fill it.

“Fiery,” you asked again, whispering in his ear before chuckling as he choked on his drink.

“Yeah, well,” he wiped his chin, turning to smirk at you, “I’m pretty sure you like me too, damsel.”

He looked way too pleased with himself as you bit your lip, digging into your food to keep from squirming.

You thought he might steal you away back to his quarters as soon as your bowls were cleared. Instead, he pulled you onto his lap as you spent time with his crew. So many smiling faces, so many stories, so many songs. It seemed like the whole crew took turns joining your table, and tapping their mugs against yours as they introduced themselves.

Now that you didn’t think they were going to attack you in your sleep, you’d decided to drink whatever it was they put in your mug.

But after toasting with so many pirates in a row, you were starting to feel it.

“Mm, Shanks…”

"Mhm," he purred back at you as you nuzzled against his ear.

“I think I’m drunk.”

“Well,” he started, leaving a warm kiss on your forehead, “what does my drunken damsel nee–”

He leaned forward with a wicked chuckle that told you he’d be getting back at you for what you’d just done. You had grinded your ass into his lap, and he was already growing hard again. That sensation had your head lolling back until he sat you up straight on his knee, his arm around your shoulders.

“So you’re demanding and greedy, huh?”

There was no point in arguing as his eyes poured over you, hungrily taking in your ragged breathing, your bitten lip, and the needy look in your eyes.

You watched as he wet his lips, his eyes growing darker even as the light of the fire shined within them.

Nodding as he mouthed the question ‘ready for bed,’ you held onto him, only a bit wobbly as you made your way through the crowd. The shouts of the crew were hardly noticeable with his hand in yours, his thumb smoothing over your skin.

The moon was even closer to being full tonight, and its light dancing on the ocean made you pause after you stepped on deck.

“I haven’t stopped to look for awhile,” you confessed as he brushed your hair out of your face.

“Look at what?”

A surprised laugh bubbled from you as you gestured to the moonlit waves.

“Anything!”

A wave of energy and pleasure rolled over you, and you threw your head back to let out a joyful yell.

“It’s beautiful,” you screamed at the moon. “And look at the waves, they’re so…”

Your joy in this moment felt so freeing, but it broke your heart to realize just how stifled you’d been. To not remember the last time you relaxed, the last time you looked at something just because it felt good.

Shanks caught your hand as the heat of tears rose in your throat. His hair seemed to glow under the silver light, and you didn’t think you’d ever met someone as beautiful as him.

“You’re beautiful too, Y/N,” he rasped, pressing your knuckles to his lips.

“Don’t you mean, ‘fiery,” you laughed in his face, stomach starting to hurt as giggles took over.

He sucked his teeth, narrowing his eyes at you as he dropped your hand.

“You won’t be so fiery after this.”

Shanks twisted his fist into the back of the shirt you’d borrowed, and dragged you, kicking and screaming, to the edge of the ship. Toward those beautiful waves.

Happy, drunken fingers tore at the buttons of the loose shirt until you pulled yourself free, cackling as you held your hands to your bare breasts, and ran inside.

“Y/N,” Shanks shouted, as the pirate on night duty started rolling with laughter.

You had never had this much fun in your life.

Those wood paneled halls all looked the same, so instead of looking for his quarters, you just kept running.

The chase didn’t last long before he shoved you against a wall, his knee spreading your legs as your chest heaved. He dropped the shirt to the ground to push your hand aside, massaging your exposed breast as he kissed you.

It was more than kissing. Drinking, eating, taking.

His thumb brushed over your nipple, already hardened from your flight through the ship. He timed the sensation with his knee pressing against your clothed cunt, and you felt his smile on your own lips as you cried out.

“You’re lucky you’re not a member of my crew, Y/N,” he rasped in your ear, low and dangerous. “This kind of spectacle would have earned you quite the punishment.”

His heat left you as he grabbed the shirt off the ground, holding it up silently until you pulled it on. There was something about him now that you hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t frightening.

But it was powerful. Commanding.

It had you melting under those dark eyes.

“Are you ready for bed, sweetheart?”

All you could do was nod, letting him guide you by the hand until he had you spread on those red sheets again.

Until he had you screaming his name, begging him to fill you up, to leave you dripping.

Still not enough.

He’d kissed his way across your body, pulling you close as his breath went deep and slow with sleep. Once again, this pirate reminded you of the sea, his touch both gentle and chaotic, his voice both soothing and seductive.

Last night you had such conflicting thoughts about him. Tonight his arm was curled around you, his spicy scent more intoxicating than whatever they’d poured in your mug. Tonight your thoughts all matched up.

He’s wonderful.

I’ll never get enough of his smile, his voice, his touch.

I’ve never felt happier than I have with him today.

He’s leaving in a couple days, and I’ll never see him again.

“Don’t you trust me by now, beautiful?”

He couldn’t see your small smile as you secured the blindfold over his eyes.

“Don't you trust me,” you teased, tugging the fabric further down his nose.

“You do have a history of attacking me unprovoked–,” he laughed, holding his hand up to stop your retort. “I just wanna see your pretty face.”

Pressing a kiss to his pouting lips, you made your way down the bed.

“Guess you’ll have to learn to be patient.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but let out a sigh instead as you started tracing your fingers over his skin, giving him the same attention he kept giving you. As if each part of you was precious to him, and he wanted to savor every bit.

Savor. I want to savor this.

So you did. Everything left your mind except for this moment. The way it used to when you still loved to fish.

Shanks had helped you remember how to enjoy life.

You wanted to pay him back.

“F-Fuck, Y/N…”

His red hair fell back against the headboard as you sucked the tip of his leaking cock into your mouth. He fisted the sheets, your name and breathy curses still falling from his lips.

Your mouth and fingers had already teased his whole body until he was twitching, so you didn’t waste time with teasing now. With one hand sliding along his shaft, and the other massaging his heavy balls, you circled your tongue around his tip until spit slid down his length.

“Please, Y/N, let me take this off. Let me see you.”

“Not yet,” you breathed, before you forced your way further down.

“Fuck, please,” he begged, drawing out the words as he moaned. “I need to see your face, I need you, please.”

His shaking, desperate body, and his continued pleas to see you froze you for a moment, your mouth still around his tip.

“Please, I need to see you. Fuuckk, I need you, ple–”

“Take it off.”

This was the face you would never forget.

He looked almost pained when he took it off, his brows furrowed, and his jaw clenched. Then the eyes that met yours looked frantic, almost feral as heavy breaths came from his parted lips.

He touched your jaw, lifting your face as spit trailed from your mouth to his swollen tip.

“I don’t wanna stop looking at you again.”

Chills ran over your skin as you whimpered, your hands clenching on him until he moaned. He let you go, but you were too stunned to move, your hands pausing their task.

He didn’t beg you to continue. He didn’t tease you. He didn’t say a word.

Shanks just stared at you, a hint of a smile on those lips.

Until a low growl filled the room, breaking the spell.

“Does my damsel need breakfast,” he teased softly.

You answered by taking his cock down your throat, relaxing as you pushed yourself further.

“Oh my– fuck! How are you…”

All the filthy, needy sounds he gave you spurred you on. Your eyes were rolling back in your head, until you forced them open, forcing yourself to meet his hungry gaze.

You still hadn’t taken in all of him, but the slide of his thick veins along your tongue told you that you might not have time.

So you pushed further, moaning around him when he wrapped his fingers into your hair. Tears were already prickling in your eyes when you gave him a nod, bracing yourself on his hips. Letting him take control.

“Gods, you’re fucking perfect, sweetheart. So beautiful taking my cock down your throat. I need you so fucking bad–”

Breathing through your nose and hanging on, the feel of him pushing so deep while he watched your face, while he praised and moaned for you… It was all so much, your own body twisting in on itself with need. It felt like you might come without a single touch.

“So good for me, baby. Take my come for me–”

Unrestrained groans tore from him as he twitched, his hand forcing you down. You cried on his cock as hot ropes of come spilled down your throat, so hot, so fucking much.

Your mind was empty of everything except for swallowing every last drop. After he’d emptied himself in you, he lifted you gently, letting out a pleased hum as he watched you lick your lips, and drink it all in.

“Mm, my damsel,” he purred as he kissed your neck, “my darling. Do you wanna have breakfast before or after I drown in your pussy?”

Your stomach could wait.

After a few minutes of water and rest so you could relearn how to breathe, Shanks worshiped your body again, leaving you tingling, giggling at his soft touches.

“Come here, sweetheart. Let me taste you.”

Shaky knees held you up as your nails dug into the headboard. You leaned your forehead against the wall as Shanks’ tongue dragged through your folds as if looking for treasure.

And he found treasure, sucking your clit until you chanted his name.

“Relax,” he rasped, tugging on your hip, “I need my pretty girl to sit on my face.”

You had looked down into those devilish eyes, and his words alone had you crying out.

“But–”

“I’m a pirate, sweetheart. I can hold my breath a long time if I need to.”

His wink tore a laugh from you, and you wanted to poke him for it, but he managed to yank you down with his one hand, his strength making you gasp before his tongue did.

He rocked your hip back and forth until you followed his movement, grinding your needy cunt across his face. He moaned into your sensitive skin, and you made sounds you didn’t know you could make.

“Shaaanks, feels so good.”

Every moan, every word you gave him seemed to set him on fire, his tongue exploring so deep when it wasn’t attacking your clit. Rubbing yourself back and forth felt unreal, his mouth and nose driving you mad.

“Please, fuck… I’m gonna come, Shanks.”

You tried to pull away, but he wrapped his arm around your thigh, pressing down across your hips so hard, adding to the pressure.

The screams you let out were so loud, the whole camp had to have heard you. You fell forward and gripped your fingers in his hair, only able to watch those dark eyes for a second before you came in his mouth.

Shanks didn’t stop, he kept moaning, playing, drinking you in until you slumped against the headboard, and begged him to stop.

“Mm, you look a little distressed,” he rasped in your ear. “How’s my damsel doing?”

He caught your hand as you tried to slap his chest, your limbs weak and useless.

“My girl’s still fiery after all that,” he laughed, kissing the inside of your wrist. “Want me to order us breakfast in bed?”

“Where did you grow up?”

It seemed you wouldn’t be leaving the bed at all today, lounging in messy sheets as you held each other. Laughing, humming with pleasure, sitting in the most comfortable silence you’d ever felt.

Until you started asking questions.

“You’re lookin’ at it,” he gestured vaguely, bringing a frown to your lips.

“Could you be a bit more specific? I don’t think you grew up in these quarters.”

Shanks let out a sigh, rolling to see your face better.

“I grew up on a pirate ship. Always been a pirate.”

“Literally? Or is this some pirate showboating shi–”

“Literally,” he laughed, his grin making you squirm, almost forgetting your goal.

“Well, you’ve heard my whole life story,” you drawled, lightly poking his chest. “I’d like to hear something about the drunken pirate that took me hostage.”

“It’s a vacation,” he teased, leaving kisses on your neck until you squealed.

He gave you a satisfied look as your skin flushed, before tapping the tip of your nose.

“You really haven’t heard of me?”

“Should I have? I don’t really pay attention to gossip. The news seems so far away from this shitty island.”

Tilting his head, he gestured to himself, puffing up his chest.

“Red Haired Shanks?”

“… Well, that is how I would describe you,” you deadpanned, trying not to laugh.

Another heavy sigh left him as he stood, and you admired the sight of his toned body as he headed toward the desk. He laughed at the mess he’d made emptying the drawers last night before he picked up the little stone, and tossed it to you.

He winked when you caught it, rolling it around in your hands while you watched him pull out a piece of paper.

Staring at it for a minute, Shanks turned back to you, looking more serious than you’d ever seen him.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” he said softly, walking toward you as you sat up in the bed. “I have to show you something, and I don’t want you to be scared.”

Sitting beside you, he caught your eyes, holding your gaze as if you’d disappear if he looked away.

You didn’t think anything about him could scare you anymore until this moment.

“What is it,” you choked out, hoping you weren’t about to lose this perfect feeling with him.

He quirked his lips as he looked down, the crinkling of paper the only sound as he laid it on your lap.

“Wow, you look…”

Shanks’ gorgeous face had distracted you. You knew he was a pirate. Of course he would have a bounty on him. But…

“4,048,900,900 berries?”

It felt like your eyes almost popped out of your skull as you shrieked, smacking his chest while he gave a sheepish grin.

“Looks like you’ve got expensive taste?”

“What the fuck, Shanks?”

Shoving the bounty poster at him, a headache started to form as your mind failed to comprehend a thing.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, stopping himself as he reached out to touch your shoulder. “I’m still just me. Your handsome, drunken pirate, okay?”

You stared at him dumbly as he chewed on his lip, and you were present enough to see the worry in his eyes.

“You’re still safe with me, Y/N. You’re still safe here. I would never hurt you.”

He stopped himself again as he reached for your face, his breath catching when you took his hand in yours.

“I know,” you whispered, holding his hand against your cheek. “I know I’m safe with you.”

A smile of relief broke across his face as he leaned in. You stopped his lips with your fingers, and narrowed your eyes at him, watching his go wide.

“Now you owe me some stories.”

His laugh was like music, and you gasped as you let him fall upon you, letting this pirate taste you, his kiss full of desperate, infectious joy.

“You have heard of the king of the pirates, right?”

“I’ve never met anyone who’s lived more stories than grandma.”

“Your grandma sounds like an amazing woman. What kind of stories did she live,” Shanks asked as he walked his fingers along your skin.

“Well, the thing about fisherman,” you laughed, stretching your arms above your head, “is that you never know which stories are true or not.”

You tapped his nose as his eyes fucking sparkled at you.

“You keep telling me that lying is bad for the soul, but lying for a good story is what makes a true fisherwoman.”

Shanks beamed at you, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Do you think any of her stories were true?”

Countless hours beside her, just waiting for a bite, flooded your mind. Those were times you treasured, before you grew to feel ashamed, and frustrated with your lot in life.

Those were times that felt magical, like every possibility was free for you to grasp.

“I'd like to think so,” you mused, seeing her playful grin in your mind, “but I’m pretty sure she was a pirate if they were.”

He let you taste his smile as he kissed you, and you’d never tasted anything better.

The two of you finally left his quarters for dinner, his warm arm and cloak wrapped around you as you were met with more cheers at the camp.

“Listen up, crew,” Shanks shouted as he stood, his drink held high. “Our fisherwoman has tales to tell of her grandma the pirate, so let’s gather round. Let’s toast to the woman who taught our fiery damsel how to live!”

Tugging at him was useless as the crew gathered around the fire, their raucous cheers dying down as they waited.

You were frozen, caught in dread and embarrassment until they called for you.

“Come on, fisherwoman! Let us hear it.”

“Tell us a story, Y/N!”

Shanks rubbed along your spine before taking your hand. You held the stone in the other, and let her stories pour out.

You’d never had anyone to share them with before, and it felt like home. Their reactions, their laughs, and questions, all of it spurred you on. The way they’d cheer and toast over triumphs, and curse over misfortunes, filled you with pride.

“That’s Skypiea, “Yassop called out, amidst a wave of affirmations.

“What’s that,” you questioned, this being the first real interruption of the night.

“That island,” Benn explained, “we’ve been there before.”

“Don’t fuck with me. That’s stupid, I know she made this one up,” you argued, annoyed with the lies on their faces. “An island in the sky? Come on.”

Shanks squeezed your hand until you looked at him.

“It’s true,” he swore, eyes heavy with it. “You’re the only one who’s allowed to lie on this crew.”

“But…”

“She must have been a great pirate if she made it to Skypiea,” Lucky Roux chimed in. “What was her name?”

None of them recognized it, and you tried to put the idea to rest.

“If she was a great pirate who settled down with a kid, she probably changed her name,” Benn stated, as if it were fact.

“No. That’s crazy…”

“To the great fisherwoman pirate,” Shanks toasted, with what sounded like reverence. “May her stories live on.”

You drank to the calls of ‘hear hear,’ and her untrustworthy name being shouted at the finally full moon.

“Well, she did cuss like a sailor,” you whispered, still dissociating after Shanks had pulled you onto his lap. He laughed, kissing the top of your head before he whispered back.

“Wanna take a walk with me?”

“Mhm.”

Everything was so bright, the moonlight making the world feel even more surreal.

This man I’ve been drowning in is an Emperor of the Sea.

And grandma's stories might really be true...

You’d been too lost in thought to notice where he’d taken you, until he helped you climb onto the smooth rock by the tide pools.

Careful not to slip, he guided you around to a relatively dry spot, far enough away to be untouched by the tide this early in the night.

“How are you feeling?”

He touched your chin as you sat down, bringing a small gasp to your lips when you saw his shining face, lit like some mythical creature under this heavenly sky.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, genuinely searching yourself for the answer. “I think I’m good. It’s just a lot.”

His slow smile caught you again, and the knowledge that your time was short shook you, making you reach for him too.

Falling into a hug, you breathed in the scent of him.

I wish this never had to end.

“You sure you’re alright,” he checked in, smoothing his hand over your back as you buried your face in his chest.

“Kiss me.”

Your whispered command took your breath as his lips met yours. The gentlest of touches, the sweetness he poured into you, made it even harder not to let bittersweet tears fall.

One more day. I have another perfect day with him. Don’t ruin it.

Your hands curled into his hair, and you whimpered with need as he let you push him onto his back.

Shanks met your desperate need, grinding up against you as you straddled him, drinking your moans as your tongues danced together. Chaos, the crashing waves getting closer.

“Y/N,” he breathed, watching you stand to strip under that silver light, tugging his pants down so that you could feel him again.

You needed to feel him again.

“Y/N, you’re incredible. I…”

The full moon lit your skin, but not as much as his gaze did. Those dark eyes left you on fire as you rode his perfect cock to the sound of the tide, his rough hand making you shake as he smoothed along your hips, your stomach, your chest.

“You make me feel so good,” you moaned, still fighting off the bitter from the sweet. “I’ve never felt so—“

Shanks found leverage against the stone, making you cry out as he thrusted up into you, forcing you to steady yourself with your hands on his chest.

“Fuck, I could stay inside you forever, sweetheart. Your perfect pussy sucks me in so well— Mm fuck, yes, baby.”

Falling forward, you moaned against his skin as you came. He kept fucking up into you until you screamed his name.

“Making yourself come on my cock,” he soothed, stroking your hair as his rhythm slowed, but never stopped. “My girl is so good, so good for me.”

His praise brought whimpers from your lips until he pushed himself up, kissing your neck as you sat in his lap, still holding his heat inside you.

“Will you help me spread out the clothes, beautiful? I need you— I need to watch you under the moon like this. Please, damsel, let me…”

You both moaned as you pulled yourself off of him, crawling to the pile of clothes to spread them out. He finished stripping, helping you lay down with a makeshift pillow.

Your fingers wrapped around his length, guiding him to your entrance as his eyes burned into yours. Leaning his weight on his elbow beside you, Shanks’ powerful body started to pump into you, filling you, stretching you.

Slowly, but so deep it made your eyes roll back.

“Look at me, please.”

His words were barely a whisper, barely loud enough to hear over the waves. But you heard his plea, your fingers digging into his skin as you studied his face.

It hurt. You fought to let it be joy. But the intensity, the need, the awe that seemed to flow from him was too much.

Because it seemed to match yours, and you couldn't risk believing it.

Timing your breath with the waves, you let the bitter fade away. You let yourself be nothing at all, except for the lucky person making love to him under the light of the moon. The lucky person whose skin got to be seen, and touched, and tasted by this perfect pirate. This beautiful, sweet, intoxicating man.

Neither of you spoke again. Just watched each other as you fell apart, and the only words given to the night were your names.

Your bodies met that blissful moment together, like some pagan ritual. The bright sky bore witness to pure pleasure, pure connection.

The magic seemed to last forever, your breathless bodies still melded together. Still together.

Until bitter finally won, breaking the spell as salty tears slid down to meet the tide.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Mourning the loss of him as he left your body, you brushed those tears aside, and did what every fisherwoman knows how to do.

“I’m okay,” you breathed, smiling as you touched his cheek.

You lied.

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Please save me, I am down a rabbit hole. Too far down, I think. Damn these "one shots," consuming my soul, making me fall in love. I don't know if I'll recover from this one.

Part 4 (End)

#shanks x reader #red haired shanks #x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #one piece x reader #one piece fics #turtletaub fics #follower celebration #fic requests #mine #fluff #one piece fluff #shanks fluff #shanks fics #shanks smut #one piece smut #smut #use of y/n

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apomaro-mellow · 5 months

Text

Wrong Number 7

They had decided to meet around five, and that was when Steve and Robin drove up to the building where Eddie worked. This was it. He was going to see him face to face. He was going to be able to touch him. And feel him. He was going to be able to kiss him. It was all really happening.

He parked across the street and got out. Robin came over to his side and pulled at his sleeve.

"Is that your man?"

Steve locked the car and looked up to see Eddie, standing by the entryway, staring intensely at his phone, probably waiting for a message from Steve to tell him he had arrived. As if pulled by a magnet, his gaze lifted up and his beamed when he saw Steve.

And then he ran across the street without looking.

"Eddie!", Steve shouted when a car stopped short to not hit him but Eddie paid it no mind.

"I'm comin' babe!", Eddie exclaimed, completely missing the point.

Steve found it hard to be mad at him when Eddie was crushing him in his arms and then pinning him against his car and kissing him like he'd just come back from a war. Steve's first thought was to finally touch that hair and feel it curl around his fingers like it wanted to hold him just as close.

Eddie's tongue pushed into his mouth and Steve let it slide in easily. This was the man he'd been talking to for weeks. The man who had been the star of his fantasies for nights since the first time he ever saw his face. Eddie's hands dug into his hips and Steve could feel his rings digging in and Eddie's hips were flush with his own and-

"Okay, okay! I don't have an actual spray bottle but please stop! We're in public!", Robin pleaded.

Eddie, sweet sweet Eddie, pulled away because he didn't know Robin well enough. Steve knew her very well though and grabbed Eddie's face to bring him back in for another kiss. And another. And another. And THEN Robin started pelting Steve with something hard. He finally came up for air to see that she was attacking him with tic-tacs.

"Heel! Down boy!", Robin yelled. "I shoulda had you neutered a long time ago."

Eddie chuckled and pulled back completely, hands in the air in surrender. "Didn't mean to attack your purebred. You know how us mutts are."

Steve was listening. He was definitely listening. But he was also looking Eddie up and down in three dimensions.

"Hey Steve, got anything to say about crossing the street without looking both ways?", Robin pointed out.

"Yeah!", Steve said, brain slowly catching up. "Uh, don't! I can't make out with you if you're roadkill."

"I'll keep that in mind, baby." Eddie grabbed his hand and pulled him to his side, putting an arm around his waist.

Giddy with joy, Steve turned to Robin and mouthed at her, 'I'm baby'.

Robin rolled her eyes as they crossed the street (safely) and went inside. Her eyes got big as she took it all in.

"Steve! They've got knives! Vickie loves knives!"

"What happened to Chrissy?", Steve asked.

"I'm in high demand", Robin grinned as she checked out the wall of axes.

Eddie introduced Robin to one of his co-workers and friends who was going to help her through her lesson. To his credit, Jeff only looked slightly worried about how interested in sharp things she was. Eddie led Steve two lanes over so that they could have a bit of privacy. Well, as much as one could in a warehouse space where people were throwing axes.

Someone was playing music though, meaning their voices didn't carry and they were in their own little world. Which was just as well because Steve didn't think he could focus on much else watching the way Eddie handled an axe. He could hear Robin's voice in his head cracking wise at the whole 'being sexy with a phallic object' but Steve didn't even think Eddie was doing it on purpose.

He was literally just demonstrating on to use it but he was also showboating, lofting the axe in the air while standing in the lane. He had given Steve strict instructions not to pass a certain line and Steve wasn't looking to get his head lopped off so soon.

"Think you're ready to try?", Eddie asked.

Steve nodded and Eddie handed him an axe, handle first and then got out of the way to watch him from the side. Steve wound up and tossed it the way Eddie showed him. Not quite a bullseye but very close to it.

"How was that? ...Eddie?"

"Hm?"

"How was my throw?"

"Oh good, good. It was good." Eddie had been watching. He couldn't even think of tearing his eyes off Steve. He had watched the way his arms flexed and his hips shifted and his legs-god his legs-wait Steve was saying something else.

"Sorry, what?"

Steve smiled. He recognized the look on Eddie's face. "You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?"

"Not a thing, gorgeous."

Steve stepped over to him and put his arms around Eddie's shoulders. "I was asking if you could help me with my technique?"

That was how Eddie found himself in the much coveted position of standing flush against Steve's back, holding his wrist while directing him on how to throw the axe with one hand.

"Is that how you guys normally teach this stuff?", Robin asked, watching Eddie's hand get really bold on Steve's hip.

Jeff rolled his eyes and then averted them. "He's not affiliated with us."

It took Steve only a couple more tries to hit it dead center and when he did, Eddie kissed him like he was the one that got the target.

"I bet you take all your dates here", Steve said against his lips.

"You're the only one who's opened his eyes to how romantic axe throwing can be."

"So romantic", Steve agreed. "How the axe rushes to be with the wood."

"Mmm, it flies on the wings of love", Eddie added, then kissed Steve again, cradling the back of his head.

Steve's hands went around and stuck themselves in Eddie's back pockets. "Something something wood-splitting penetration." He went back to kissing Eddie and everything else melted away until he felt a finger poking his shoulder.

"Hey, it's your best friend. Would you come up for air for a second?"

With a sigh, Steve pulled away but kept his hold on Eddie who did the same for him. Robin jerked her head very unsubtly towards the bathroom. Steve took his hands out of Eddie's pockets.

"Be right back. Try not to miss me too much."

Steve followed Robin to the bathroom which was definitely a single and not meant for two grown people but they made it work anyway.

"So you and Eddie seem to be hitting it off..."

"He's great, isn't it?" Steve was looking at himself in the mirror. He looked like he'd been kissed a lot. From his lips to his hair it was hard not to see.

"You sure you're not, you know, drowning in him?"

"Is that a bad thing? I was a swim captain in high school, remember?"

"There's a difference between a pool and the ocean and Mr...Mr Bad Boy out there's a whole tempest", Robin said.

"Poetic. Any other warnings?"

"Yes", Robin grabbed him by the shoulders. "Please use a condom, I'm not ready to be an aunt."

"Robin, I gotta be honest...I kind of want to have his baby." Steve opened the door and there was Eddie, waiting for him.

"Almost took too long, sweetheart. I was considering breaking the door down."

"You're ridiculous", Steve said as Eddie took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

"He didn't even wash his hands", Robin said.

"Dirty baby", Eddie murmured.

"Wanna see how dirty I can get?"

Part 9 FINAL

Tag Team (CLOSED)

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @newtstabber @omletlove @ifyoudonlysurrender @rehfan @morganski-19 @corvidcantina @dragonmama76 @just-ladyme @tinyplanet95 @goodolefashionedloverboi @idoquitelikebread @kittydeadbones @manda-panda-monium @rhapsodyinalto @paintsplatteredandimperfect @keylime-green @ihavekidneys @samsoble @honorarybrit81 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @aizawa-emma @deleataecount @thesuninyaface @fromapayphone @justmeinadaze @hbyrde36 @queenie-ofthe-void @resident-gay-bitch @bestwifehaver @dangdirtydemons @ellietheasexylibrarian @perseus-notjackson @pyrohonk @holysteddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @mrsjellymunson @geekymagicalpotato @notaqueenakhaleesi

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #stay tuned for if the next part will be the last part

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superblysubpar · 5 months

Text

we'll call it love masterlist

summary: steve and you make up at a wedding | a smut blurb request here - thank you! | NSFW 18+

2k words

warnings: this is apart of my series WCIL universe and while it can be read on it's own and make sense, definitely more fun if you've read the series, and this would spoil some things. | SMUT (oral - reader receiving, PIV unprotected sex - public)

His forearms rest on the railing, white sleeves of his button down rolled to his elbows, his suit jacket and vest long gone. The veins in his hands flexed as the amber liquid in his glass swirled. The sun was just starting to set over the skyline - pinks and oranges, a touch of purple.

It was perfect, and you weren’t watching it with him - or rather he wasn’t watching you watch it. Steve turned away from the sky you’d normally be enraptured by. Normally your hand would be in his, your head resting on his shoulder as you finally slowed down for a second and just were together.

He looked past the tables, the couples and friends sharing drinks and cigarettes. Past the twinkling garden lights and through the floor to ceiling glass windows left open for the evening.

His best friend in the middle of the dance floor in a white dress. It’s simple though, sleek, not an ounce of detail on it and hugs her curves, suiting her perfectly. He totally cried when she tried it on and he wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Her honey hair is pinned in curls reminiscent of old Hollywood that you helped with. Her bright blue polished fingers reached towards the pale pink ones outstretched to her, pulling the slender hand to lace with hers. She twirled the brunette adorned in traditional lace, whose head is thrown back in a laugh and accompanied by a smile he’s not quite sure he’s ever seen or heard from her before and it makes his eyes get a little misty. Eddie, by some feat, starts singing ‘You’re Still The One’ by Shania Twain and that’s what finally does get his lips to twitch into almost a smile. He’s certain Robin was not the only one who broke him and it probably took quite a bit of bribing from you.

He’s not too emotional as they start their first dance, but it’s when he sees you, swaying and pulling out a lighter with Eddie’s girlfriend on the side of the dancefloor that his breath catches in his throat, his chest tightens. The two of you whistled at Eddie who rolls his eyes without missing a beat, before you’re both tilting your heads together and toasting your champagne. Steve watched as you watch their love, he watched you feel it overwhelm the room and his heart beats harder in his chest.

The week of being maid of honor and best man for the couple had bent you both to your limit, and he just had to go and make it a fight. He had to push it, to turn it into a thing you yelled about until it became a thing you both were giving the silent treatment over. Now both too scared to say sorry first or talk about the big, giant, question he just sort of screamed at you and you left hanging there.

Steve sips on his drink, taking in the way the shimmering green dress hugs your curves, the way it falls at your calves and slits up the front. He swallowed as you tugged absentmindedly on the little ‘S’ resting in the dip of your collarbones, sipping your champagne. He can see the way your eyes shimmer watching the two girls dance, the way your shoulders fell in a deep sigh. He knows you’re just as much of a sap as he is, you just don’t want to admit it.

He knows it even more when the guitar drifts off and the next song starts and Eddie looked straight at him as he called, “Robin and Nancy would like anyone who’s in love to please come join them on the dance floor.”

The opening notes of ‘It Had To Be You’ by Frank Sinatra began and Steve watched your head turn, eyes roaming over the room until they met his. You smiled, shrugging your shoulders and he made his way to you.

He sets his glass down, grabbing the hand you offered and you both step onto the dancefloor, smiling at Robin over Nancy’s shoulder.

Steve’s hands found your waist easily, like they’re his favorite place to rest, home. Yours over his shoulders, fiddling with the collar and then the ends of his hair as you started to sway. Your head tilted up at him with a purse of your lips and playfully narrowed eyes.

“Are you all done being mister brooding, sexy, grumpy-”

“Sexy, huh?”

Your eyes rolled as his hands roamed to your back, pulling you in tighter to his chest, fingers warm on your exposed back and toying with the straps criss-crossing over it. He kissed at your temple and hummed, “Not sure I’ll ever be done being that. It’s tough to say about the brooding. Definitely not grumpy anymore though.”

Your cheek pressed to his shoulder, palm dragging down to rest on his chest, fingers rubbing small circles over a button. Your voice was quiet, unsure, shaking with something that sounded like genuine fear. “Are we okay?”

He stopped dancing then, eyes bouncing between yours as he sighed at the worry evident there. He grabbed both of your hands, kissing your knuckles before he dropped them to cup your cheeks.

“I’m an idiot, I never should have-”

“No, I’m an idiot, I should have-”

He interrupts your interruption with a kiss, your hands pressed to his chest from the passion behind it. Warm breath against your cheek from his nose as his hand slid up your jaw, thumb at your ear as he cradled your neck to bend back for him, palm of his other hand catching your lower back as you arched.

He parted from you with a gasp, both of you breathing heavily as he kissed you again, much softer before he suggested, “How about, we’re both idiots and we go make up real quick?”

That’s how he got you in one of the bathrooms. Fighting long forgotten, if it could even really be called that. Sorry’s mumbled into lips in between I love you’s. He had his hands on your waist, pushing you hard against the bathroom door so you were gasping. Steve lifted your dress, gaze on where your bodies met, pushing at the hem frantic, needy, until you were completely exposed and he was gulping.

“You’re not - you haven’t been wearing underwear this entire day?”

Your head smacked against the door with a low laugh, shaking it no. Steve practically growled, his hands moving over your body, worshiping your curves, down your thighs and back up. He pushed his palms flat against the door on either side of your waist, dropping to his knees, staring up at you like you put the sunset in the sky. His lips skimmed over your skin, starting at your knee and moving higher so he was at your center. Kisses and nips over your thighs until he was cursing at the sight in front of him.

Lips glistening for him already, it was easy for his nose to slide between them, his mouth close behind. His tongue traced their curves, teasing at your entrance so you jolted against him, hands finding his hair and tugging the way he liked. Steve let a hand fall to your hip, traveling lower to cup your ass and squeeze to hear your giggle, then down your thigh until he was hitching it over his shoulder.

“St-Steve.” Your body shivered around him, clenching around nothing yet.

He mouthed at your clit, tongue flicking it and pulling away to watch your hips try to chase him. He couldn’t last, not with the way your hands carded through his hair, the way you looked down at him like he was everything.

Your leg dropped roughly, so he could stand, both of your hands meeting his at the button and zipper. Fumbling and bumping, your head ducked to catch his lips, wet and sloppy, desperate in their kiss. Your mouths moved over each other’s fast, greedy, devouring one another between heavy breaths.

Steve teased his tip at your entrance, dragging it through your slick and tapping on your clit until you were biting on his lower lip, gasping out a please.

He thrust in fast, not letting you prepare or recover as he slid out of you slowly only to do it again. Your mouth parted against his, not quite kissing anymore, just breathing in and out with each other, lips and noses touching and bumping. Steve hitched your leg higher on his hip, hands roaming beneath each thigh and lifting so you were wrapped around him. He thrust into you in deep strokes, never letting his gaze fall from yours, hazel eyes consuming you.

Your head bumped the door, his hips slamming into yours as his fingers gripped at your ass. His lips took your bottom one between his, sucking dirty and pulling a little meanly until he released it, breathing heavily. Your orgasm built quickly, entire body vibrating around him, ready for him to take you away, off the planet and into the stars.

“You’re mine,” he thrust deeper, pausing and kissing over your jaw, down your neck, voice softening, “My fucking girl.”

He rolled his hips and you moaned at his possessiveness, at the weight of the gold necklace around your neck. Your spine prickled with lust, excitement, adrenaline, as your head fell forward so your foreheads touched. You panted against his lips, nodding.

“I’m yours. All yours. Forever. Whatever you want.”

Steve lips found yours again, his hand on your jaw pulled you open more so his tongue could roll over yours, so it could trace your top lip. The kind of kiss that made your stomach flutter, made goosebumps erupt over your skin, made your cheeks flush, your toes curl and your fingers push deeper into his hair, needing him closer. He parted from you, grabbed your hand and laced it with his, pushing it up against the door and your other clung to the back of his head as his hips picked up their pace.

“Oh! Fuck, right - S-Steve!” Your head hit the door again, fingers tensing and flexing between his, legs shaking from the orgasm about to rip through you.

“Louder, honey. They all need to hear who can get you like this.”

You clenched around him at his words, a little turned on by people knowing just like he was. His fingers dropped yours, quick to find your clit and press figure eights to the swollen nerves. Your feet locked behind him as you clenched around his dick, gushing over him as stars exploded behind your eyes and you yelled out even louder, unsure if you were even saying words.

Your body on fire, heat from head to toe as your eyes rolled back, band inside of you snapping as his release filled you up. Steve’s head fell into the crook of your neck with his own cry, hips stuttering until you were both still. The only sounds the low thudding of music from outside and both of your sharp inhales and louder exhales.

“Did you mean it?” His voice was raspy, nose nudging up your neck as he cupped your ass, holding you against him.

“Wh-what?” You couldn’t quite catch your breath, eyes heavy and blinking, exhausted from the orgasm he just gave you. .

Steve kissed your jaw, swallowing. “Forever? Was that an answer to my question?”

“I-”

Pounding on the other side of the wood rattled the door against your back and Steve pushed his weight against it, yelling, “Occupi-”

“You’re both animals! It’s my fucking wedding shitbirds! Clean yourselves up and you better get your asses out here before Wilson Phillips or I will kill you both!”

Robin’s voice echoed through the door and both of you sputtered out laughs, covering each other’s mouths. Eyes growing fonder, sparkling with mischief, you both let your hands drop and he was kissing you. Legs dropping to the ground gently, his fingers cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

He let you go and smiled as your eyes blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering as you cleared your throat, dazed look behind your eyes and cheeks warm under his palms as he asked, “We’ll finish this later?”

#a we'll call it love blurb #we'll call it love #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb

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1800-fight-me · 1 year

Note

request:

ig it’s not a request but a loose idea,,

maybe aemond and his lady wife only have had vanilla sex not because either of them want it to be spicy but because aemond thinks his new quiet little wife won’t enjoy anything other than missionary … but maybe they’re walking together in a secluded part of the gardens and catch aegon with a woman doing some spicy things and aemond sees the way his wife stares before she blushes furiously and he decides to to take things to the next level with her later on

New Experiences

Aemond Targaryen x Petite!Female!Reader

A Practice Makes Perfect Fic - This can be read as a stand alone fic or part of the series!

Rating: Explicit- MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Semi-rough sex that turns into soft and loving smut... oops

Word Count: About 2.5k

Synopsis: After a walk in the castle gardens that leads to an unexpected show, you and your husband try something new.

Author’s Note: I'm back!! I'm so sorry it has been so long since I've posted, life has been absolutely insane but I'm so happy to have finally had time to write and get this out!

Aemond Masterlist

You bounced up and down on the balls of your feet as you waited for Aemond to meet you for a walk in the gardens.

He’d been fairly busy as of late and you were excited to have some time alone with him.

You smiled brightly at him as you spotted him walk towards you.

He truly is the most handsome man in the entire seven kingdoms in your opinion.

His long silver hair looked so pretty as it swayed back and forth as he walked.

“Hello, little wife,” he purred as he pulled you into his arms and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“I have missed you,” you said sweetly.

He smiled, a soft upturn of his curved lips, and nudged his nose against yours before he kissed you once again.

“You are too sweet, I shall lose myself in you if I let myself indulge too much,” he whispered against your wanting lips.

“Indulge away, dear husband,” you whispered back and surged up to fully press your lips to his.

He groaned softly, low in the back of his throat, before he pulled back and looked at you.

“You test my self control, beautiful. I thought you wanted to go for a walk,” he said.

You smirked at him.

“That is true, I suppose,” you said, but still you clung to him.

“Come, let us walk for at least a little while before I drag you back to our rooms,” he said with a kiss to your temple.

“You would not meet much resistance,” you promised as you looped your arm in his.

He led you to walk along the path and appeased you as you prattled on about how pretty the flowers were.

He told you about his day and smiled at you warmly as you told him about yours.

You were content, happier than you ever imagined you could be. Aemond truly was the perfect husband and you took joy in being his sweet little wife.

As you turned a corner to a more secluded part of the garden, which you were certain Aemond had led you into for a reason, you might still be new to sex but you were not ignorant of your husband’s intentions and desires, you gasped at what you saw.

Aegon was buried deep inside a woman, her back to him as she bent over and rested her hands on the bench before her.

They both groaned in pleasure before he noticed you and Aemond.

You whirled around and buried your face in Aemond’s chest.

He wrapped his arms around you and cradled the back of your head.

“Really, Aegon? In public where anyone could see you?” Aemond said sharply.

Aegon chuckled.

“Were you not coming here to do the same?” he challenged.

Aemond scoffed.

You peeked at Aegon and the woman and he caught you and winked at you.

His hands continued to grip her waist tightly and he did not pull himself out of her.

She did not seem too embarrassed by her predicament.

You quickly hid your face in Aemond’s chest once more.

“Shameful,” he scoffed at Aegon before he led you safely away.

“Hypocrite!” Aegon yelled at his younger brother and laughed loudly.

Your mind raced. You had never witnessed such an act before and Aemond had certainly never taken you in a position from behind like that. It looked…. rough, but the woman seemed to be enjoying it.

Aemond had always been gentle with you since you’d been wed to him a couple months ago, and you enjoyed it immensely.

But you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d enjoy something different just as much.

If perhaps it was you and Aemond in that position….

“Are you alright, little love?” Aemond asked as he stopped and led you to look up at him and meet your gaze.

“Y-yes,” you breathed out as you stared up at him.

He was beautiful. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he looked at you with such care and devotion.

You wanted him.

“I am sorry you had to witness such depravity. A proper lady such as yourself should not be subject to such things…”

He trailed off as he spoke.

His brow furrowed as he studied your face.

Then he narrowed his eye at you.

Your husband had become all too skilled at reading you and your expressions.

“Tell me, my sweet little wife, what are you thinking about right now?” he asked as he leaned down close enough that his nose nearly touched yours.

You struggled to think straight with his welcomed intrusion into your space.

“I….”

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“You have never taken me in such a way. I-I couldn’t help but wonder if…”

You felt like you could burst from embarrassment.

You dropped your gaze from his and he surprised you when he pressed a firm kiss to your lips.

“If?” he asked, a murmur against your lips.

“If it would be enjoyable for you to be, perhaps, less gentle with me?” your voice was practically a squeak due to mortification by the time you finished your sentence.

He chuckled darkly and kissed you firmly as he pulled you tight against his body.

You whimpered and melted into his body.

“I would be more than happy to indulge your curiosity,” he said as he pulled back and stared at your lust filled eyes.

————

“You will tell me if anything is too much, yes?” he demanded between harsh kisses as he kicked the door closed behind the two of you.

“Yes,” you gasped as he lifted you up and shoved your skirts up.

You wrapped your legs around his trim waist and held onto his shoulders as he continued to kiss you desperately.

His tongue pillaged your mouth as he walked to the nearby table, the one he usually used for letter writing and things of the like, and shoved everything off it.

He dropped you down onto the table you gasped.

His predatory smile only made your toes curl as he surveyed you like a feast he was soon to

devour.

You grinned.

You entangled your fingers in his hair and pulled him back down to kiss you.

His hands moved to the lacing at the back of your dress, but quickly he lost patience.

He instead gripped the bodice and ripped it in a display of strength that had you gushing with another wave of desire.

He managed to remove you completely of all your clothing quickly, with a few more rips, until you were bare before him.

“Too much?” he asked as you stared at him aghast.

He pulled off his eyepatch and shirt and your mouth watered at the expanse of pale muscled skin you saw, your husband’s body was a sight you would never tire of.

“Absolutely not,” you replied.

He pressed his lips to yours once again as he kissed you and filled you with his desire.

Your hands trailed down the expanse of his tight torso and landed on his belt.

Your hand drifted lower, to grip his hardened length, and he groaned into your mouth as his lips continued to move against yours.

His hands gripped your waist tight, tight enough to bruise, and you loved it.

You yanked off his belt, and with his help, removed his pants as well.

His hands drifted lower.

“I am ready, I want this to be about your pleasure, fill me now,” you gasped as you bit down on the most sensitive spot on his neck.

He let out a low sound, practically a snarl, before he pulled back from you.

He stared at you and he breathed heavily.

You batted your eyelashes prettily at him as you returned his gaze and offered him your bare body for his enjoyment.

He pulled you off the table and against his body.

He kissed you one more time before he spun you around so your back was pressed to his chest.

You could feel his hardness against the curves of your ass and whimpered in desire.

“You,” he murmured in your ear, “my sweet little wife, are fucking perfect.”

You shivered.

He pressed down on your back so you bent down and rested your front upon the table and bared yourself to him.

He groaned at the sight of you from behind, wet and desperate for him.

He trailed his fingers lightly down the length of your spine and your toes curled in anticipation.

“Aemond,” you whined in impatience.

He smacked your ass lightly and you gasped.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Please, I need you,” you said breathily.

Your heart pounded as he stretched the moment until it was nearly excruciating.

You wanted him so much you couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t form words.

“As you wish,” he said softly before he pressed himself inside you in one swift and deep thrust.

You choked at how deep he felt inside you.

“Oh shit,” you groaned.

Your husband was well endowed, that you already knew, but he had never felt quite so large as he did at this angle.

He chuckled darkly and leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.

His hair fell around his shoulders and tickled your back.

You shivered once again.

He trailed his lips down the length of your back until he stood fully straight again.

You couldn’t help the mewls that fell from your lips.

And then, finally, your dragon filled you with his fire and passion in a way he never had before.

He grunted as he thrust in and out of you so hard and deep that the table beneath you shook.

He gripped the flesh of your hips tightly and held you in place as his pace somehow increased.

Your wanton moans filled the room and made music as they intertwined with his low groans.

There was a spot deep inside you that both you and Aemond were familiar with, but no position you tried before had ever given it quite this much attention.

He hit that spot over and over inside you and the pleasure was so intense and overwhelming it was nearly painful.

Your pleasure built and built as he buried himself deeper inside you than he had ever reached before, over and over and over again.

“Aemond,” you gasped.

He stopped his thrusts momentarily and you whined.

He leaned down and pressed his sweat glistened chest against your back as he laid his weight atop you.

You let out a high pitched whine at the feel of more of his skin against yours.

He ran his hands all the way up your sides, arms, until finally he placed his hands atop yours and laced his fingers with your own.

He ran his nose softly against your cheek and hummed in contentment.

You sighed happily.

You craned your neck and pressed your lips to his.

He kissed you, slow and sweet before you released his lips and laid your head back down on the table.

He began his thrusts once again, but this time, slow and more shallow.

Your pleasure was not diminished, however, it felt just as wonderful, just more intimate.

His cock rubbed against that same spot within you, slowly and smoothly, continuously and repeatedly.

‘Mmmm,” he moaned in your ear.

“Oh gods,” you breathed out.

“You are perfect, little love,” he murmured and slipped a hand from yours.

His large hand found your waist once again and then slipped around the bend of your hip to the front of you.

You gasped as his long fingers found your bundle of nerves and began to draw circles around it.

He continued a steady and even pace as he touched you.

Your sounds of ecstacy increased in volume and he groaned along with you.

You felt the tension in your body grow and grow as his fullness pleased you more than you ever thought possible.

“Let go,” he whispered and you did as he bid.

The tension inside you snapped and you came, and clenched down on his hardness as you did.

He muffled his own sounds of pleasure as he bit down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

The pain only intensified your pleasure and you could not help the volume at which you called out his name.

He found his own release shortly after you, and spilled himself deep inside of you.

You both panted as you caught your breaths.

You turned your head and he kissed your wanting lips.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips.

“And I love you, dear husband, but I fear you are crushing me,” you said breathily.

He chuckled and hauled himself off you.

He helped you stand upright and laughed pridefully once more as you clung to him due to your unsteady legs.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before he scooped you up and held you to his chest.

He carried you over to the overstuffed chair before the fire and sat down as he held you on his lap.

You nuzzled your face into his throat and he hummed in satisfaction.

He rubbed his hand up and down your back.

“Are you alright? I fear I was too rough-“

“No, it was perfect, you were amazing, I feel wonderful,” you said as you pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

“Good,” he said lowly as he continued to rub soothing circles into your skin.

“Though that was my favorite dress,” you said lightly.

He laughed in surprise.

“Then I shall have another made for you, little wife, but I cannot bring myself to apologize,” he said and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You giggled.

“No apology is necessary,” you reassured and he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

You both fell into a contented and satisfied silence as he held you.

Then you remembered that it was surely only mid afternoon and he must have duties to attend to.

“How long before you have to go?” you asked.

“Hm?”

“We merely intended to go for a short walk in the gardens, I fear I have taken you from your afternoon responsibilities,” you said with a yawn.

He laughed softly.

“No, my sweet wife, I had no intention of only taking you for a walk. I cleared my entire afternoon,” he replied.

“Aemond!” you said in shock and surprise before you laughed.

“It is your fault for tempting me so,” he said heatedly.

You huffed a laugh.

“Whatever shall we do with an entire afternoon, just the two of us?” you teased.

“Hm. I can think of a few things,” he said, his voice low and deep as he turned your head and pressed his lips to yours once more.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x wife!reader #practice makes perfect #aemond #aemond targaryen x y/n

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

Text

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 6: Retribution (NSFW!)

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

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. Your husband seeks justice.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to @angelqueen04 for beta-ing! Thank you also to @evisnotok, @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ajthefujoshi for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of pregnancy, graphic violence, graphic depictions of blood and torture, graphic depictions of murder, erectile dysfunction.

He can hear you screaming the moment he alights upon the top of the stairs.

“Guards! Guards!” he roars, already running.

Bolting down the corridor, his mind whirls with terror. What will he find when he gets to your rooms? He braces himself, thoughts whirling uncontrollably. Thoughts of stained sheets and the scent of copper and death upon the air, your tear-stricken face wild and wretched with the anguish of being ripped apart by babes too small to survive, the still forms of infants in miniature, slick with blood and already greying upon the ground below you—

What he discovers is infinitely worse.

The Mallery knight is engaged in a tussle with an unknown assailant, the clash of steel ringing in his ears and reminding him of battles past. You lay on the stone floor beside a body, one of two, your face and hair and gown wet with gore. A man straddles your legs, brandishing a knife that inches its way toward your belly. Toward his heirs. You’re giving him a good showing, kicking your legs and shoving at his weight with all your might and shrieking—but you are not strong enough to sway the encroaching threat of the blade in his hand.

“Shut up, girl!” The malefactor grapples against your stubborn hands preventing the knife from reaching its target, holding it at bay. “Not ‘ere for you… just them babies in you. Hold still!”

“No!” you yell, spitting in his face. The man snarls, backhanding you. You yelp.

Daemon moves instantly, unsheathing Dark Sister and striding toward the fray with barely a second thought. The Valyrian steel slides through flesh like butter, piercing straight through the assailant’s back and up through his ribs while being careful to miss his heart.

Non-lethal, painful. I want him to feel this.

The man shouts, dropping the knife. He yanks the sword out and kicks him away from you, sneering as he watches his prey scramble through the ooze of his own life essence. He’s still alive. Daemon casts aside his sword and falls upon your attacker, taking up the other man’s blade and slicing cleanly across the jugular, just enough pressure to release a gruesome spray that wets his face and tunic. He wants this creature to die bloody.

“Daemon—”

He presses his thumbs into the cut, smiling darkly as the man thrashes and gurgles. Ichor stains his skin and fills his nostrils with the stink of metallic warmth, humanity reduced to its basest form and lashing about in its final throes—

“My Prince—ah!”

In his periphery, he catches a figure scrambling from the room through the narrow server’s passageway, Mallery falling to the ground and clutching his leg. The man below him is still twitching. He cannot let him go until he is certain he’s dead, until he has paid the price for daring to lay his hands on you.

The guards burst into the room from the main entrance, taking in the scene with shock. Fucking useless.

“What the fuck took you so long?” he growls, releasing his hold on the man below him. He’s dead. The knowledge that he has taken care of this immediate threat to your safety soothes him somewhat. And yet, not all have been vanquished. Jerking his head in the direction of the opening in the far wall, he says, “One of the attackers escaped. After them!”

They nod hastily, sprinting away with a clang. Daemon readies for the influx of more people; the Kingsguard, the servants, the nobles, his fucking brother—

“Daemon…”

Your weeping reaches his ears, little fingers brushing tentatively against his shoulder. The gentleness of the motion breaks him from his violent spiral. His gaze jerks to yours, the burning rage cooling to a simmering ember as he takes in your terrified demeanour: wide eyes and quivering lip and tears tracking through spattered crimson akin to grisly warpaint.

You swallow. “He—he—”

He is momentarily struck by fear. What if you’ve been wounded? What if your pains have started? That old urge to run at the first sign of strife rears its ugly head, but he tamps it down viciously. I am not that man anymore.

“Sh.” Pulling you bodily to him, he feels the weight of you solid in his arms and on his lap, a reminder that he has not yet lost what is most important to him.

She is safe. She is safe. The rest can wait.

He runs his bloodied hand along your jaw, down your spine, across your belly, cataloguing every iota of you as though it is the first time he has ever held you. It might have been the last. He cannot help that the movements are rougher than he’d like, frantic and desperate.

“Are you alright?” he asks, trying to keep his voice gentle so as not to plunge you further into hysterics. “The babes?”

You nod shakily, tugging his hand back to your swollen middle. And oh, what a moment to feel the thudding motions of his children, the first time he has been able to lay a palm there and experience the sensation himself. They are active within your womb, small thumps and jabs that are more delicate than he had expected—but they are alive.

Tears burn in his eyes, angry, boiling things that he cannot, will not let loose. Not now.

He bands an arm beneath your knees and lifts you from the ground—the cold stone is no place for his little niece, his sweet baby wife—reassured by the heaviness of you and his heirs all. Conveying you swiftly to the bed with hardly a care given to the large stains smearing across the covers, he supposes you shall need an entirely new set of chambers, what with the mess soaking the stone ground.

Several arrivals occur in quick succession. Four of the Kingsguard enter and move immediately to secure the perimeter, one breaking off to aid Mallery across the room by tamping the ichor oozing steadily from his leg. Good man. He’d have hated to have to slay your sworn shield for incompetence, but his performance had been admirable in the face of the odds laid before him. It looks likely that he will not be able to use the limb again, though.

The healer woman is the next to toddle in, exclaiming in dismay at the sight. Your lady-in-waiting—and oh, fuck, the body that had been beside you is the other, he realises—follows swiftly on her heels, immediately bursting into tears when she absorbs the carnage.

Ūlla picks her way around the debris in a manner that is almost comical. “Princess! Princess! Are you safe?”

One of the Cargylls—he can never fucking tell them apart—steps before her, blade pointed in her direction.

She scoffs. “Move, boy! Pah—are you ‘Princess’, then? Go away!”

As much as he’d love to see the ensuing standoff, now is not the time. It’d be best to have the physician verify that you and his heirs are well. No doubt the shrew will bring you a measure of matronly comfort that he cannot.

“Let her through,” he commands.

The knight steps aside reluctantly, allowing her to proceed onwards. Daemon moves away for the woman to begin fussing over you, for your attendant to step into place so as to comfort you. He is wrenched by the sound of your plaintive whimper when he has gone too far for you to reach.

But needs must—this is not over.

He rolls over each of the attackers lying dead on the ground with a foot, examining them with pursed lips. There’s a blotch on each of their cheeks. At first, he assumes it is no more than a discolouration of the skin, perhaps a curious disease or a sign of familial relation—but leaning closer and wiping some of the blood away reveals that they are in fact identical stars carved and scarred over. Seven points.

Mellos makes his way inside, no doubt summoned for Mallery. It is a rare occasion indeed to see him act decisively; he dithers in overdramatic fright but for a moment before moving along to his task.

Lord Cunttower himself appears then, accompanied by his bitch of a daughter with the King in tow.

Daemon sees red.

“You,” he whispers, or maybe he shouts it. He can barely hear anything over the pounding in his ears as he shoves his brother’s prized lackey against the wall, cursing his lack of a blade. “You’ll die for this.”

“Daemon!”

“Look at her!” he snarls.

Hands wrapped around the man’s throat, Daemon revels in the distressed gasps and choking gags as the lord’s face slowly turns purple. The snake tries to pull at his grip, but a pompous fuck from the Reach is no match for a seasoned Targaryen warrior. Viserys is at his back, pulling at his shoulder with his one remaining hand. No doubt that is the Hightower whore crying out from further away.

“Look at my fucking wife, Otto! Mark my words”—he hounds ever closer to see the panic and the fear in the eyes of a man so usually unshakeable—“if this is your doing, not even the King or the gods themselves will stop me from taking your head—”

“Guards!”

“Kepus!”

He is dragged back by the nearest of his brother’s soldiers, forced to release his punitive grip. Otto sags with a guttural heave, water streaming from his eyes and clutching at his neck. Alicent rushes to her sire, staring between him and Daemon with sheer distress painting her features. Her hands flutter uselessly over the bruise already blooming across the flesh, though her overtures are quickly batted away.

“What is the meaning of this?” Viserys asks, even greyer as he looks about the scene of your attack; the blood, the bodies, your sworn shield emitting a muffled howl through a strap of leather between his teeth as the Grand Maester cauterises the wound. “What—”

“They ca—came for the babes.” Your speech is slack and monotone now that the shock has properly set in.

I can’t fucking do this, Daemon thinks.

He nudges the healer out of the way and ignores her grumble to sit beside you on the bed, to clutch at you once again and remind himself that you’re here. You grip his hand for support, heedless of the dried gore flaking off between joined palms.

“Three of them,” you say, numb. “They—oh, gods. They killed Miriam. They killed her.”

“Sh.” He presses his lips to your head, the smell of the rose oil apparent even through all the blood. She’s safe. She’s safe. He turns to your present company, to the figures of the King and Queen and Hand, arranged in various poses of horror. “This was not an accident. These—these scum knew what they were doing. They made their way into your Keep. They meant to slaughter your daughter’s babes, and in doing so, murder my wife. This is treason, Your Grace, of the highest order.”

Viserys looks as though his spirit is about to part from his body, pallid and desolate in the face of this hidden menace. “But why?” he asks, a child at prayer.

Daemon scoffs at the naivete. Is his failure to acknowledge the wound he has let fester for so long really so great? Of all the people in this room, the King ought to know best that all choices have consequences.

“My daughter’s never caused harm to a single man, woman or child,” the King continues. “Who would do this?”

“Ask him.” Daemon glowers at Hightower, who is still covering the line of his neck with his own hand.

The man makes a noise of incredulity. “I have been ever loyal to your King and your House these many years, Prince Daemon,” he says, or tries to. His voice is gravelly, raspy in the way that belies a considerable trauma inflicted upon the area. He affects a moue of outrage, though the alarm lingers. “To accuse me of such a—grievous crime—as to engineer the slaying of the Princess’s babes is simply preposterous!”

“And to what cause?” his daughter asks, forcing an aura of regality. It does not suit her. She’s far too common to view as anything more than a descendant of wildling savages. “Where is the benefit to doing such a thing?”

This time, Daemon cannot help but snort aloud. He stands, passing you back into the care of the healer, who has gathered a basin of water and some rags with which to start shedding you of the layers of congealed blood upon your face. You do not need to hear this part, and so he strides closer to the trespassing forms before him.

This time, he directs his poisonous inquiry to the Hightower woman, finally laying the truth of the matter bare.

“Have you yourself not openly alleged that the Princess Rhaenyra’s sons are bastards, my Queen?” He keeps his tone deliberately light, though it is clear all can sense the danger lurking beneath each intonation. “It stands to reason that, to those who might be persuaded to believe such falsehoods, my wife would be her heir by right of precedence. And if my wife should bear a son? Well, that makes your son’s claim rather difficult to advance, doesn’t it?”

“How dare you accuse me—”

“Enough!” his brother say, hushing himself when he notices he has caught your attention across the room. His next words are spoken far softer. “Did I not say that such rumours would incur a stay in the Black Cells? I do not wish to hear speculation as to the legitimacy of my grandsons!”

“Your Grace.” Daemon genuflects.

His rage is a seething, smouldering thing, but he needs Viserys on side if he is to tear the capital apart to find this cunt and rend him into pieces. There are plenty who believe him to be an unreasonable beast when the fire burns through his veins, but he is more than just an unmoored conflagration; he’s a fucking Prince, and he knows how to play the game when the occasion calls for it.

Assuming a countenance as servile as he can manage, he appeals directly to his brother. “Close the city gates,” he begs quietly. “Give me the City Watch. Let me root out the last of these cu—these reprobates, street by street, door by door. Let me gift my wife the justice she is owed.” He steps aside so that Viserys can see straight to you, to the way you have begun to tremor despite the huddled warmth of the women who are tending to you, to your face streaked scarlet with the blood of others, to your hands clasped tightly against your belly in protection of your children. “Please. If not for me… then for her.”

Viserys may be a wretch, but he loves Aemma’s girls.

“This affront must not be allowed to go unpunished,” the King says, suddenly weary. “I give you leave to find this assassin, brother, so that we may learn who has placed a price on my daughter’s life.”

Daemon is one step closer to meting out punishment. He can already taste the death and destruction that awaits. Staring down the Hightowers, he says, “I will find the perpetrators, Your Grace. And there will be no mercy for those responsible.”

Let this be a warning to all who believe the Rogue Prince to be a tamed man. He is a fucking dragon, and this city will soon feel the flames of his wrath.

He gives Rollingford the orders to start the search without him.

“Thin build, dark hair, has a star cut into his right cheek. An old wound.” He rattles off all he has gleaned from his observations and yours and Mallery’s testimonies to the Commander of the gold cloaks. “Likely to be bleeding, probably limping on his left leg. I want him located. I want him surrounded until I arrive. No one is to touch him. This one is mine. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Ser,” the solemn soldier says, snapping to attention jerkily before striding off with his captains in tow. He is already issuing directives as he rounds the corner.

Ser. It is easy to sink into the role of combatant, doing away with titles and courtesies to embrace the mortality and mayhem of battle—but he cannot allow the bloodlust to consume him just yet.

Though you insist in a small whisper that it is not necessary, he carries you from your (old, spoiled, defiled) chambers to the King’s rooms himself. It is a temporary respite for you and your staff until the final attacker has been caught. He chafes at relinquishing you to your father’s care—it tastes strangely of defeat—but even he cannot deny that these apartments are the safest in the city, if not the Realm.

There is a self-indulgent joy that seeps through the cracks of his fury at the sight of Viserys so flummoxed by your insistence that he remain as you are bathed and dressed in nightwear, finally free of the wash of thick crimson that had crusted in your silver hair and stained your blossom-soft skin. His brother’s own bed has been stripped and redressed for your use, a surprising concession—or perhaps not. You are one of two pieces left of Aemma, after all.

Daeron had been brought to you for comfort, and you hold him as tightly to you as you had held your dolls in gummy fists as a tot, meek and withdrawn. It makes his chest ache to see you so terrified.

He uses the very last of his patience to help the healer woman coax watered dreamwine to your lips, to bundle you in tight in the bed beside your brother, to stroke at your hair and your belly and hum some half-recollected lullaby from your childhood or his until your eyes droop, exhausted and overcome.

As he rises to depart from the room—to seek his retribution—he shares a glance with the King, one that is mayhaps a beat too long to lack meaning. In it, he tries to convey what he cannot say aloud. ‘Protect her for me. Keep her safe while I cannot. Do this for me, brother.’

It is the first time in many a year that he is united in common cause with this man. A single nod, and then he exits, the Kingsguard closing ranks and barring the door from all who may seek entry.

The air is sharp with the chill of night and the stifle of smoke wafting from lit torches, the dim orange smoulder a gloomy spotlight throwing the shadows of soldiers into stark relief. Daemon can hear the cries near and far of alarmed citizens and distressed patrons as the City Watch raids homes and taverns and storefronts. The sound is intoxicating, a pulse of vicious pleasure loosening the strain in his shoulders and the tightness of his breath.

This is what he does best—bringing chaos and cruelty to his enemies’ doorstep. It’s a reminder of the fate that awaits those who dare to cross the House of the Dragon. Until this man is found, the entire city is his enemy.

“My Prince.” Rollingford falls into step beside his horse as he crosses into the Great Square, seemingly appearing from the shadows. An impressive skill. He slides down from the saddle, absently patting the mount’s flank when he chuffs at the motion. With an arched brow, he wordlessly prompts the Commander to continue. “We have guards manning all seven gates, as well as postings along the Blackwater. The harbour has been closed and the ships at dock searched, and the men are working their way through the city.”

“Good. What of the High Septon? I want him questioned. Make use of Largent.”

“The—the High Septon?” Rollingford asks. He does his best to sound carefully blank, but Daemon can hear the underlying pitch of nervousness.

“Yes, the fucking High Septon,” he snaps. “He’s here, isn’t he? Some business with the King. Tell him that the Prince wants to know why three assassins bearing the Seven-Pointed Star attempted to murder my wife and heirs earlier tonight. If he resists—bring him to me. I care not for the wrath of his gods.”

“Ye—yes, Ser.”

He doesn’t actually believe the Faith to be responsible for the attack. Those petty worshippers have become unmanned since the days of Jaehaerys, and the High Septon is far too gutless a creature to conjure up such a scheme. He also doubts any of the man’s underlings have the capacity to act without first being thoroughly vetted by the circuitous bureaucracy of the Most Devout. But it will send a message that none are safe from his wrath, one he hopes will lure forth the real culprits.

It nears dawn when the search bears fruition. One of the soldiers—Cressey, he thinks, or perhaps Hayford—brings forth a location.

“We’ve got ‘im surrounded, milord,” he says, “so ‘e’s not likely to escape. But those nearabouts all say they saw a bloodied man with a star on ‘is cheek limp inside and not come out. That was some time ago.”

It might just be a form of irony that the answers I seek are to be found once more in the whorehouses of King’s Landing, he thinks to himself.

He retraces the familiar route to the Street of Silk—straight down the Street of Sisters, left onto the Street of Flour, right along Copper Street—the sound of hoofbeats against cobblestone overloud in the early morning. It is easy to tell which of these establishments houses his quarry, the glimmer of the gold cloaks easily recognisable even in weak light.

The men part for him as he stalks along the way directly to the heavy oak door. Curious. Run-down, moth-eaten and hosting some of the most common girls in the Realm, this particular brothel had been one of the cheaper bastions of debauchery in his youth. A fuck was a fuck no matter which way it was dressed, though, so it is not as though he had refused their attempts to solicit his coin. A good Prince is a fair one, after all. The door is new, and already he can see signs of refurbishment in the scrubbed-clean stone and the pale thatching of the roof.

Daemon barges directly inside, immediately being struck by the thick clogging scent of incense and sweat and bodily fluids. Gone are the thready chaises and faded portraits and the half-destroyed staircase. Instead, the space is dark and richly furnished in deep reds and blacks, the walls inlaid with lacquered wood and gleaming with the flicker of burning braziers.

Several whores squeal at the suddenness of his importunity, turning wide kohl-lined eyes to his form from where they sit in the laps of strangers in various stages of undress about the open foyer. He scans each of the patrons critically, seeking out one who matches the description of his target.

Bald, pot-bellied, pockmarked, old, young, yellow hair, black hair… A veritable array of men soused on drink and desperation, and yet there is no sign of your assailant.

A woman moves from the shadows, her speech carrying above the sighs and moans despite the soft, lilting cadence. “Welcome to the Gilded Doll, good Ser. What pleasures do you seek this day?”

I know that voice.

“Mysaria.” His long-time paramour smiles teasingly at his shock, flicking her dark hair over her shoulders at the recognition. Little about her has changed since their separation. “I thought you’d be in Pentos.”

He had left her there in the Prince’s palace what seems like so long ago now. It is strange to think upon the version of himself who had been so afflicted by desire for Rhaenyra. Sometimes, he forgets you have only been wedded to him for a comparatively short period. There is a settled comfort in his life with you, a conviction and dependence that still surprises him. Peace is not a feeling he thought he’d ever find in marriage.

“My place is in Westeros, My Prince,” she says. She steps closer—too close. His tense demeanour does not go unnoticed, for she wisely elects to drop the carefully cultivated mask of temptation to speak honestly. “You are not the only one who has been called back to these shores by those in need.”

He scoffs. Ah, yes—I’d forgotten about her delusions of grandeur. “And you’re doing your great philanthropic work as the madam of a brothel? I suppose it’s not a terrible advancement for a common whore.”

“Not so common, perhaps.” Her crimson lips twist, the old insult stinging still. She will accept a great many indignities, but never has she abided being regarded as someone unexceptional. “My women are well-cared-for, which is more than I can say for most of the brothels along the Street of Silk.”

He rolls his eyes, already growing bored by the conversation. He’s not here for a reunion. “Such a noble cause. Effigies ought to be built for you, I’m sure.”

“What brings you here, Daemon?” she asks.

“A trio of assailants tried to murder my wife earlier this evening,” he says, afforded some measure of privacy by the collection of sounds filling the room. Though his blood is up by the promise of violence, there is none left to fill his cock—and truthfully, he does not know if the sight of whores’ tits or the wet squelch of overused cunts or the shrill performances echoing from the second floor are even enough to elicit such a reaction now. He’d much rather stare at your tits and hear your moans and fuck your cunt. “Two have been dispatched, and the last has been tracked to your establishment. You’d do well to tell me where he is.”

She stares up at him but for a moment, something unreadable in the set of her features.

“I have a great many customers walk through these doors, My Prince,” she says, brow arching challengingly. That veiled insolence had been what had drawn him to her in the first place, when she was just an exotic dancer from Lys baring her body for him and his lackeys in the Blue Pearl. So few dared to test his famed temper, fewer still who’d let him fuck them whichever way he pleased. It rings hollow now. He wonders if her defiance had always been so trite. “You will have to describe the man to me.”

He rattles off the description in a short tone, a warning that she ought not to tarry much longer lest his malice seek out the nearest recipient. Her answer is prompt, wary: “Second floor, fourth door on the right.”

He pulls Dark Sister from its sheath in a pre-emptive motion, again startling those nearby, and makes to climb the steps.

“Daemon.” She lays her hand on his arm, stopping him briefly. “Try not to destroy the furnishings. It costs a pretty coin to maintain such luxury.”

She knows me well. He nods, and then pulls away.

The surprise of Mysaria’s return is one he discards to the recesses of his mind for the time being, allowing the ire to scald in his veins as he trudges to the far quieter upper landing. The sounds of groaning and rustling are muted, almost far-off, a mere backdrop to the thunder of his heart in his ears.

So close. I’m so close.

The fourth door does not open on first attempt. He tries again. Locked. Once more. He takes a few steps back and slams his full weight into the barricade, bursting the wood clean off the hinges.

The whore inside screams in fright, clutching her shawl to her chest. ‘Tis strange to see a clothed whore in a private room, he thinks, surveying the mousy-haired woman and her dull brown eyes and too-thin lips. How drab. That she is still dressed is a promising sign, one that suggests that mayhaps she is not alone. He looks around the room for another; there is no evidence of any company.

Then, he spots the wardrobe ajar, a slight wobble to its frame—as though a heavy being has flung themselves inside. There.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls, levelling the whore with the most vicious look he can muster. She squeaks and darts out into the hallway, vanishing from sight.

His focus affixes itself once more to that sliver of darkness, within which he is certain his mark has tried to hide. He tarries, waiting to see if the other will make the first move; he cannot help the incredulity that arises when he encounters nothing but silence.

Does he honestly believe he has successfully concealed himself from retribution?

With a baring of teeth that is more a grimace than a smile, Daemon strikes, darting forward to fling the door wide and grasp onto whatever part of the man he can reach.

“Lemme go!” your assailant yells, crying out as he is dragged free from discarded gowns and thrust onto the floor.

How… disappointing. He’s already pissed himself, and Daemon hasn’t even had the opportunity to make him regret ever stepping foot in this world yet.

“I didn’ do nuffink, good ser—”

He cuffs the man across the face, a return upon the strike so callously landed across your sweet little face. It knocks more than one tooth loose, leaving him dazed and groaning on the ground, the fight abruptly beaten out of him.

“You were in the Red Keep earlier,” Daemon says, pulling the commoner upright by the hair and dealing another wallop to the nose. An audible crunch sounds out as the bone gives way beneath his knuckles, and the man moans weakly, stunned and bleeding from his leg and his face. “Your co-conspirators are dead. Tell me what I want to know, and your end will be quick.”

He matches your account exactly—dark hair, thin, and that fucking star emblazoned in scar tissue across his cheek. There is a curious pin on his lapel, an insect of some sort rendered in metal.

“I dunno what you mean,” the wretch moans, caterwauling when Daemon steps down on his fingers and grinds them into the ground. Each digit gives way with small pops, pulverising into jagged puzzle pieces no healer is skilled enough to patch together. “I wos here visitin’ my sister, and I ain’t done nuffink in no Keep, Ser!”

I’m almost glad for the resistance.

“A pity,” Daemon says. The man relaxes at the affected resignation in his tone. His mistake. “We’ll do this the hard way, then.”

He shoves the man against the wardrobe and drives Dark Sister cleanly through the meat of his shoulder, pinning him to its surface like a butterfly on canvas. His screams are piercing, surely disrupting the business taking place throughout the brothel. The scarred star stretches grotesquely as he vocalises his agony.

“Who sent you to murder the Princess? Who?!” Daemon snarls, twisting the blade for good measure. Scarlet trickles from the wound, blooming dark down the fabric of the man’s shirt. The howl that releases itself from his throat is nearly inhuman, a drawn-out choking heave that tingles in his extremities. “Talk!”

“I—I—I’m sorry, we wos offered coin—there ain’t none to be had wif the Order—”

Pathetic. Daemon had hardly needed to incentivise him overmuch and yet the scum is already spilling everything. No wonder he had run. Cowards never change their stripes, after all.

“A Poor Fellow, are you?” he asks, angling the blade up slightly and pushing in just a little further.

Daemon had suspected as much. The Seven-Pointed Star is a sure indicator that the attackers are sworn to the Faith Militant, though it is obvious that the evening’s trials had not been the work of those particular sycophants. It seems that an attempt has been made to lay the plot at the High Septon’s door—which means the architect is intelligent.

He continues his line of questioning, manipulating the hilt of his sword to widen the wound, each press shredding fresh slices into overwrought tissue. He basks in the squalling and weeping below him, the singular sound of flesh rending apart, the rich heady aroma of fear and gore. The desire to split open his guts and feed him his own entrails is tempting, but this is not the time. He needs information.

“What price was enough to make you abandon your precious Faith and risk eternal damnation, hm? Three stags? Four? A gold coin?”

The man gasps, spasming with each shift of the blade. “Three! Three, Ser—”

Three gold coins. A wealthy mastermind, then. It narrows the field considerably. Only the nobles at court would have that kind of coin to spend on a plot with a variable chance of success.

Daemon brings his foot down on the Fellow’s knee, crunching the joint beneath his steel-capped boot. With an almighty crack, the bone gives way, its owner leaning to the side to vomit. The acrid stench of sourness permeates the air, tangling with the scents of blood and piss.

He sneers, kicking the man’s leg for good measure. It splays at a misshapen angle, bent back upon itself on the ground. The jagged edge of his shinbone has pierced clean through the back of his knee, a macabre lance of pearl-white tearing through skin and muscle.

“A measly three coins to murder a girl heavy with child,” Daemon mocks. “A Princess. Your gods must be so proud.”

“Please!” The craven weeps, spitting blood and bile from his mouth. “Please.”

“Tell me what I want to know. Tell me who ordered the attack.”

“I—I—I dunno his name, Ser. He wears a hood. Calls himself the Firefly.”

Daemon nods absently in acknowledgement, his mind ruminating over this discovery. It is not an epithet he recognises. Firefly. He’ll have to conduct a careful search to find the owner of this sobriquet.

He refocuses his gaze upon the last of your assailants, the remaining member of the trio who had so callously threatened your life and the lives of his children. As pathetic as this creature is, he has been rather valuable in providing enough intelligence to further his own search. But the man has outlived his usefulness. Daemon cannot afford for his benefactor to learn of his loose tongue.

“In the name of the Princess, I—Daemon of House Targaryen—sentence you to die.”

In a single swift motion, he wrenches Dark Sister from the place where it is embedded and basks in the vile satisfaction of hearing the man release an unearthly squall. He swings the sword in a high arc, the momentum slicing cleanly through flesh and sinew and bone and cutting the shriek off at its full. Blood sprays over his armour and across his face, the wayward Fellow’s head rolling across the floor.

Daemon removes the pin from the man’s shirt and stows it away for later examination, using one of the whore’s ruined dresses to wipe his blade clean of gore. He surveys the scene. The door is splintered upon the ground, the wardrobe soiled and defiled, the room itself a painting of crimson upon lumber and metalwork, silks and leathers.

Fuck. He’s made rather a mess of things. Restitution will have to be made.

He leaves the body where it lay, having little care for the remains now he is dead. For now, the job is done. It is with a sense of relief that he retraces his steps back to the lower level of the brothel. The whores and patrons stare at him with mingled shock and fright, taking in his red-soaked armour and ichor-stained face. At the sight of him, the whore from earlier darts up the stairs. She will find her brother dead in her rooms, his life essence puddling out upon the floor and seeping into the wood.

He turns to Mysaria, fishing out a handful of coin and holding it out to her. She takes the proffered gold with an arched brow, surveying his dirtied form with an unimpressed expression.

“For the damage,” is his gruff explanation, tipping his head in the direction of the upper landing. “Unavoidable.”

The whore starts to wail her lamentations from above.

“I see.” Her feline eyes glitter dark and mysterious, lips tipped up ever-so-slightly. She had always found his aggression captivating, and it seems such a sentiment remains unchanged. He shifts in discomfort. She leans further into his space, laying a careful hand upon the line of his arm. “I hope you found the justice you had sought.”

He grunts, making no move to encourage her.

“It is good to see you again, Daemon,” she adds, looking up at him through sooty lashes. Her body presses closer, just shy of touching. He doesn’t know if she holds back to avoid sullying her gown or if she intends to tempt him into closing the space. “You would be welcome here if you should want the company of one of my girls. Or mine.”

Her breath, wine-tart and candied, puffs against his jaw.

“I don’t,” he says stiffly. He is poised, rigid, barely restraining himself from the urge to throw her bodily from him, to backhand her for daring to touch what is not hers by right. “Take your damn hands off me.”

She is as beautiful and sensuous as ever, but she does not arouse desire in him the way she had once done. How the mighty have fallen, he thinks.

Should a version of Daemon from his youth encounter him now, he would make of himself a laughingstock for the single-minded veracity of his ardour for his own niece, a girl half his age. But how could one return to consuming boiled mutton after partaking in roast venison for the first time? Mysaria had been a companion and nothing more. You are his—niece, confidant, wife, lover, mother to his heirs. There can be no other now. That she thinks she might persuade him to wet his cock in lesser cunt is insulting.

At once, her seduction ceases, the veil of allure dropping and resettling into feigned amiability. He has insulted her—but why should it matter? Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.

She smiles dryly, stepping aside to clear a path to the exit. “Then I wish you farewell,” she says.

There is nothing left for him here but the ghosts of a former life. It is easier than breathing to turn from her gaze, to cast her aside as a memory from long ago, to stride past her and leave her in the past where she belongs.

He departs the Gilded Doll without another word, mind already settling on returning to you.

You are still asleep when he enters his brother’s rooms.

“Gods be good,” Viserys mutters, hobbling over from his chair as he takes in the sight of Daemon covered in blood. What did he expect, he thinks in irritation, that I would sit down for a civilised meal with her attacker? “I can only assume you found him.”

“The last one is dead,” he says, unbuckling his baldric and setting Dark Sister, scabbard and all, upon the table as quietly as he can. Through the gauzy drapes, he spies your still form ensconced in the bed. “I got the information I needed.”

“Must I ask for it, or shall you tell me?” the King asks.

Daemon glances over at him. Dark circles bloom purple-grey under his eyes, the contrast to his blemished skin so severe it is as though he is looking at a human skull instead of a living man.

“Not now.” He suppresses a shudder at the malformed creature his brother has become. “I’d like to get this shit off me.”

The bath is warm, but he takes no joy in it. Now that his enterprise is concluded, he is left with naught but his own thoughts. If I had been there, she wouldn’t have been risked so dearly. If I’d refused to leave, she’d be safe and happy instead of fearful and desolate.

He tries to tamp down the maelstrom, scrubbing vigorously at his flesh and his hair as though to physically force the notion from his mind. By the time he is done, the water is pink, flecks of dried blood forming a ghastly film upon the surface.

All he wishes to do now is sit by you. He bypasses Viserys, treading barefoot through the sheer curtains and settling himself gently upon the mattress beside you. In repose, your expression holds none of the fright or devastation that had marred it so many hours ago. You are young, sweet, mouth slack with sleep and cheeks plump and rosy from the heat of the coverings over you.

His eyes burn again. I’ve failed to protect her. Stroking your wild silver hair back from your temple, he trails his fingers along the line of your jaw, over the curve of your lower lip, your throat.

“She has not awakened,” the King says softly behind him. “The boy’s gone to his lessons, but—well, I thought it best not to rouse her.”

“Good,” he murmurs, hand wandering below the sheets to feel the swell of your belly. There is faint movement, and relief blooms anew at the liveliness of the babes within your womb. Tap. Tap. Tap. He had almost convinced himself that it had been a delusion conjured up in his maddened state. “She needs to rest.”

You stir faintly, and he brings his palm to your face once more. You lip insensately at his thumb, easing back down into unconsciousness. A creak to his left makes him think that Viserys has sunk into the chair beside the bed. He can feel the stare boring into him, though he has little desire to entertain whatever it is that has his brother so absorbed.

“When you sought my daughter’s hand,” the King begins, “I assumed the worst.” He knows that. “You are not the sort of man capable of providing the care she needs: patience, attentiveness, placidity… devotion. Someone who would regard her as the treasure she is. Yes, when you asked for her, I thought all manner of abhorrent things, even if you were the one she chose for herself. I was so certain you would destroy her.”

So little trust in me, as always. There is a point to this spiel, a mellow timbre that suggests the aim is not to remonstrate—but to hear how lowly his brother thinks of him is nonetheless cutting.

The King huffs a laugh. “Imagine my surprise, then, to see her so… happy with you.” Daemon stills for a moment, then carefully resumes caressing your cheek, smoothing over the contour of your chin. “She is a new person to me now, and I regret that I was not able to grant what it is she needed to best thrive. I have many regrets… but I do not regret conferring her upon you,” Viserys says. “I was wrong, Daemon. You make a fine husband to my girl. And I am glad she can give to you what I never did.”

Oh, brother.

There was a time when he wanted nothing more than to earn his brother’s approval; when the attainment of such was a far-off dream, one that would have required him to unmake and reforge himself anew so that he might finally earn what ought to have been his all along. The denial of it had made him bitter and angry, a hot-tempered rake of a being that had terrorised nobles and commoners alike with debauchery and hostility and brutality. It is ironic that having the man finally—finally—proclaim that longed-for praise carries none of the weight he once imagined it would have.

His worth is no longer shackled to the whims of an ailing King. Perhaps it is unhealthy or even unfair to place the care of it in your hands—but for all his poisonous ambition, he knows his is not a nature meant for standing alone. The second son of a second son, he has been bred and built to seek purpose from those designed for a higher calling than he. How he had railed against his fate, once! And how very poetic it is that he has found himself so beholden to you.

He does not need Viserys anymore. But he nods and thanks his brother nonetheless, pays little mind to him as he departs from the room, and waits for you to rouse.

It normally takes time for your faculties to return to you after your eyes first open, but it comes to no surprise that consciousness strikes you with full force after the evening’s events. Your eyes snap open and you jolt, casting about for a half-moment before alighting on the form of your husband. He adjusts himself so that he reclines against the headboard, allowing you to easily wiggle your way onto his lap.

Fretful and fragile, a baby princess seeking protection in the arms of her big, strong uncle. Moisture wets his clean shirt, your face buried against his chest and little fingers clutched to his sides like you are afraid he’ll vanish. He pets over your spine and breathes you in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You shake your head, voiceless. He’ll not press you yet, not now—but there will come a time in the near future where you’ll have no choice but to recount the attack. He needs as much intelligence from as many involved as he can seek out if he is to determine the identity of the Firefly.

You are small and quiet and slow-moving as the day passes, wanting little else than to cling to him and doze. He doesn’t know what to do with this version of you. He is helpless to conceive of a way to break you from this strange trance. Guilt and fury and exasperation mingle like noxious fumes inside his body, pressing against his chest cavity and constricting around the organ there like a bloodied fist. Each hushed whisper, each tenuous tremble, each lamenting little-girl rebuff of all save him only serves to spur the tumult within.

“Is… Are they all gone?”

You finally string more than two or three words together, sat upon the edge of the bed in your new chambers. They are nice enough, he supposes, though he’s not particularly enthused by the prospect of being so close to Viserys and the Hightowers. For a moment, he thinks you are speaking of the attendants that had flitted in and out of your presence throughout the afternoon, but the uncertainty of your countenance suggests otherwise. His stomach drops.

“Those—those men?” you clarify, voice cracking.

Daemon lays Dark Sister back upon the desk and tosses down the cloth he’d been using to work away at the stray crusts of ichor, returning to you.

“Yes,” he says, sinking down upon the mattress.

You lean into him, warm and real and alive. Alive. “I was so… frightened. I thought I was going to di—”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. I cannot hear it, cannot abide even the thought of it. “Don’t say it.”

You pause, staring up at him, nodding when you take in whatever expression has affixed itself on the planes of his face. He jerks slightly when you push yourself up on your knees and bring your lips to his, hot and wet and sweet. It is ingrained into the foundations of his very self to press into the kiss, to cradle your jaw in his hand and feel the throb of your pulse feed into his skin, his cock twitching in his breeches. There is no pleasure to it, but instead a disconcerting agony that prickles along his shaft and cools the fire that ought to stoke itself.

He draws away, suppressing the tremor that threatens. “What are you doing?” It comes out more abrasive than he’d like.

“Please?” you ask, mouthing at his lower lip, desperate and frenzied. “I—I just want to feel something good again.”

He understands that need. Hells, it’s a feeling that has fuelled many of his own debauched eves across the brothels in King’s Landing and the Realm beyond. Though he cannot fault you for the urge to drive away the memory of those who had nearly carved your babes from your belly (I wasn’t there, why wasn’t I there), his body is refusing to heed your wishes and rise to the occasion.

It tears at him to tilt back into you, to crowd against you and take your mouth with his own, to press his tongue to yours and pull the hem of your shift up. He drives you down into the sheets, nipping at your throat and shoving a finger then two into your grasping cunt, feeling the way the silky walls catch and ripple eagerly as he hooks into the high soft sponge of you, listening to you gasp. You writhe and moan below him, tugging at his pants and taking hold of his cock, and it begins to burst to life in your capable hand. He looks down at you and his mind flashes to the way you’d looked beneath that man, red-stained and terrified and scrabbling to save your own life, and he cannot—

He lurches away from you, from the memory of what had nearly happened. I wasn’t there. You try to pull him back down, but he shakes off your touch. “No. Stop, sweetling.”

“Why?” You pout, reaching for his shaft and making a soft noise of confusion.

Oh. Whatever blood had fought to stiffen him up has dissipated, leaving him limp despite your best attempts to coax it to rise.

“I said—” He bats your hands away, suddenly wrathful. Stumbling off the bed, he stows himself away and fumbles with the laces, whirling on you. “You almost died, and you want to fuck?” he asks, grinding his teeth and snarling at you. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

He regrets it as soon as he’s said it—even more so when he sees the bewildered tears begin to collect along your lower lashes, lip quivering and looking so, so small. Why wasn’t I there to protect her, she could have di—

The room feels like a cage, like iron bars squeezing tight against his flesh, he has to get out, he has to get out—

“Daemon. Daemon!”

He flees the trappings of your apartments, past the Kingsguard manning the doors to the bedchamber, the hall, Maegor’s Holdfast, leaving you there upon the bed alone.

Scarcely even realising he’s left his blade behind, he moves with purpose throughout the Keep. He knows not where he’s headed, only that he must find a safe haven where he might begin to pull together the edges of himself that are fraying to bits, threatening to send him crumbling.

It hurts. It hurts unlike anything he’s ever felt. The anguish only serves to wind him tighter, a maimed creature lashing out at the world for its suffering.

His steps lead him aimlessly around his childhood home, and he indulges the wanderlust. He avoids the main thoroughfares, not wishing to encounter the absurdity of courtly gossip on his day. The journey takes him past the Great Hall and the Small Council chambers and through the servants’ passages, down to the scullery and the royal cellars. He pilfers a carafe of wine from the kitchens, imbibing periodically as he trudges through hallways and up flights of stairs. Eventually, he makes his way to an old sanctuary from his youth, a lone balcony in an abandoned portion of the Holdfast overlooking the courtyard and, beyond, the Dragonpit.

Daemon leans against the edge and stares blankly at the horizon, taking steady draughts from the jug and letting the drink numb the sharp stabbing pains of his thoughts. The wine loosens him, slows the racing of his heart, and time finally starts to run leisurely again.

She might have—She nearly—

“Princess said you ran from her.”

Fuck. He ignores the healer woman as she shuffles forward, joining him in the dimming light. Her eyes bore into his side profile, but he won’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her.

“Said you were angry,” she croaks.

It is the truth, but it is still unpleasant to hear.

“How is she?” he asks. It is relatively easy to assume she’s ventured forth in search of him after making her customary rounds to her sole charge.

He hopes she can hear the words he does not say. Are my children well? Will they survive this?

“Good. Babe both good, too.” He despises how unlike herself she is being, how gentle and kind her tone is. It is not the way she speaks to him usually, and he wants at least one thing to remain normal and logical and sane around here. “You are very, very lucky,” she adds.

He grunts. He doesn’t feel it.

She sighs, thumping him on the back. “You are rude boy. But you are good to her. She need you now—no more hiding.”

“How?” It takes him a moment to realise it is he who has spoken, a rustle upon the breeze. That damned wine. He can no longer control the torrent that he has kept tamped down and locked away, the dogged attempt of a man long accustomed to outrunning all weakness. “How can I just—pretend?”

“Pretend?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries to put into words the venom that is eating away at his insides. “That I’m not fucking—terrified.” Daemon hisses the term as though it has personally offended him.

To finally say it aloud is both a bizarre release and an epiphany of sorts. He’s overcome with the curious urge to laugh at the realisation.

Fear. How common of him. But it rings true nonetheless, and the rightness of the admission settles in his bones. How can he not be afraid? There’s an ever-present threat to your life somewhere in this place, a place that should be safe and happy and home for you. Someone has marked his children for death before they are even allowed the chance to breathe air on their own, to open their eyes and see what exists outside the safety of their mother’s womb.

And you are a Targaryen woman. In any other context, this makes you superior, a diamond nestled in amongst the coal. But he cannot help but recall those names once more, the names of your forebears who had undergone the toilsome task of childbirth and met their end there.

Alyssa. Daella. Gael. Aemma. Laena.

He will not survive your death, should it come. With the ever-expanding heft of the babes inside you, the possibility that he might have to face such a dreaded reality looms closer by the day. There is not a fucking thing he can do about it, either. There’s no physician or liniment or spell or prayer that he can avail himself of to keep you alive, to keep you with him should your body fall to the conquering force of childbed.

The woman—Ūlla—hums consideringly. “Fear is… natural. Human,”

He finally turns to look at her. Her countenance is warm, sympathetic, a tilt to the head that belies something other than the deep-seated vexation he had been sure was all she’d felt for him. She takes his hand, and he lets her. All at once, he is a boy again, clutching onto his lady grandmother as his mother’s pyre burns gold in the morning light.

“We all fear something,” she says. “It is stupid to try and push it away like it never happen. Do not waste time to master your fear, or you will forget to live. To fear is to love, boy—and you love her, yes?”

He nods. Gods help him, he does.

She smiles, squeezing his grip. “Then the rest is for later. Go to her—love. And let yourself fear. It is okay.”

The sky is darkening to deep amber by the time he is ready to return to you. He takes the long route back to your new chambers, concealing himself from public view as much as he can, for he does not wish to incite the rumour mill of King’s Landing to pass judgement on his dishevelled state.

You are almost exactly where he left you, though you’ve settled back against the pillows with a book, appearing for all the world as though it is an evening like any other. It isn’t. When you see him standing at the door, he fully expects you to rail at him, perhaps to cry or even avoid him.

Instead, your lips twist compassionately, eyes impossibly soft, and you put the tome aside. “Come,” you say, patting the space beside him.

And how can he refuse?

Daemon clambers onto the mattress, shuffling into the open space of your arms and collapsing there in your embrace. The hard bulge of your belly pushes against his chest, a reminder of everything pure and real and necessary, everything he has fought for. What I would die for.

He cannot speak his apology aloud. It sticks to the roof of his mouth, coagulating in the liminality between his body and the air. Cursing himself for his inability to perform something so simple, he buries his face into your breasts, breathing in the smell of you, the feel of you, safe and whole and alive. His eyes burn.

“It is alright, kepus. Sh.” Your palm strokes the back of his head, trailing between his shoulder blades and up again in soothing rhythm.

My darling, forgiving girl. You are everything to him, and you are here.

The tears finally fall.

Read it on AO3:

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veala2 · 7 months

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“ꜰᴀᴠᴏᴜʀɪᴛᴇ.”

fluff prompt: “I thought you knew that you’ve always been my favourite.”

SYNOPSIS - After joining the Whitebeard pirates, you start to lose the sense of belonging you once had, only thinking of yourself as the “non- favourite.” Ace quickly reminds you something you should have realized sooner than later.

CW - gn!reader, could be either seen as romantic or platonic, up to you, angst but ends up fluffy as hell.

A/N - works killing me, but I managed to find the time to make this. I have a soft spot for writing Ace because he’s so damn cute!

“Y’know, I think the old man is going easy on us.”

The wind blew gently through the air of the hilltops that you’ve been travelling through with your pirate partner, 2nd commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, Ace. It had been about a year since the two of you met, after joining Whitebeard at his request.

The two of you often got sent on missions where you defeat certain pests that Whitebeard wants to “shut up”, as he would say.

In turn with you helping him in battle (and other things where he might be challenged), he trains you to be stronger and defend yourself in the heat of battle. It’s a win- win!

Despite how smoothly your life has been going so far, you’ve been starting to feel… out of place, compared to your fellow crew members. They never treated you poorly or made you feel less than, oh no! Everybody was kind and caring.

But, when you come back to the crew laughing and drinking with Pops or when Marco would joke that Pops had favourite kids, your stomach unintentionally drops. Making you question yourself.

Was it insecurity? Or did everyone not care for you?

Anyways, after having defeated a particularly easy opponent, you and Ace decided to take the long, nice way back to where your mini- ship had docked. Taking in the scenic route.

“He’s just mad. Probably ‘cause you kept making those ancient jokes last week.”

You said, kicking a lone rock on the path you took. He heartily laughed, throwing his head back.

“Ah, but it was funny! Everyone laughed, including him. Besides, I’m his favourite, he won’t stay mad forever. Y’know?” He smirked, turning his head towards you.

Despite his antics, you couldn’t help but agree. Sure, the emperor loves all his children the same, but there was something about Ace that made him treat him differently. Maybe it was that shiny, raven hair or devil- may-care smile, you jokingly thought. Either way, having favourites was not a new topic.

“Yeah, none of us are as lucky as you, Portgas. Being the favourite must be nice.” you confessed.

His usual carefree smile turned into a frown, noticing your now sad face. He stepped in front of you, placing a hand on your shoulder, stopping you and forcing you to look up into his warm eyes.

“Hey, you know that it was just a joke, right? The old man hates and loves us equally.” He chuckled, trying to make your face break. Which it did.

“I know. Just… kind of wouldn’t mind being someone’s preference.” You said, exasperated. Continuing to trek down the path. Ace scoffed, catching up to you.

“Y/N, you act as if you aren’t my favourite!” He exclaims, a bit annoyed.

You paused, stopping in your tracks. Turning to him with a quizzical yet intrigued expression. Almost like you trying and wanting to believe him.

“No! Give me a break, Ace, you're just saying that.”

He’s taken aback. Both with your words and the glossy look starting to form in your eyes. He looked at you like a kicked puppy, and like a frustrated toddler trying to explain his emotions.

“I’m serious! I thought you knew that you’ve always been my favourite person.” His voice is only a decimal short of yelling, as he puts his hand up in the air.

“You’re up here with my brother, I swear! There’s a reason why I didn’t reject Pop’s telling me you have to come on missions too, and that’s because I enjoy your company and you. You’re kind, thoughtful and smart, that’s why he paired his idiot son with you,” He says, pointing to himself.

“Look, what I’m trying to say is: everybody goes lower ‘cause you're my favourite, and there’s no other explanation. I’ve always cared about you and forever wi-“

A swift wrapping of your arms around his body shuts him up. You squeeze tightly, as to disguise your overcome emotions. He doesn’t say anything, simply reciprocating the hug. Letting you enjoy his warmth.

“… Thanks, Ace…” You whispered, not being able to get anything else out. He welcomed you, patting your back gently but firmly.

“Don’t mention it. C’mon, I’ll give you a ride back. My favourite person deserves it after kicking ass today.” He laughs, giving a toothy grin. With that, he kneels down in front of you. Arms reaching behind him to hold you in place. You blushed, not used to the sudden act of affection the man was displaying.

“Oh, by the way,” He starts, adjusting to you on his back, “Don’t think we all don’t think the same. Trust me, Marco and Izou will hound me if you get a single scratch, they always worry about you. Especially Pops.”

The sinking feeling that had once been had changed into warmth. Ace’s kind warmth.

“Thanks, Ace. Just so you know, you’re my favourite, too.”

#not my best work #but its something!#one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece x you #ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace fluff #portgas ace x you

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nymphoheretic · 10 months

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Summary: In which you enter a Halloween costume contest and catch the eye of a certain devil.

Warnings: edging, thigh riding, use of the nickname “Angel”, fem!reader, creampie, Incubus Kyoujuro, alcohol consumption, smoking(mentioned once), biting, marking, begging, oral (both recieving), squirting, size kink, cum eating

Word Count: 5.8K

Pairing: Rengoku Kyoujuro x Fem!Reader(nymph-coded, but still x reader)

Tagging the rengoku girlies(gn): @bakugosbratx @renhoeku @glz-100 @herohibiscus @potofstewie @comatosebunny09 @brunnetteiwik @cherryblossomsenpai @linpunny @unknownspecies @yeahitzally @sirenspider @taisho-era-secrets @auraee @diorsbrando @wanderingfaee @gingerspicelattemix @kyojuro-my-wuv @sugardollie-907 @beer-anon @ruggiethethuggie @yandere-kou @melody-lover @uronlywifey @moon-cakiie @im-togas-knife @yomoya-girl the network @enchantedforest-network

Join the Rengoku girlies: https://forms.gle/YGTATcvxh2oAUc3o9

You tugged at the short white dress of the costume you wore for Mitsuri’s Halloween party. Your best friend always threw the best parties in all of Japan and her costume parties were no different. But her roommate Shinobu was a bit more strict and did a costume check and if you didn’t pass her vibe check you would be turned away. You had decided to be an Angel.

You dressed in a short white dress that ruffled up at the end to remseble at toga, golden gladiator sandals, a halo that you rigid up on a headband, and to top it all off you made a pair of shimmering wings that were mechanized to move if you pressed a button.You wanted to win this year. You always came in second place.

Walking up the steps to Mitsuri’s place,you knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer. It took a while since the music was so loud, but your pink haired best friend soon opened the door with a wide smile on her face. She was dressed as a water nymph, her long pink and green ombre hair left to cascade down her back like a waterfall.

“Sweetheart! You made it!” She squealed happily before stepping out to hug you tightly. “And you look so hot.” She winked as she led you inside for Shinobu’s expectations.

You caught sight of the young woman, her purple eyes scanning over someone with long red-tipped blonde hair he had tied up into a ponytail, thin, black leather wings sewn into the material of his black vest that fluttered every now and then. Long elegantly curved horns seemed to grow from his scalp as you could not detect a headband.’His costume is really good, but mine is better.’ you thought as you followed Mitsuri over to the dark-haired woman dressed as a butterfly queen, shimmering wings floating behind her as she wore a sleek green dress.

Shinobu nodded her head, signing off on the young man and letting him through the roped off area and into the party. Her violet eyes landed on you and a warm smile spread over her lips. “Glad you could make it, darling.” Her eyes turned calculating as she scanned over your costume. You pressed the hidden button, making your wings unfurl and flutter gently against your back. Shinobu tapped her pen against her lip before her smile turned warm again. “You may enter.”

You rushed over to hug Shinobu tightly, laughing with her as You did so. You knew she was going to let you inside regardless, but she had to keep up her formality. You waited for her to open the roped off area and walked inside the party with Mitsuri. You were immediately surrounded by the vibrating music and flashing lights. You glanced over to your friend and found her talking to some black-haired guy with two different colred eyes. “Mitsuri!” you yelled over the music, but she couldn’t hear you. You sighed and decided you needed a drink to lossen up some. You were being too stiff.

Walking over to the mini bar, you ordered a coke and Gin. After paying for your drink, you nursed it while trying to let the music slowly overtake your body. The alcohol was making its course through your body. You started dancing a little more, your short dress riding up your thighs as you moved your hips to beat. You smiled when someone walked behind you and grabbed your hips leaning in to whisper if they could dance with you. You turned around and saw that it was the man who entered before you, his horns gleaming in the strobe lights.

You smiled. He was devilishly handsome with long blond hair that was tipped with red and eyes that were the color of flames. “Sure.” you said as you continued to sway your body to the music.

-0-0-0

Kyoujuro sat down at the table in the corner of the room, his eyes scanning over his potential victims. He was staring and needed to replenish his energy before he was sent back to the demon realm. His wings fluttered agitatedly as he growled at the lack of tasty looking energies. None of them looked like they would satisfy him for long. He leaned back into the cushioned couch, tossing his arms over the back of it. He flicked his hand and his packet of smokes flew into his palm.

As he lit and took a drag of the magical energy that he’s been using to sustain himself. He growled low in his chest. He was going to be forced back to the relam soon if he didn't find a suitable source of energy. He crushed the remainer of the cigar in his hand, making the packet fade back into nothing. He needed a drink. Maybe that would help calm him down.

As he walked to the mini bar, he felt it. An immense amount of energy. Enough to satisfy by just being near it. He glanced over in the direction and nearly hissed. It was an Angel. No? He narrowed his eyes and took a better look at your energy. It was just a costume with wings that are rigged to move.

A smile slowly spread over his face as he watched you order a drink. He did the same, “Whiskey on the rocks.” He slid the bartender a ten before taking a seat where he could keep an eye on his little Angel. Kyoujuro was mesmerized by the way you slowly let the alcohol take over, swaying your body to the beats of the music.

You were intoxicating to watch as you danced. He noticed that all eyes were on you as you moved your hips seductively to the music, your drink’s straw nestled between your pretty lips. He made up his mind. He was feeding from you tonight no matter what. Swirling his drink in front of him, the ice clinking in the glass, he continued to watch you slowly becoming more open and willing as the alcohol corsed through your system.

Kyoujuro tipped the rest of his whiskey back, the burn barely affecting him as he kept his gaze on his prey. Slowly he moved over to you , nearly ripping the arm of another man who dared to try to approach you. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you flush against his front. He leaned in to whisper seductively in your ear, “Care to dance with me, Angel?”

When you looked back at him, he was intraced by your eyes as you scanned over his. He gave you one of his charming smiles and when you nodded and gave your consent he held onto your hips more tightly and began to sway with you.

He was slowly becoming drunk on your scent and the addicite taste of your energy. It was so potent that he could taste it in the air around you. You must have a lot of desires. Desire he will happily oblige in with you once he swoons you into his bed. He danced with you for a few songs, the intoxicating smell of your growing arousal making his mouth water. You wanted him and he most definitely wanted you . Spinning you around, so that you faced him, he stared into your eyes. “You’re beautiful, Angel.”

A light giggle left you when this handsome stranger called you beautiful. He was the beautiful one with hair that looked to be spun from gold and dipped in rubies that he had pulled into a high ponytail. His eyes were like fire, a mysterious mixture of gold and red; he looked like he was built by the gods. The only blemish he had was an angry looking scar over his left eye. “You’re not too bad looking yourself, Devil.”

Kyoujuro cracked a smile as he slowly ran his hands over your soft curves, pulling you closer to his body. “Actually I’m an Incubus.” He corrected, although he knew you were referring to his “costume”. You were going to be his no matter what tonight. Leaning in he brushed his lips over your earlobe, “Why don’t you let me buy you another drink, little fireball?” he purred out the nickname as his hands wandered to your ass, giving it a light squeeze.

You gasped at his boldness, but found it very sexy. The gin from earlier was already making you feel more bold so you smiled and nodded. “If you insist.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him off the dance floor and back to the mini bar.

You ordered another coke and Gin, smiling as you thanked the bartender when he handed you the glass. You sipped at my drink, enjoying the slow burn and warmth that spread throughout your body from it. You watched him order whiskey on the rocks and he placed his hand on your lower back to lead you over to a more secluded area. “So are you going to tell me your name?”

A grin curled at his lips as he took a sip from his glass. “If I tell you, you’d be screaming all night.” he said with a flirty wink, spreading just a bit of his magic in the air. Not enough that you wouldn’t be able to consent to the ordeal, but enough to bring your own true desires out.

A soft giggle left you at his flirty joke. He was so damn handsome. You weren't expecting someone so good looking to be here. You took another sip of your drink, the toxins fueling your next words, “And what if I want to scream it. Ever think about that, Mr. Incubus?” you teased as you placed your hand on his knee. you’ve never been this bold before and you liked it. Yo squeaked when the mysterious man suddenly reached for you and pulled you down into his lap, your thighs straddling his hips.

Kyoujuro looked up at the angel straddling him, a seductive smile nestled on his lips. “Be careful there, Angel. I’ll eat you alive.” His large, calloused hands gripped at your soft thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the flesh. He smiled when you leaned in and placed your forehead on his, lips mere inches from his.

“Is that a promise?” you inquired playfully, your hands sliding into his hair, the soft strands tickling the webs of your fingers. “Or a threat?” you closed the distance bewteen you two and connected your lips to his.

You felt drunk on him and you knew that you weren’t that intoxicated. You could handle your liquor. Why were you so attracted to his man? You felt his hands creep from around your thighs to rest on your ass, which he gave a firm squeeze. Your dress had ridden up and was barely covering your panties as you grinded down on him.

He grabbed your hips and shifted you until you were straddling one of his thighs. “Ride my thigh, Angel. I want to see you come updone without me touching you.” He rocked you on his muscular thigh, bouncing his leg slightly to rub against your clothed clit.

Kyoujuro kissed you again, swallowing your cries as his tongue stroked over yours. He wanted to feel your arousal drench his pants leg, to smell it on his clothing before he tasted of you. One of his hands found its way to the back of your neck and he yanked your head back to deepen his kiss. You were addictive and he wanted more.

You moaned into his mouth as you rubbed yourself down deeper on his thigh, your sensitive clit being stimulated by your clothing. Yor dripping hole clenched around nothing as it began drooling. “Ah, fuck...” you whined, hating that you didn’t know his name yet: Here you were; riding some stranger’s thigh at a Halloween party. Your hands clenched into the material of his vest. “Y-your name...please?” you pleaded, your walls clenching and unclenching, spasming wildly. “N-need to know your name.”

Kyoujuro pulled you down deeper onto his thigh, feeling your slick seep into his pants as he bounced his leg and made you grind down. His lips trailed over your jaw to your neck, where he sucked a mark there. He heard your pleas for his name and smirked against your flesh. “Kyoujuro.” He purred against your neck, nipping at the skin with sharpened canines.

“Kyou...juro...” You moaned out, testing his name out on your tongue and liking the way it felt. “Fuck...I’m going to cum.” you whined as you moved your hips, humping against his musclar thigh. You reached for him and grabbed the back of his head, pressing his face into your chest. “Ahn~ Feels so good, Kyou.” your body shuddered with the first onslaught of your orgasm.

He could not hold back anymore; hearing his name fall from your lips in such a lewd voice was such a turn on. Kyoujuro wrapped his arms around your body and lifted you up. He then speed walked over to one of the many empty rooms of the building. “You’re mine tonight, Angel.” He pulled the dress off yorur body, the wings falling off as he did so.

Deciding he liked seeing your legs wrapped up in those sexy gold gladiator heels, he left them on. “You’re so sexy, little one.” He breathed in the heady scent of your arousal and was hooked on it. You were the one. The one he could feed off of for the rest of his existence.

You looked into his mesmerizing eyes as you pulled at his clothing, wanting him to be just as bare as you. “Clothes off now.” you demanded, you wanted to see his body so badly.

Kyoujuro quickly willed away his wings as he pulled off his vest and red button down before attaching his lips back to yours in a fevered kiss. His tongue licked at your mouth, sliding past your lips to languish stroke with your wet cavern. His hands moved up to cup your breasts, weighing them in his palms.

He pinched at your nipples until they hardened under his touches. Swallowing each and every one of your moans, one hand trailed down your soft stomach down to the apex of your thighs. “Already so wet for me, my sweet.” He purred as his index finger swiped over the front of your covered pussy.

You tossed your head back against the pillow as he played with your body. Fuck, his hands felt so good. You stole a peek at his body and your mouth watered. Not only was he drop dead handsome, his body was like the god scuplted it from the finest of marble. “Holy shit...” you whispered, your thighs clenched together at the sight in front of you. “Fuck...you look so good.” you whined when he leaned in and licked a line down your neck. “Kyoujuro...”

His tongue followed the path down your neck to your heaving chest as he swiped his finger over your panty clad cunt once more. “What do you want me to do?” He asked against your skin, hit tongue lapping at the salty flesh as he spoke. He wanted to hear you beg and whine some more for his touch. It would make your energy taste even sweeter when he consumed it knowing that you truly wanted this. He nudged your clit through your panties as he spoke his next words. “Tell me how much you want me. How much you want my fingers, my cock inside you.”

“Please?” you pleaded, arching your back and wrapped your legs around his waist. You were not too shy to beg for what you wanted and you wanted him. You needed him to touch you. To fuck you so good that you would be ruined for anyone else. “I want you to touch my pussy. I need to feel your fingers so deep inside me and to make me cum.” you wrapped your arms around his neck, treading your fingers in his hair once more. “Then I need you to use that big dick of yours to fuck me stupid. I wanna be so cockdrunk on you, Kyoujuro.”

Kyoujuro was pleastantly surprised at your lack of shyness. You truely were going to be a feast and he was going to partake in it. “Your wish is my command, Angel.” He slid your panties to the side and pushed two, thick fingers inside your warm, velvety walls. Fuck...you were so wet and all just for him. He pulled his fingers out, your slick clinging to them as he sucked them into his mouth. “Umai...” he said, rolling his tongue over his long digits. You tasted so sweet. He wanted to taste it directly from the source.

You let out a whimper when Kyoujuro slid down your body until his face was level with your core. You sat up slightly to watch as he slipped his tongue out and licked up your pussy lips. You tossed your head back and let out a shuddering gasp, your hands flying to his ponytail to keep him in place. You slowly began to grind your hips against the force of his tongue. “Yes....” You hissed out, loving the way his mouth felt on you. “Just like that Kyou. Oh fuck...”

“Such a filfy mouth for an Angel.” Kyoujuro chucked against your folds, sending vibrations straight to yourr clit. His tongue moved up to lash at that sensitive nub, teasing it with quick licks. His fingers pushed back inside your clenching insides and he scissored them, stretching you out in preparation for his cock.

He could not wait to be inisde you, wrecking your insides, but he wanted, no, needed for you to cum on his tongue. He wanted to taste your sweet honey as it coated his tongue. His hand slapped softly at your thighs, urging you to let him taste more of you.

Your hands slid up from the base of his ponytail to touch at the horns that curled at his head. I traced my fingers over that hard exterior before going back into his soft hair. You pulled the hairtie out of his ponytail to let the crimson tipped locks fall down his back and face. Your back arched off the bed once more as his tongue teased at your clit again. “Oh fuck.” you keened, “Just like that.” Your thighs started trembling as your clit throbbed, pulsing almost as your oragsm neared. ”I'm going to cum soon. Oh please, Kyou?”

Kyoujuro decided he liked the way you begged so earnestly for him. He pulled back and gathered saliva in his mouth and spat on your clit before using two fingers to thrust inisde you. The lewd noises your pussy made brought a smile to his face as he watched every expression that crossed yours.

“You want me to fuck you, my pretty Angel?” He asked sweetly, his actions betraying his tone of voice. His fingers twisted and curled while inside of you, stroking over that rigged patch of flesh. “Tell me how badly you want my cock?” his tonuge flicked over your sentisitve button again before his lips closed over it and gave it a harsh suck.

You panted as he edged you closer to your orgasm. “Please, Kyoujuro!” you nearly yelled, not caring if anyone would hear you. Not like they would, the music from the party was already so loud. “Please fuck me. I need you to fuck me. I need to be fucked stupid by you, please?” You wailed as your orgasm shook through your body, leaving you in hot streams of warm liquid, spraying over his chin and pooling under you.

“More...” you whined. “I need more, please?” Your words were slowly becoming more slurred as you felt drunk on him. You’ve never had an orgasm that intense before. Never has a man made you squirt before. He truly is a devil.

Kyoujuro greedily drank every drop you had to offer, not wanting to let a single drop of your sweet nectar go to waste. He grinned as he licked his lips clean of your juices and removed his slick coated fingers, a string of it still connecting his digits to your clenching hole. He slid his tongue out and sucked his fingers into his mouth.

He hummed as your flavor exploded over his taste buds once more. “Umai.” he said simply, gazing down at her as he undid his belt. Sliding the leather out of his belt loops, he tied it around yourr wrists gently so as to not cut off your circulation. “Shh, my angel.” He kissed your lips once more. “I’ll release you once I’ve had my fun.”

You whined softly when he bound your hands with his belt. You wanted to touch him too. “Kyou, please,” you said, pulling at the leather makeshift cuffs. “I want to be able to Ah~” Your words were cut off when he slid his pants down, freeing his large dick. The wet tip slapped against his stomach, leaking delicious pre-cum.

He pulled your head down onto his cock and you knew why he bound my hands now. He wanted to feel only your throat around him. You smirked, wrapping your lips more securely around his thick length. You bobbed your head up and down on him, feeling the bulbous tip reach the back of your throat. You relaxed your throat muscles to let him slide in even deeper and then you hummed.

“Fuck!” Kyoujuro cursed. This little Angel was fucking filthy. He almost thoguht you were a succubus in disguise, but your delicious sexual engery told him differently. He was feeling his powers grow stronger with each time you came. His hands caressed your face as you sucked down his cock so earnestly, so greedily. “Fuck little one. You’re trying to suck me dry.” His dick twitched when you hummed and he reached under you and pinched a hardened nipple, rolling it in his fingers.

You let out a small squeal when he pinched at your sensitive nipples, but didn't falter in your task. You wanted him to cum. You needed to taste him. You released him with a pop before running your tongue over the sensitive tip. You were able to manuver your hands to grip his cock and rubbed the shaft, trying to force an orgasm out of him onto your open tougue. “Please? Cum in my mouth, Kyoujuro. I want to taste you.”

Who was he to deny such a request from his beautiful angel? Kyoujuro felt his balls tighten up when he felt your pretty mouth wrap back around the head of his dick and gave it a tender suck. “Ugh, fuck, you little fireball. You want me cum that badly?” At your soft nod as you ran your tongue over the underside of his heavy cock, he grabbed the sides of your head and pulled you down until your nose was flushed with his pelvis. “Then take it. Take all of it and don’t spill a drop.”

You nearly gagged when the first thick ropes of cum hit the back of your throat, quickly filling your mouth, but you greedily swallowed all he had to offer. His taste was addicting; almost sweet tasting with a hint of saltiness. You wanted more. You craved it. You suckled his cock for more, lapping at the tip for any remaining drops that lingered. You pulled back, releasing his dick with another pop and looked at him with pleading eyes and held out your wrists.

Kyoujuro cracked a smile. You were becoming his greedily little cockdrunk angel. And he hasn’t even used that much of his powers; these were your own desires for him. He reached for the belt and pulled it away from your arms. Once you were free, the incubus pulled you into his lap, kissing you deeply.

“You’re mine, Angel. Mine to claim. Mine to fuck. Mine forever. Got it?” At your eager nod, Kyoujuro lined his cock up with your drooling hole. “So wet and eager for me, little one.” He grabbed hold of your hips and slowly eased you down on his thick length, splitting you open on his cock.

Your head fell backwards as he stretched you out so nicely. The burn felt so damn good as you took him inside. It was almost too much for you to handle, but you’d be damned if you asked him to pull it out. It felt so damn good. The mind numbing pleasure was so good. “Fuuck.” you whined, when this thick tip pressed tightly against my cervix and he wasn’t even in all the way. “You’re so big, Kyoujuro...It won’t fit.”

A smile cracked at his lips as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck. “Yes...” he hissed out, pulling your hips down. “It will fit. I’ll make it fit, pretty angel.” He thrust his hips up into yours, sheathing the last few inches of his cock within you, your back arched deeply and pressing your breasts against his chest.

“See?” He cooed, petting your back and slowly grinding his hips into yours to let her get used to his size. He kissed away any tears that dripped down your face. “There. There.” He cooed, giving you a small thrust and causing a jolt of pleasure to shoot down your spine. “You said you wanted my cock. That you wanted me to fuck you and leave you so cockdrunk, right?” Then, the incubus leaned in to nibble on your ear, his fangs sliding down as he slowly shifted into his true form.

You whine out a gasp as his hands wrapped around your hips slightly as he thrust up into you. He was too big, it almost hurt to have the fat tip bruising your cervix; bullying it. Tears fell down your face, which he promptly kissed away with such tenderness, like he knew he was stretching you out to the point where it nearly hurt.

You tried to relax your tensed muscles, breathing in your nose and out your mouth. You placed your hands on his shoulders for leverage and slowly began to bounce on his lap. Sparks of pleasure lit up your body as you slowly became accustomed to his size. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you took your own pleasure from him, his hands resting on your hips as a guide. “F-fuck...K-Kyou...so full.” you babbled.

“Hmm...” he hummed as he lowered his head, hair falling over his shoulder as his markings slowly appeared on his face, neck, chest and arms. The beautiful swirls of red painted his skin in intricate markings of the incubi. His wings materialized on his back and a thin red tail swished behind him like a whip. Fuck, you were so addicitive and all his. He was not going to let you slip through his grasp. “Fuck...your pussy is so good, baby. So good for me. Squeezing me so tightly.”

You didn’t notice Kyoujuro’s transformation, you were too busy taking your own pleasure from his cock. Your needy, clenching cunt demanded it. You bounced faster as you could feel your release nearing. “Oh my gods, Kyou. Gonna cum. Fuck, right there. Right there. Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.” Your back arched as your thighs burned from the overuse, but you didn’t stop. You were so close, you could almost taste it. You wrapped your arms around his neck and bit down on his shoulder as you continued to stroke your pussy over his dick, using it for your own pleasure.

The incbus let out a low growl when your dull teeth embedded in his shoulder as he sped up his thrust, bucking into your tight little hole. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He groaned out. Kyoujuro needed you to cum one more time for him. Then he‘d gladly fill your cute little pussy full of his cum.

He reached down and pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing fast circles over. “Cum for me, Angel. Come for your devil.” Even though he was an incubus, calling himself a devil seemed to fit more. The demon felt your velvety walls begin to spasm around his length, fluttering so beautifully. He bounced you harder, aiding your orgasm as he bit into the jucntion of your neck and shoulder, being mindful of his fangs. He didn’t want to mark you as his without your explicit permission.

You panted as your orgasm hit you, washing over your trembling body and leaving in another spray of hot liquid. You removed your teeth from his flesh and pulled away from his shoulder. A gasp left you as you stared at the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.”Kyou...” you whispered. “Is this what you really look like?” you arched your brow as your body felt sluggish from experiencing your fourth orgasm that night. You watched as he blinked before shifting back into his more human form, his curved horns remaining.

Kyoujuro did not know his true form had come out. You must truly be the best lay he’s ever had if it made his disguise fall apart. “Does it scare you, Angel? That I'm really a devil in disguise?” He waited for your answer; waited for you to climb off his lap. Kyoujuro has already gained a significant amount of energy from you. Enough to sustain his form for many months, but he wanted you and only you. But if you did not want him, he would wipe your memories and let you go.

Leaning in, you placed your lips on his, kissing him softly. “You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had. I’d be stupid to not want you.” you said, pulling his head down to your breasts by his horns. “Now finish what you started, my demon.” you sighed when he flashed you a fanged grin before pushing you down on your back.

You let out a whine when he pushed your legs up on his shoulders before leaning down to lock you in his hold. The tip of his cock brushed against your entrance teasingly as he placed his lips on mine. “Kyou, please. Don't tease me.” you moaned, wiggling your legs uselessly.

He dipped the tip inside for a few moments before pulling back. “Tell me you’re mine.” Kyoujuro said. He needed to hear that you wanted to be his. The only being he could ever feed from. To be his forever. “Tell me that I’m the only one who can feed off of your energy, please, Angel.”

You leaned your head up and kissed his lips. “You’re the only one I want to feed from me, Kyou.” you grinned at him. “Now fuck me stupid.”

Kyoujuro grinned down at you, his cock twitched at your words. The same time he pressed his lips back down on you, he pushed the fat head of his dick insde your welcoming folds. He quickly set a steady pace, his hips pumping in and out. The tip of his length pressing against your cervix, bruising and bullying it, and making your insides melt around his cock. You felt so good wrapped so tighly around him that he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to spill his seeds inside of you.

Your moans echoed through the room as the wet sound of your fucking mixed with them. The lewd noises your bodies made was so erotic as they bounced off the walls. You could feel your body let out a little bit of liquid with every thrust Kyoujuro pumped into you, helping him slide even deeper inside.

You opened your mouth in a series of moans and broken bits of his name, ignoring the burn in your lower back from the mating press you were in. The stretch felt so good and to know that you would be the only one to have this thrilled you; you felt a sense of satisfaction. No one else gets his cock. It was for your pussy only.

“Fuck, little one.” He cursed, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each hard thrust. “I'm going to cum.” He kissed you slowly, tenderly as his tongue stroked languidly over yours. “Can, I do it inside?” he asked, his dick throbbing, begging to be released inside your womb. “Please angel, let me fuck you good and cum inside.” He felt your walls constrict around him, fluttering and pulsing as your orgasm neared. “Angel...my cute little Fireball. Say yes. And let me claim you as mine.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Make me yours Kyou. Cum inside and make yours.” No sooner than you spoke those words, sharp fangs embedded into your shoulder and I came hard from the bite.

Hot liquid gushed out of you and soaked his lower abdomen and dripped down your thighs to pool under your ass. Your body immediately went limp as your fifth orgasm of the night left tiny aftershocks in your body as Kyoujuro continuously pumped within you until his hips locked.

Thick, white ropes painted your insides as he bit down on your shoulder, marking you as his for as long as you lived. He partook in your orgasmic energy, getiing drunk off the power of it. He carefully pulled his fangs out of the wound, sealing it with the tip of his tongue. He watched as the puncture wounds shifted into a flame-like symbol and a smile tipped at his lips. You were his and his alone.

He gave a few gentle thrusts, feeling the mixture of his and your cum gush out of your cute little cunt. “You’re mine.” He kissed your sweaty forehead. “Mine forever.” He let your legs down as he slid out of your sweet, warm walls. He used his fingers to push his seed back inside when it leaked out. “Let’s put that back where that belongs.” He smirked when you let out a short moan as he pushed his fingers in deep.

“Kyou...” you cooed. “Cuddle me, please?” Your neck burned a little and your body was drained. You had no energy left. You wanted to be held.

Kyoujuro chuckled as he scooped his little angel up into his arms and held you to his chest as he turned back the covers of the bed. Once he laid you both down, he covered you and pressed soft kisses to your face. “I’m never letting you go, my cute little Angel.”

“I think I prefer the nickname Fireball more.” you yawned. “I'm not always an angel.” Your eyes closed for a second before they snapped back open. “FUCK! The contest!”

©️2022-23 nymphoheretic - I do not give permission to copy, edit, alter, or distribute my work. Do not adverse on tiktok. Do not repost on any other platform.

#nymphomanic♡#rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #rengoku x y/n #kyoujurou rengoku smut #rengoku smut #kny kyojuro #kny smut #kny x reader #kny x y/n #kny x you #demon slayer smut #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer rengoku #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x reader

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yellow-berrys · 1 year

Text

december boy, losing joy | sirius black x fem!reader

summary: rockstar!sirius black proposing to you, and the show that made him realise he would do it. established relationship.

warnings: none, allusions to a rough childhood and mention of cigarettes

(a/n: song in this drabble is original <3, really just a bit of prose italicised!)

“This next song is about a girl,” James fiddles with the knobs on his guitar, his voice cracking through the microphone. The crowd screams.

“That’s right, Prongs,” Sirius grins from his place at the piano, “My girl. My biggest motivation and even though she might not be my biggest fan, I certainly am hers,” he takes a swig of water.

He sweeps a glance around the arena, girls at the front drinking beer, some girls waving their undergarments at him, some guys drinking beer, some guys waving their undergarments at him. Some look envious and disappointed. Some are “awhhh”ing.

He catches your eye in the VIP box, you grinning, barely visible as you stare at him.

“And you’d be surprised that Sirius did pick up a pen and a book for this,” Remus drawls from his position at the bass.

“She’s certainly special enough,” Sirius looks up at you and winks, “Many of you might’ve heard it on the radio. Remus likes to call it “a lover’s musings” but I call it “December Boy, Losing Joy.” Yells and shouts echo as Sirius removes his earpiece. His eyes widen as he hears the noise and he puts it back in. You smile. You love seeing your boyfriend in his element.

A bra is thrown onto the stage and someone yells, “Pick it up!”

“Sorry people, but I’m taken. Remember, I haven’t done it since ever.”

“No need to be jealous either,” Remus quips into his microphone, “Loving a two year old is harder than it sounds.”

“Hey!”

“Right, boys. We good to go?” James asks.

“Ready.”

James taps a hollow beat on his guitar slowly. The audience is quiet for once, as if instructed to do so. Remus starts strumming his bass, pick moving slowly as the sounds reverberate around the room. The tune is sweet and pleasant. You tap your foot slowly to it up in the box. Unknowingly, Lily is filming your reaction to it. You look down and follow the lyrics on the little card given to you by Sirius, waiting for him to begin. His eyes are closed, light illuminating his high cheekbones. You look at him like he’s your whole world and more.

He starts playing too. The melody is a toned down version of the Pop-esque one that you’ve listened to on Spotify so many times. You never knew the song was about you, thinking it was Remus’ penning or James’ tribute to Lily. But it’s beautiful. It’s also acoustic, you think, it gives the song a certain ethereal, timeless quality. Combined with your boyfriend with his hair up, eyelashes so long, eyes sparkling, you think this must be heaven.

Sirius’ deep voice is angelic. “I was a December boy / Losing joy,” he sings. The crowd wave their phones to and fro, “Pretending I smoked cigarettes / Pretending I had no regrets.”

“Never one to be semantic / Always crude, brutal, unromantic,” The lyrics, now that you’ve thought about it, are undeniably Sirius’.

“I was stone cold / And standing on my future’s threshold,” he smiles, “I was an incorrigible man / Shortening lifespan. My excuse was that I’m young / In years I haven’t spoken my mother tongue,” the crowd sings along.

You hope the photographer they’ve hired is taking photos, because the warm spotlight illuminates where happy tears stain his porcelain skin.

“December boy / Losing joy / Saying I’ll leave this town / Never wanting to settle down / December boy / Cast iron alloy / Wasn’t one who loved enough / Always trying to call your bluff.”

“You were picture perfect / An idyllic circus,” you smile, idyllic, you had taught him that word, “Sweeping December clean / Smothering my burning gasoline / Never condescending of my ways / Lustrous, beaming gaze / What more, you cherish my past / Saying you don’t mind being my last / And you love the parts of me which I don’t / You tell me you will never leave me, you won’t.”

“I was a maximalist before I knew you / Rings on every finger, clouded world view / But you became my everything and now I need nothing more / And I told you this when you were unsure / Pretty thing / Please never leave me wondering / Where you are / I’m just a man without you, not a rockstar.”

“December boy / Losing joy.”

You sing along, reading the words, until there’s a diversion of them. You flip the card, but there are only lyrics to other songs there. The mood turns brighter.

“I was a December boy / Wearing black corduroy / Never one to be semantic / Now I’m a hopeless romantic / Not afraid of drowning in love anymore / Because my boat has arrived at your shore.”

“I tell everyone I’m going to marry you / Down Pleasant Crescent near Lover’s Avenue,” The crowd yells and shouts, “And this isn’t a proposal / You deserve one that is more than ambrosial,” he grins up at you, eyes smudged with adoration.

“And I cannot believe / Heart stealing thief / That I was once a December boy / Losing joy.”

The song goes viral. Everywhere on the internet you can see the tag #decemberboy, and the Marauders, however popular they already are, grow their fanbase tenfold. Sirius records the alternate version of the song again and he names it “December Boy, Losing Joy (Her Version)”.

The PR manager is very impressed, and gives all the boys a holiday. Remus goes home to see his old flame, James takes Lily on a trip to Honolulu and you and Sirius stay home. You’ve talked about getting married, and both of you are very keen on it. It’s just that Sirius is busy most of the time and the opportunity hasn’t ever arisen. But Sirius secretly has a ring picked out for you, one that he’s seen you look at when you think he wasn’t watching you at the mall. Lily has sent him the video of you beaming when marriage came up in his song, so he thinks you definitely like the idea.

Lily and James should arrive the Sunday after, you learn, but they’re coming home earlier. Remus is already back but re-doing his house.

Sirius comes into the room where you’re tapping on your computer, “Do you want to go on a date, pretty? The restaurant near the beach?”

Your cheeks heat up, “Now?”

“When else?” He laughs, and he’s already wearing a suit. It clings to his body in all the right ways and makes you flustered and hot. His eyes gaze at you intensely.

“Everything okay, lovely?” He stoops down to curl a stray lock of hair back. You’re still a blushing idiot in front of him, after all these years.

“Yeah,” you choke out, leaving quickly, “I’ll get dressed.”

You had bought a new dress just a few weeks before, Remus’ old flame begging you to go date night shopping with her.

You slip it on, getting ready with the aim to look date-able. Grabbing your things, you meet Sirius in the walk-in-closet, where he’s studying his ties intricately. He turns in greeting and he smiles cheesily, “Wow.” He’s blushing now too.

He picks out one that matches your dress.

“You’re really, really beautiful,” he says as you tie his tie for him.

You look up at him bashfully, “Just tryna catch up with you, handsome.”

“You don’t need to catch up with me, beautiful.”

All the way to the restaurant, he’s tense. He feels your small hand on his thigh, patting him.

“You okay, Siri?”

“Yeah.”

His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and his knuckles turn white.

“Are you sure, honey?”

You’re so sweet he almost wants to ask you here. Even though the ring is still in Remus’ pocket. But he forces a smile, “Great.”

Sirius is not normally this tense, but the meal is nice and he’s perfect. Instead of leading you back to the car, he pads onto the sand nearby, “You coming?”

“Shoes, Siri, shoes.”

You sit down and he takes them off for you, holding them.

“Why are we here?”

“The view is nice, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“It is.”

You bask in the worldliness of it all. You miss Remus approaching quietly and handing Sirius the ring, having mastered the art of slinking away. It’s only when you see all of your friends approaching, a camera in every second person’s hand, when you frown. You turn to Sirius. He’s looking at you like he’s infatuated, and shakily gets down on one knee, dropping your shoes and taking your hands into his. Is this really about to happen?

“My love, I love you with all my heart and I promised to give you a proposal more than ambrosial so here it is. These last few years have made me realise that I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side and let everyone else know that too. I want to love you as much as I can, and I want you to be with me in everything that I do, everywhere I go. Will you continue making me the happiest man in the world and marry me? Please?”

The delivery is short and sweet, Sirius’ way of doing things. You grin, throwing your arms around him.

“Yes. Yes!”

Sirius breaks out into a big smile, and slides the ring you had been marvelling at the other day on your finger.

He lifts you and kisses you, deep and passionate and loving. Your friends cheer.

You spend the rest of the night on the beach with your December boy, finding joy.

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dantakeyoman · 9 months

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𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 | 𝐣. 𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞

♡ 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

♡ *𝒐𝒉, (𝒚/𝒏)? 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒕, 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏, 𝒕𝒐𝒐. 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒆𝒓. …𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉. *

♡ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐲, 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

♡ * 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚 - 𝒑𝒐𝒗: 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 *

𝐓𝐖𝐎

"Look who's graced me with his presence," you sighed, a small smirk playing on your lips as Dally hopped the hand-rail to the Nightly Double, obviously not paying.

"How ya doin', Nails?" He smiled, sitting down in the empty aisle seat next to you.

"Peachy...'til you got here," you teased, "Slide me a cancer stick."

He sighed, rummaging in his pockets for a moment before pulling out a single one, handing it to you, "You better smoke it good, that's my last one."

"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on," you rolled your eyes, kicking up your feet and whipping out your bright, red lighter.

A gift Johnny gave you for your thirteenth birthday.

You placed the cigarette in your mouth, checking out the scar on your lip through the reflection of the trigger.

It had been two months since you got jumped by the Socs, your encounter leaving you with a faint scar on the right side of your lip, stretching from right under your nose to right under the curve of your bottom lip.

And, unsurprisingly, things between the Socs and the Greasers had gone tremendously bad.

There was a fight nearly every other day, and despite the No Jazz rule you and Darry had tried to put into effect, the Socs were just making it too hard to keep a cool head.

Fightin' words, slashing tires, jumping.

It really made you wonder who were the real hoods.

"Hey, (y/n/n)," Johnny greeted, walking up to the rail and hopping over it just like Dally did a minute ago.

You quietly gasped and dropped your lighter, nearly inhaling your cig and setting yourself on fire in the process.

You squeaked and scrambled to pick it up, Dal letting out an obnoxious laugh as Johnny quickly rushed over to you, patting you on the back to clear up your coughing fit.

"You alright?! What happened?" He asked, concerned as he took his seat next to you.

You sat up, turning to Dally and shooting him a sharp glare, him returning it with his very punchable smirk.

"Sorry, Johnnycake. You just startled me is all," you cleared your throat, rummaging in your pocket and grabbing some change.

"S'all right if you could go to the stand and get me some water?"

"Sure," he nodded, taking the money and standing up, walking over to the concession stand to wait in line.

Once you were sure he was out of earshot, you let Dally have it.

"Bastard! What the hell?! You didn't tell me Johnny was coming!" You whisper-yelled, smacking the man in the arm.

"Cool it, would ya. You two need this," he scoffed, your attacks not even phasing him.

"I'm sick of all the puppy dog eyes and the blushin' and shit. Everyone and their mother knows that you two like each other."

You flushed with embarrassment, slightly taken aback.

'That couldn't be true, right?'

You and Johnny went back to the sandbox, and for as long as you can remember you've felt some type of way about him.

The way his hair fell in his face, the way certain things would bring a small sparkle to his brown eyes, the way you could catch hints of his true smile if you were paying attention.

The way the two of you could talk about nothing and yet everything when you where alone.

Of course, you firmly believed that all of these feelings were one sided.

"The stupid excuses like I gotta go to the DX or I was gonna meet up wit' Pony is not gonna get you two outta this, so here's how it's gonna go."

He quickly turned around to make sure Johnny was anywhere near, but the poor boy was still at the very back of the large line.

"When Johnny comes back with your water, I'm gonna go get some popcorn and never come back, leavin' you two alone to start to get to business. You guys'll talk, do all the little sappy shit, and then right in the middle of his sentence, you're gonna grab 'im by his collar and kiss 'im. Boom. Match made."

You were gagged

'This guy's got jokes.'

"What happened? You turn into a comedian since the last time I saw you?" You asked sarcastically, rolling your eyes and turning around to face the movie.

"I'm not doin' that shit."

"Aw, c'mon, Nails. Johnny's too chicken shit for this, it's gotta be you," he whined, throwing his head back in annoyance.

"Besides...me and Soda made a bet with Two that says we get two packs each if you break first."

"Ah hah! That's what this is all about. You don't want me and Johnny to get together, you just want a couple free cigs," you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.

'Unbelievable.'

"Not entirely. I am tired of seein' you two make goo goo eyes at each other and not doin' nothin' about it. So if I get you two to cut it and a couple of free packs, o' course I'm gonna take advantage of the situation," he corrected, pausing his smoking to take a quick swig of beer.

"(y/n/n) and Johnny are gettin' together?!" Ponyboy exclaimed out of nowhere, hopping the rail and sitting down next to you.

"Will you shut up?!" You hissed, nervous that Johnny might've heard.

"Aw, what the hell are you doin' here?! You're messin' up the plan, Pone," Dally groaned, shooing away the boy with his hand.

"The plan? What plan?" Pony cocked a brow, confused.

"The one I discussed with the boys. I thought you were there, too?" Dal answered, scratching his head.

"Everyone else is in on this shit?!" You whipped your head around to Dally.

"Well, s'not my fault. Johnny was the one who asked me to come with 'im," Pony shrugged, turning to look at the movie.

"You'd think you two were attached at the hip," Dally sighed, turning around to get an update on Johnny's whereabouts.

"Doesn't matter now. The kid's walkin' back over,"

'Thank God.'

"Gotchu your water, (y/n/n)," Johnny stated, handing you the cup and your money back.

Dally stretched his arm over your shoulder and flicked Pony in the ear, getting him to move a seat over and allow Johnny to sit next to you again.

"Thanks, Johnnycake," you smiled, taking a sip and counting your change as the boy looked up at the screen to take away from the buzzing feeling in his stomach.

When you finished counting, you realized it was the exact amount of money you gave him.

"Wait, didya-." "I paid for it," he answered, already knowing your question, keeping his eyes trained on the screen.

"You ain't hafta do that, Johnny," you turned to him.

You were the one with the job. It was your responsibility to pay for your things.

"I know," he turned to you.

Your eyes met, and you looked at him through those thick lashes with those (e/c) eyes that sparkled in the projector light.

He swallowed thickly.

"S-S'least I could do. Wanted you to be all right."

You smiled, his heartbeat picking up twice as fast.

"I-." "What movie is this?" Pony asked, oblivious to the scene unfolding next to him.

Dally cursed under his breath, grumbling about how that boy was thicker than a brick.

That is, until a couple of Socs girls took the seats in front of you, and took his attention elsewhere.

"What's he grumblin' about?" Johnny asked in a low voice, turning to face the movie.

"I dunno. He's been weird tonight," you sighed, watching the movie as well. He nodded, his face turning confused when he saw someone get hit in the back with a baseball bat.

"Pone was onto somethin'. What is this movie?" He asked, nosed scrunched.

You chuckled, "Who knows. I think it's somethin' beachy."

He smiled, "Be nice to go to a beach one day...see the ocean."

"No kiddin'," you agreed, "I'd settle for anywhere outta Oklahoma."

"Forget Oklahoma. I'd settle for anywhere outta the neighborhood," he scoffed.

You sighed, resting your head on his shoulder, not noticing that the poor boy went stiff as a board at your touch.

"I could never do it, though. Don't got the guts," you dismissed.

Johnny was taken aback.

No guts? You had more guts than half the gang combined.

You'd toughed out situations that grown men'd never dream of.

No guts? "Whatchu talkin' about?" He asked, turning to look at you, confused. "You got a ton of guts, and you're plenty smart, too. If any of us is makin' it outta Oklahoma, it's you." "I'm not makin' it outta anywhere," you scoffed, looking up at him seriously. "I could never leave (b/n/n). I could never leave the gang."

You paused.

"I could never leave you, Johnnycake."

Johnny's stomach flipped so much, he nearly thought he'd flip, too.

It was as if you knew every little thing that could set him off, every little thing that had him at your beck and call like a lovesick puppy.

You had him wrapped around your finger, and he knew this, and had no problem with it.

"You guys are my family. No place'd be worth going without y'all."

He smiled, approvingly, turning to face the movie, "Thanks."

The two of you focused back on the screen, staying in comfortable silence as you watched the movie, Dally and the two Soc girls started to get a little loud.

You were about to say something, until you felt your entire body let out one violent shiver, remind you that you were outside with nothing but a tank top and jeans.

Your breath hitched, and you hoped Johnny didn't notice, slowly looking up to face him.

Only to see that he was already looking at you, disapprovingly.

"Why ain't chu wearin' a coat, (y/n/n)? S'freezin' out here," he asked, concerned, as he began shimmying off his jean jacket, trying not disturb your head.

"I'm fine, Johnny. I just came from the DX so I didn't have time to grab a coat for nothin'," you sighed, pushing his jacket back on.

"I'm not cold, promise."

"Warm people don't shiver," he cocked a brow.

"Maybe that'll cool you off, Greaser! When you learn to talk and act decent, I might cool off, too!" The redheaded Soc girl suddenly shouted, splashing a drink all over Dally's face.

He had moved his seat from your row to hers, and had seemed to have been harassing her the entire time.

'Probably why those two were getting loud earlier. Fuckin' Dallas.'

"Fiery, huh? Just the way I like 'em," Dally smirked, grabbing her and pulling her close, much to her protest.

"Get off me!"

"Dally, leave 'er alone," you ordered firmly, sitting up off Johnny's shoulder.

But he ignored you, continuing touch and shove her around, a smile on his face.

"C'mon, Dal, you heard 'er. Leave 'er alone," Johnny chimed in, sitting up straight, too.

You were quietly shocked.

Johnny would never so much as stick a toe out in front of Dallas, let alone raise his voice at him.

He practically worshiped the ground he walked on.

"What'd you say?" Dally's smile fell, almost instantly, and he stopped his advances, turning to glare at Johnny.

"What'd you say to me, you little shit? What'd you say to me?"

"C'mon," Johnny sighed, his eyes pleading Dal to cool it.

And Dally picked up on this, sucking his teeth before roughly stuffing his hands in his pockets, standing up out the chair.

"Wise ass," he grumbled, walking up the ramp and out of the Nightly Double.

You, Johnny, and Pone, let out a sigh of relief you didn't even know you were holding, the three of you knowing good and well that you dodged a bullet.

"Now you blew it," Pony grumbled to the two of you, knowing that all you did was postpone Dally's blow out for later.

"Thank you. He had me scared to death," the redhead turned around, releasing her own sigh of relief.

"Sure didn't show it," Johnny shrugged, "Ain't nobody talk to Dal like that."

"Well, I saw you do. And her, too," she smiled.

That's when it hit you, "Hey, ain't you that cheerleader from school? Cherry?"

"My real name's Sherri, but my friends call me Cherry 'cause of my hair."

Yeah, you knew Cherry.

Cherry, the cheerleader. Cherry, the Soc girl.

Cherry, Bob's girlfriend. Cherry, girlfriend of the guy that nearly knocked your lights out.

Yeah, you knew Cherry.

Call it childish but two months ain't a long time, and it's hard to forget with a permanent reminder plastered on your lip.

"Why don't y'all sit with us, so you can protect us?" Cherry's friend suggested with a smile.

The boys turned to each other, Pony giving Johnny a nod.

But Johnny turned to you, realizing that you were back to watching the movie, disengaging from the conversation before you said something you'd regret.

He noticed this, and knew he wanted to stay with you through it.

Not that he was gonna get up and move, anyway.

"Imma stay back here," he stated, sitting back into his seat, your head reclaiming its spot on his shoulder.

Pony shrugged, moving to sit next to Cherry and starting up some conversation with her.

"You think Dal's gonna be mad?" Johnny asked, tiredly resting his head on top of yours.

You waved it off, "Dally's drunk. Give 'im some time to cool off and he'll be alright."

Feeling another shiver coming, you nuzzled closer to the boy, kicking up your legs on his as you relished the warmth that his jacket provided.

He let out an easy sigh, before allowing his body to ease itself into you, both of you molding together as if you were puzzle pieces.

It was so comfy, you nearly fell asleep right there.

𝒋 𝒐 𝒉 𝒏 𝒏 𝒚 𝒄 𝒂 𝒌 𝒆

"God, I'm so dog-tired I could drop," you groaned, trying to rub the exhaustion off your face as the five of you walked home.

The boys agreed to walk the Soc girls back to theirs, and at first you were completely against it, opting to walk yourself home rather than help them.

But all Johnny had to do was flash you a quick smile and ask a sincere, "Please," and you were putty in his hand.

"Did you work another double again?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

You winced, "...Maybe, but that's only because they offered some extra cash if I stayed longer."

"You just did a double yesterday. And did a triple a day or so ago. I told you about takin' breaks, (y/n/n)," he scolded, though not really.

He could never be mad at you.

"I know, I know, but I jus-." "Now I remember," Cherry realized, turning away from her talk with Pony to face you.

"You're the greaser girl that works at the DX, right? That's where I know you from."

You cocked a brow at her description of you, the boys quietly wincing at the reminder.

No matter how long they talked, or how deep the conversation, you were still Grease, and they were still Soc.

Noticing the quiet, she caught herself, slightly embarrassed "Sorry.....force of habit."

Just then, the sound of moving gravel snapped you all out of conversation, and you turned around to see two mustangs pull up behind you.

'Damn. ...Them's some tuff cars.'

"Oh, they're coming! What're we gonna do?" The other girl, who you learned to be Marcia, nervously whispered to Cherry.

"Just act normal," she whispered back.

"Who're these clowns?" A familiar voice asked, stepping out of the car.

'You've gotta be kidding me.'

It was that Soc bastard, Bob.

"Johnny..." you whispered, uneasy

"I know," he sighed, resting his hand in his right pocket, the pocket where he always kept his blade.

"Cherry! What's goin' on?!" Bob exclaimed, storming over with another Soc boy.

"Just because we got a little drunk, doesn't mean-!" "A little?!" Cherry interrupted.

"You call reeling and passing out in the street a little?! Bob, I've told you before, I'm never going out with you when you're drinking, and I mean it!"

"That's no reason to go walking the streets with these bums," the other boy chimed.

'Bums?!'

"Who you callin' bums, pal!" You glared, pointing harshly at the boy.

"You!" He spat back.

"Randy!"

"(y/n/n)," Johnny warned lowly, getting more anxious by the second.

Your fire might've been what drew him to you at first, but one of these days it was going to get you killed.

"Listen, we got two more of us in the backseat," Randy whispered, getting up close and personal.

You quickly picked up a beer bottle, smashing it against the fence and then tossing it to Pony, whipping out your own blade as well.

"Fuck the backseat!" You spat, pointing the tip of it at his throat.

"If you're lookin' for a fight-." "Hell, yeah, I'm lookin' for a fight!" You didn't back down.

"Let's go! Put the knife down!"

"Let's go, then! C'mon!"

"Put the knife down!"

"You got your guys, I got my knife, pal!"

"Stop it! Just stop it!" Cherry shouted, stepping in between you two.

"We'll go with you. Just give us a minute."

"Why? We ain't scared of these bastards," you looked the two boys up and down, disgusted.

"I hate fights, all right. I hate 'em," she sighed, raking a nervous hand through her hair.

She walked over to Ponyboy, wishing him a quick goodbye, before her and Marcia hopped in the Socs car, driving off.

"Greaseball!" Bob shouted out the window, drunkenly.

"Fuck you!" You shouted back, roughly flipping off the car as Johnny threw an arm over your shoulder.

Quite literally being the only thing keeping you from chasing after them.

"C'mon, (y/n/n), let's go," Pony sighed, the three of you turning around to walk back home.

𝒋 𝒐 𝒉 𝒏 𝒏 𝒚 𝒄 𝒂 𝒌 𝒆

"I hate those damn Socs. Who do they think they are thinkin' they can talk to us like that?" You grumbled, curled into yourself as you lay down on a disposed couch.

Pony had gone back to the Curtis' house, no doubt getting chewed out for coming home so late.

And you and Johnny had decided to sleepover in the lot for the night, since neither of you wished to be home at the moment.

"And who are they to say that Cherry girl couldn't hang out with Pony."

Sure, you didn't exactly like her, but you could tell Pony did. And all you wanted for that boy was for him to be happy.

Lord knows he's been through enough already.

"S'cause we're greasers, (y/n/n)," Johnny sighed, finishing up the fire before standing up and dusting off his pants.

"He might've hurt her reputation or something, that's all. Don't worry about it."

He walked over to the couch, plopping himself down next to you and smiling at how quick you were to snuggle up under him.

Despite his jean jacket, you were still cooler than an ice cube, and he was still, surprisingly, very warm.

"I guess," you sighed, resting your head on his chest.

He paused for a moment, trying to come up with a way to bring your spirits up.

"Man, that was a tuff car, huh," he started, remembering how you were eyeing Bob's car just as much as he was.

"Mustangs...they're tuff."

You let out a tired exhale, appreciative of the gesture, but just not in the mood.

That is, until the sound of Johnny's parents started to ring in the lot.

They were arguing, way louder than usual.

To the point where most of the curses could be heard crystal clear, as if you were in the house with them.

You could feel Johnny's breath become heavy, and you looked up at him, his expression dropping by the second.

"I don't think I can take much more of this, (y/n/n)," he caved, raking a frantic hand through his hair.

"I'll...I'll kill myself or something. I don't know."

The second those words came out his mouth, you nearly went catatonic.

Johnny? Kill himself?

There was no way.

You couldn't even fathom what your life would be like without your best friend, your favorite guy.

Your one true love, and the subject of all your affection.

...

Or something Shakespearean like that.

"Johnny Cade, you will do no such thing, you hear me?" You ordered firmly, placing both your hands on his face and turning him to face you.

"No such thing."

"I gotta do somethin'," he cried, his face easing into your hands.

With a sigh, you laid back in the chair, bringing him with you, and letting him rest his head on your chest.

"It seems like there's gotta be a place without Greasers and Socs," he sniffled, nuzzling closer "Must be someplace...with just plain, ordinary people."

You nodded, gliding your hand through his hair carefully, "S'like that out in the country. Away from all the big towns."

Feeling him begin to relax already, you decided to continue.

"The people are friendly and the houses are few and far between. There's room to stretch your legs and night are quiet...real quiet. Not to mention the animals."

And you continued on just like that, until eventually, the two of you were lulled asleep, welcoming dreams of the paradise you described.

"I love you, (y/n/n)," Johnny muttered, half asleep and barely above a whisper.

But you were already out like a light, no memory of the boy's words at all.

𝒋 𝒐 𝒉 𝒏 𝒏 𝒚 𝒄 𝒂 𝒌 𝒆

#johnny cade x reader #johnny cade #the outsiders #outsiders #the outsiders x reader #cade x reader #johnnycake

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thisapplepielife · 5 months

Text

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Baby, You Can Drive My Car

Prompt Day 4: Meet-Cute At Work | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Weed, Language | Tags: AU, Mechanic!Eddie, Business Guy!Steve, Fluffy Meet-Cute

Steve's car is making a noise that doesn't sound good, not at fucking all. So, he reluctantly makes an appointment for his car to be worked on at the local body shop in this new, little town he moved to a couple months ago. He doesn't love the town, and he doesn't love the look of this garage, either, as he pulls into the parking lot. It looks run-down. The sign is peeling, and it could really use a coat of paint.

But his car needs to be looked at, it's just not running right at all, and that strange noise can’t be great. He's too far from home to take it to his regular guy, so having it done here, in this dingy little shop is happening, whether he likes it or not. And he does not like it. In fact, he hates it.

But it’s the only place in town: Munson’s Garage.

When he walks inside, the guy at the front counter looks normal enough, an older man in a clean, plaid shirt, who probably owns the place. A little gruff, but Steve relaxes a little, because this guy is clearly experienced. So, it’ll probably be okay.

But apparently that guy isn't doing the work, because he yells, "Eddie!" and the guy that comes to get his keys, Eddie he supposes, is weird. He’s probably Steve’s age, but he has long hair, and is in a filthy pair of coveralls.

Steve’s taking in his appearance, when the guy fucking trips over nothing, like he’s one of the Three Stooges. Steve can only stand by, and watch in horror as Eddie reaches out a black, grease-covered hand towards Steve to catch himself.

He makes contact with Steve's shoulder, and his pristine, starched, white Armani dress shirt.

Eddie's eyes go wide and horrified, so Steve takes a deep breath. It's fine. It's fine. It's just a shirt. A very fucking expensive shirt, but a shirt.

"Jesus H. Christ, I'm so sorry," Eddie says, taking a step back.

"It's fine. It's just a shirt, I've got a dozen more just like it," Steve says, and that's true. It's just a shirt. He can replace it.

His car? He likes his car and wants it running right, and this clumsy fool is his best bet at the moment. So, he'll play nice. Robin would be so proud of him for taking the high road right now.

"You're Steve, right?" he asks, wiping his hands on a red shop rag that really can't hold any more grease at this point, Steve's absolutely certain.

Steve takes a good look at him. He’s dirty, head to toe. Steve wonders if he’s always this dirty, or if he’s really managed to get this filthy before noon.

This guy can ruin his shirt, but he cannot sit on his cream-colored leather seats. No fucking way.

But Steve nods.

The guy smiles, big and bright, teasing him, "Well, if you don't give me those keys, I can't take a look at it."

Steve reluctantly hands them over, and stands at the window, as this guy walks outside and looks in the window, and then strips off his coveralls. Then doesn't know what to do with them, and he kind of spins in a little circle.

He's an odd duck.

Eddie finally makes the decision to run them into the shop, and returns to the car.

Underneath the coveralls, he's wearing clean jeans, and a clean t-shirt, thank god, with the sleeves ripped off, and he has tattoos all up and down his arms. Steve can't look away, until his car, and the guy, are gone.

He talks to Wayne, at least Steve assumes that's his name, if the goofy hand-drawn caricature that sure looks like him, and name plate, are to be believed. And Wayne tells him to come back tomorrow, so Steve calls a cab, and plans to come back and get it tomorrow evening.

He does. But he's running late. His meeting ran over, and he's scared the place is going to be locked up tight. But Eddie is sitting out front of the shop, in street clothes.

A pair of ripped jeans and a leather jacket. His long hair loose around his face. And he looks good, great.

"I'm so sorry, my meeting ran way over," Steve says, jogging away from the cab.

"Don't sweat it, man. But I want you to test it, so maybe you can just take me home?"

Steve can do that. He can definitely do that.

They climb in, and it has been detailed, cleaner than he left it, but it smells fucking skunky.

Steve laughs, "Smells like a skunk's ass in here."

"Oh shit, I didn't smoke in your car, dude. I swear. No way. It just must be, like, clinging to me," Eddie says, stretching out his t-shirt and bringing it up to his nose, inhaling.

Then he is looking at Steve, clearly suddenly unsure, "Or…a skunk got into the shop?"

Steve laughs, "Okay. Sure. That sounds totally legit."

Eddie laughs, and relaxes. "Good. Good. I was worried for a second that you might not be cool."

"I'm cool!" Steve argues, pulling out onto the empty road.

"If you say so, Suit and Tie."

Steve grins, "Just give me directions."

"Well, first, you need to turn around and head the other way," Eddie answers dryly.

Steve grins, and flips a bitch in the middle of the deserted street.

The car drives great, Eddie did a good job. Steve smiles at him, "Thanks, man. It's running great."

"Glad to hear it," Eddie says, telling Steve when to turn.

Steve looks over at him and smiles.

"So. You got any more of that skunk weed?"

Eddie tosses his head back and laughs, "Sure do. Wanna come in and smoke?"

Steve nods, happy.

And that's how Steve Harrington not only gets a new mechanic, but a new weed dealer, and a new boyfriend, in this town that's looking pretty great now.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

#steddieholidaydrabbles #meet-cute at work #steddie au #steddie brainrot #silly fluff #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #mechanic eddie munson #wayne munson #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles

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onetimetwotimesthreetimess · 5 months

Note

If you're still taking prompts- malec with max and rafe being all soft and learning how to be a family the day after Alec returns with Rafe from Buenos Aires.

Magnus is used to sleeping and waking up a certain way. His sleep routines have changed throughout centuries and it always catches him by surprise when something major changes occur.

For the past few years, he’s used to waking up with Alec in his arms, so he frowns as he realises that the familiar warmth of the shadowhunter is missing.

Magnus groans and let’s out a hand on the other side but there’s nothing but an empty space there. He peeks an eye out from the comforter and frowns.

The bed seems cold so Alec has to be gone for a few hours now. There’s no yelling of a toddler in the house so Max is probably still, fast asleep which, is a blessing in itself.

But Magnus has been sleeping without Alec for the past two days since the man was in Buenos Aires and he cannot believe Alec would leave him in their bed alone for another night.

He puts on his robe and steps outside the bedroom, going to look for his shadowhunter, mumbling and complaining to himself.

There’s surprise on his face when he finds Alec fast asleep on the couch. He bends down infront of the couch and shakes his boyfriend.

“Alexander?”

It takes a few seconds before Alec stirs in his sleep and opens an eye. A small sigh escapes his lips as his eyes land on Magnus.

“Hi. Morning, baby,” he breathes.

Magnus pouts at him, “Why are you not in our bed?”

Alec gives him a sheepish smile as he sits up, pulling the duvet around his body. He points to the newly magicked room in their house. “I wanted to be around Rafe if something happened. If he got scared or something.”

Magnus caresses Alec’s hair gently and tucks a few strands behind his ears.

“I thought it was all a dream,” he breathes, shifting closer to Alec. “Rafael. I thought he was a dream.”

Alec’s face changes and there’s worry on his face for a second, “What do you mean? Are you not sure anymore? I—I thought..”

Magnus shakes his head fondly and puts a finger on Alec’s lip, “Ssshhhh. And they say I’m the dramatic one.”

Alec pouts at the words and Magnus chuckles softly. He’s so in love with Alec’s pout it’s unbelievable.

“I just meant that it doesn’t feel real. But I couldn’t be more ecstatic that it is,” he says tenderly.

A bashful smile appears on Alec’s face at the words.

“You worried me for a second there,” Magnus says.

Alec frowns, “About?”

“When you weren’t in bed—I thought you’d left to get us another child,” he teases the shadowhunter who rolls his eyes at him. “Ha-ha.”

“Can I get my morning kiss? There’s going to be two and not one little demon interrupting us from now on.”

Alec winds his arms around his waist and shifts into Magnus’s lap. He bends his head and closes their lips together in a long and much needed kiss.

“Hi,” Alec breathes as they part. “I love you.”

“Sure.”

Alec chuckles, “I missed one morning of cuddles.”

“That’s three now,” Magnus complains.

“Idiot.”

“Yes, you are one. But it’s okay,” he feigns seriousness as Alec swats his chest.

They sit wrapped in each other’s arms for a few minutes before there’s cacophony of noises and a small body collides before making its way between them.

“Morning Bapak. Daddy,” Max yells.

Alec laughs at the excitement on the boy and starts tickling him making Max yelp in joy. Then Max’s eyes widen and he shushes them all. “Ssshh. Rafe is sleeping. I stay quiet?”

It seems like such a small thing but knowing Max, being quiet is a personal hell. He exchanges a look with Alec of fondness for the toddler.

“It’s okay, darling,” Magnus assures him, kissing between his horns. “You can speak. We’ll just be careful, okay?”

Max nods before he jumps further into Alec’s arms, clearing having missed annoying his dad for two mornings now.

“Make eggs for Rafe?” He suggest Alec.

“Okay,” Alec smiles at the boy. “We’re going to let him sleep, though.”

“I’m going to put the sound-proof spell again now that Max is awake,” Magnus jokes, pretending to eat Max’s ears who squeals in return.

“Bapak, no. I eat you.”

“Not true. We’ll make eggs out of you today,” Magnus grins but Max releases himself out of their hold and runs towards the kitchen.

“I’ll start the breakfast.”

“I’ll take a shower.”

Alec looks mournful then. “What?” Magnus laughs.

“Can I join?” His boyfriend asks hopefully.

“Not anymore, father of two. Our days of sharing a shower are over now.”

“How dare you?” Alec says seriously.

Magnus smirks before he leaves for the room but not before he kisses Alec once more.

He stops infront of Rafe’ room for a second. It doesn’t seem like he’s sleeping peacefully as he keeps on turning and tossing. Magnus wants to use the sleeping spell on him but he decides against it. They need to earn Rafael’s trust before they can use magic.

And as Alec always says, love is the biggest magic of all.

He’s out of the shower half an hour later. There’s a small body outside his room, peeking inside.

It’s not Max—because Max doesn’t linger. He owns any and every room.

It’s Rafe.

Magnus smiles as he opens the door a bit more to let the boy in. He bends down infront of the boy and smiles.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Rafe hesitates for a second before looking at him. He’s still wrapped up in Magnus’s robe from last time and he looks so cute that it melts him from inside.

When the boy doesn’t reply, Magnus adds, “Sleep well?”

Rafe frowns for a second, as if he’s never been asked this before. As if, the concept of a good sleep is foreign to him.

Magnus tries not to show his pain on his face.

He’s never felt this way. He’s never felt this connected to anyone his entire life.

It had taken him time to love Max. Not because Max was any less loving but because he didn’t know if he was capable of loving someone as a parent.

Now he knows.

Magnus gets now how Alec must have felt when he held Max for the first time.

The boy’s stomach groans then and he puts his hands on his stomach, looking ashamed.

Magnus let’s out a careful hand and runs his hand through the boy’s hair. Rafael stills before he leans into the touch and relaxes.

“Hungry?”

Still no reply.

“Alec is cooking Blueberry for breakfast. You want to join?” Magnus jokes and it takes a second before a small smile appear on Rafael’s face.

Victory.

“Let’s go,” he says.

Magnus stands up and steps forward but Rafe stands still. Then he lets out a small hand for Magnus to take, which Magnus does while feeling butterflies in his stomach as they both step out.

Their house is filled with noise right now as Max and Alec’s loud chatter continues.

Max is telling Alec everything that he did in the past two days with loud hand gestures as Alec listens intently to him.

Alec passes the bowl to Max and hands him an egg. “Want to do it?”

Max thinks for a minute before nodding. He takes the egg in his hands, clearly seen Alec do this a hundred times before but his toddler hands fail him and the egg falls apart.

“Ughh. Ewww daddyyyyyyyy!” Max whines.

Magnus chuckles at the two. He looks down at Rafael who looks scared, his eyes pinned at the egg shells in Max’s hands.

“Rafe?” He prodes gently.

The boy doesn’t reply and it suddenly hits him that Rafael might be worried that Max is in trouble for breaking the egg wrong. He wonders how many adults have reprimanded Rafe for doing this wrong.

He puts a gentle hand on Rafael’s head and speaks, “Max is not in trouble. And you won’t be either for something like this. Watch,” he points towards the father and son duo.

“Blue, you wasted an egg. Bapak will have to cook you, now,” Alec jokes before taking the broken shells from him. He hands Max a towel to clean his hands and Magnus rolls his eyes because—duh? Magic??.

“Bapak loves me,” Max announces.

Alec hums. “Bapak loves sushi too but he still eats it right?”

Magnus sees Rafael’s body visibly release the tension as he witnesses the other two bickering.

“Who’s cooking Blueberry?” Magnus makes his presence known, even though he knows Alec already felt them in the room.

Alec turns and smiles. “You are.”

The shadowhunter’s eyes soften as they land on Rafael.

Max’s eyes widen with excitement too as he sees Rafe up again.

“Rafe!!!!” Max jumps out of his seat and runs towards Rafe who makes an icky face as he realises there’s still egg stuck to the boy’s hand. Magnus chuckles before snapping his fingers to clean his fingers before he can reach the two of them.

Alec closes the distance too and waves, “Good morning, Rafe.”

The four of them stand in a circle, greeting each other. Alec exchanges a look with Magnus, both of them deciding that they shouldn’t crowd the boy too much.

“It’s breakfast time. Are you hungry?” Alec asks the shadowhunter boy gently. Magnus wonders his response and then after a second or two, Rafael finally nods. Barely, but it’s there.

Alec smiles and turns to go back to his eggs but not before puckering his lips, asking him for a kiss. Magnus leans closer and kisses him, gladly.

The shadowhunter bends down and there’s a grin on his face when he speaks, “We’re cooking Blueberry for breakfast today. You want to join? Then we have plans to go shopping later.

Rafael rolls his eyes at Alec but nods. “Boludo.”

#I’m so soft for these bitches aaaa🥺#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #rafael lightwood bane #max lightwood bane

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sicklyseraphnsuch · 7 months

Note

If you are do fic requests, can you do one with Simon meeting Ice king(ours, not WK)?

Ice King doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the floor, crying his eyes out as one does when sitting on the floor. Honestly, if you're on the floor, and you're not crying your eyes out, then you're not maximizing use of the floor. But so yeah, he's sitting there, and it must've been awhile because Gunter wandered off already, and he's all alone in the room.

Or he should have been. But he hears footsteps. It's not the slappity slap slap of Gunther, which means... Oh! Does he have a guest? Someone came to visit old Ice King? Could it be his princess has come home at last?

He lifts his head, a grin crossing his face. But it's not the lovely visage of Princess Bubblegum or Wildberry Princess or Turtle Princess or any princess. It's not even Finn who was like his third guess... okay fine, fourth! ... Fifth actually... Whatever. It's not him. It's not a princess. It's just some nerd, with his glasses and his tweed suit and his single streak of grey hair.

"What? Did you get lost looking for the geek convention?" Ice King sneers. "Can't you see I'm busy wallowing in despair? Scram! This place is for princesses only!"

The nerd looks at him for a very long time. It's preeeetty weird. And rude! Really, does this guy have no manners? Who barges into people's places and just does whatever he wants, huh? Freaks. Weirdos. Absolute lunatics.

Frowning harder, Ice King readies a freeze spell. He's just about to launch it when the nerd finally makes his move.

"Sorry, Ice King, I didn't mean to disturb your... I didn't mean to interrupt you," the nerd says, squatting down. "I'm not... exactly lost... But I'm stuck here for now, and I hope you don't mind company."

Ice King blinks. Like this, this nerdy guy is at eye level with him. Ice King doesn't have to keep looking up, like a bug waiting to get squashed. He tries to remember if anyone has ever met him where he's at before. It's kinda nice.

"Wait, you wanna stay with me?" Ice King stops. Wait. Jay T Dogzone says that looking needy drives chicks away. That could also apply to random nerds that pop into his house. So Ice King coughs into his fist, looking away. "I mean, I'm like the most popular guy around. I gotta check my schedule to make sure I'm free."

Ice King gets to his feet, pretending to search his sleeves for a notebook. He pulls out a stale sandwhich, with hints of mold around the edges. Eh. Close enough. He flips the sandwhich open, running a finger down a crusty slice of cheese like it's got a list of names.

Out the corner of his eyes, Ice King watches the nerdy guy stand back up. "Okay, you do that. I can make us some lunch. How does chicken soup sound to you?"

Ice King drops his sandwhich as he turns around to face the nerdy guy. "You can make chicken soup??"

The nerdy guy smiles, and okay. Maybe Ice King was a little too judgy. For a nerd, he has a pretty nice smile - it's a nicer expression than he's used to seeing, that's for sure.

"It's my favorite soup. It's a cure all for whenever I need to feel better."

Yeah. That makes sense to Ice King. But... "I don't know... I'm on this diet... I can't go ruining my hot summer bod."

The nerdy guy sighs the way Marcy sometimes sighs whenever she talks to him. But he doesn't look ready to shout or yell at him. No, nerdy guy keeps that soft look on his face. Actually, the look gets a little softer. Man, if Ice King had a look like that, he'd be mobbed by princesses.

"I can put in a lot of veggies. You can stick to your diet. Don't you worry about a thing."

Wow. That's just so nice. Ice King squints at him. There must be catch. "Waaait, I know your game, mister nerdy guy."

To his credit, the nerdy guy has the poker face of a mountain. "I am almost certain that you don't."

But it's too late. Ice King connected the dots. "The suit. The charming smile. The affable conversation. You're a door to door salesman!"

The nerdy guy snorts.

"You can't fool me! I see through your salesman schemes! Well, I'm not buying whatever you're hawking! Go bother someone else!"

The nerdy guy continues to stay put. "Okay, you got me. I'm a door to door salesman."

Ice King gasps. "I knew it!!!"

"You're very clever, Ice King. But you don't have to buy anything from me. Just listen to my sales pitch over a nice bowl of chicken soup. That doesn't sound too bad, right?"

Ice King wrinkles his nose. "You can try. But I have the mind of a fox! You won't get a dime from me!"

Then he shoves past the nerdy guy towards the kitchen. That guy must be really behind his quota because he follows Ice King despite his ruined sales schemes. And to his credit, the guy does make him chicken soup. Ice King didn't even realize that he had all the ingredients. But he does vaguely remembers Marceline stopping by some time ago, and dropping off a bunch of paper bags.

The nerdy guy may be terrible at his job, but he cooks a decent soup. And Ice King patiently waits for his sales pitch but the guy starts talking about random stories - good stories too.

"You're pretty funny for a nerd," Ice King announces. "I like the story where you swallowed a bug on accident! That one's my favorite."

"I figured you would," the nerdy guy replies as he collects their empty bowls.

"Are you leaving? Already?" The Ice King sits up. He was feeling all warm and cozy from all that chicken soup (with lots of veggies as promised). But now, panic seizes him like he hoped a woman would one day - hard and sharp and taking his breath away. "You can't! You haven't sold me anything!"

The nerdy guy shakes his head. "No, no, no. I'm just cleaning up."

"Oh..." Ice King slumps. After that shot of adrenaline, he now feels all sorts of tired.

The nerdy guy comes closer, to loop an arm around Ice King's shoulders. "Hey, if you need to take a nap or something, I won't mind."

Oh, a nice touch. Yes, this is nice. It's kinda like a hug, even if this nerdy guy is taking him somewhere. Is he about get kidnapped? Or locked in the closet? Held for ransom? Well, joke's on him! No one would pay out for Ice King.

He likes the kind-of hug though. He giggles softly to himself. His spine is all tingly and the nerdy guy is just so warm. So he lets himself be taken to wherever this nerd wants - which is apparently the bedroom. Oh. OH!

As if reading his mind, the nerdy guy rolls his eyes. "No, you need rest. When was the last time you slept through the night?"

"Oh, so you're into that, huh?" Ice King waggles his eyebrows. "Hey no shame here! You like what you like! Here, I can set the stage for you!"

Ice King flaps himself over the bed, settling in. He catches the nerdy guy pinch his brow before he firmly closes his eyes.

"How in the world did I survive this long acting like this?" He hears the guy mutter to himself.

Ice King doesn't know what he means but he's patient. He's sure everything will work out. Except then he hears footsteps going out the room. His eyes snap open.

"Hey, wait a minute! I thought we were gonna do some fun stuff! Where you going?" Realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning. He flies out of the bed and tackles the nerdy guy.

They both go crashing to the floor. The nerdy guy shouts as he barely avoids hitting his head.

"You're gonna rob me, aren't you? This was just an elaborate scheme to take all my worldly possessions and also my Guntie!"

"Ice King, get off!"

Ice King grabs hold of the guy's collar, shaking him. "You can't have him! You can do anything you want to me-"

"And I'm sure you's like that-"

"But not to my Guntie!"

"Ice King!" The nerdy guy manages to pry Ice King's hands off him, using his leg as leverage push him away. "How are you so strong when you've got the muscles of an anorexic teenager? Geez!"

"Hey!" Now that's just uncalled for. Ice King pulls himself away to flex his arms. "I'll have you know that I have a rock solid bod. Check out these guns!"

The nerdy guy groans. With Ice King no longer pinning him down, he sits up and cradles his face in his hands. "Honestly, what am I doing? There's no reaching him. It's impossible!"

Tch. Okay. Weirdo. What nonsense is he talking about now? Ice King turns away as clearly, no one is appreciating a masterpiece when they see one. Actually, isn't it about time for another workout? When wast the last time he lifted weights? Two hours ago? Two weeks? He better get on it.

He gets to his home gym and starts searching for his dumbbells. It's like those things grow feet whenever he's not looking. As he searches through his scattered stuff, he sees the nerdy guy walk into the room.

"Oh, you're still here? Man, you got nowhere to go or what? Are you homeless, is that it?"

The nerdy guy is staring at him again, not answering. Ice King wrinkles his nose. Seriously, what is this guy's damage? Hmph. He goes back to rooting through his piles of weights, tangled jump ropes, and other assorted exercise tools. Wait. What was he looking for again?

"Are you happy, Ice King?"

"No," he replies because that's an easy question - easier than figuring out what the hay he was looking for, at least. "Sometimes, I get very sad, and I don't know why."

Then Ice King looks at the nerdy guy and now he gets to staring at him. He's not young - man, check out those wrinkles, and that suit has seen better days. Did he get into a wrestling match wearing that? And he just looks wiped out - look at those arms and legs - skinnier than a chicken bone. Ah. That's it.

"You're homeless, ain't you? You got fired from your job and now you're depressed. I see how it is." Ice King nods. "You came to the right place! I know a thing or two about picking yourself up after a good cry. Just stick with me and you learn something!"

The nerdy guy blinks. "That's almost nice of you."

"I mean, you just look so pathetic. It's kinda hard not to offer."

The nerdy guy snorts. "Thanks, Ice King."

"I know just the thing to help!" He flies out of the room, towards his den.

He finally got the TV working again after Gunther broke the screen. The picture isn't the best, a little less saturated, but that's fine. He doesn't need high definition TV to watch his soaps.

Like before, the nerdy guy has no trouble finding him as he searches through his tapes. He's got quite the collection. He doesn't know how got so much but he sure has a lot. He gestures at the nerdy guy to sit on the couch - it's a couch made of ice but it's good for some binge watching.

Ice King scoops up a bunch of tapes and pops one in the VHS player before settling nice and cozy next to the nerdy guy. It's pretty sweet to have someone warm to cuddle with. Sometimes, Marceline stops by and sits with him for a little while, but she's not very warm at all. That makes his chest hurt for some reason. He thinks Marceline should have all the warmth in the world. Heck, he should introduce this guy to her. They could become good friends and he can stop squatting at his place.

... Maybe later...

Right now, this guy is just letting him snuggle and Ice King will take what he can get. Again, it's like the nerdy guy reads his mind because he shifts a bit so Ice King can fully lean on him. Wow. This is great. This is what - first tier? But that's okay. Every tier is special and good.

Sometime between episodes of Full House, the Golden Girls, and finally Cheers, Ice King nods off. When he wakes up, he's alone on the couch with a blanket tucked around him. The TV is still on but now there's a brick through the screen. Ice King gasps as he sees a shameless Gunther standing next to the scene of his crime. He immediately sits up but before he can say the first word of his lecture, he shivers a little.

That's a little weird. He doesn't get cold. But... He gets the distinct sense that for good couple hours - maybe even half a day - he was warm.

"Wenk."

Ice King shakes his head, lifting himself all the way off his couch. "Gunther! What have I told you about the TV? Stop messing with my stuff!"

"Wenk."

"Enough of your sass! Hey, don't you walk away from me!"

-----

Several decades into the future, Simon sits by a window overlooking the Candy Kingdom. Marceline hovers behind him, one hand reaching out but never quite touching.

"Are you sure you're okay? I've told Bonnie to be more careful with her experiments!"

Simon shrugs. "Oh, don't worry about it, Marcy. I'm okay. It was just a little time displacement."

Marcy only frowns harder. "And where did you go anyways?"

Simon grabs hold of her hanging hand, squeezing her fingers gently. "I got to meet the Ice King, face to face, in all his glory."

Marcy makes a full body wince. "Oh, that's rough. Do we need to schedule an extra session with Minerva?"

Simon chuckles, shaking his head. "No, in fact, I'm feeling a bit better. Ice King was a troublesome guy, but he... He was just a guy. He could be nice in all the ways he could be mean."

Marcy breathes out slowly, squeezing Simon's hand back. "And... And you didn't..."

Simon shakes his head slowly. "No... I thought about it. The whole time I was there. I could yell and scream at him, just really let him have it. But I think... I think I've been angry at him for long enough."

Marcy has no reply to this, simply drags him close for a hug. Simon falls into her embrace, something tender and sweet and just a little hurt settling between his lungs. It's the ache of a sore limb after a long workout, muscle fibers stretching and snapping into something stronger.

#adventure time #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #marceline the vampire queen #ice king #needs a tighter finish

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mamasturn · 2 years

Note

hi! i hope you’re having a great day :) i would love to send a req! can u do one of the reader being bothered by someone and austin getting really mad and protective? thank u so much <3

thanks for the ask <3333 hopefully you like it

philia

pairing: austin butler x black!fem!oc

content: austin and his wife hit the red carpet for the first time, but are met with scrutiny

warning: none

She was a quiet individual. Her thoughts, ideas, passions, and inspirations often cast away in the treasure box called her mind. Expressions of emotions jailed behind soft lips he often tried to pry open. She was a quiet individual, and that's what drew him toward her.

She was a lot like him in many ways. At times she found it difficult to speak when anxiety suffocated her like warm hair in a sauna. Eye contact made her nervous as she found it to be "too intimate" with anyone outside of her husband. There were good days and there would bad days, but the growth was commendable.

A bad day came sooner than she would have liked. Premiere day was one that she dreaded. At that point, she'd have to come out of the shadows and the world would have a face to match with the title "Austin Butler's wife." She was fine with no one knowing who she was, that meant no one could bother her. However, she could only go so long with being faceless and nameless.

She'd never been to Paris before and the trip came quicker than she expected. From dreaming of buying a purse in the YSL store (which she had the privilege to do), to riding in the slickest of limos seated next to her husband of just over a year.

He was a beautiful man, both inside and out. Gentle and calm, polite and honest, warm and attentive. Everything she desired in a partner, she found in him and she couldn't be more grateful for that.

He turned his head after catching her heavy gaze. Austin's left hand moved to rest on her inner thigh, the coolness of his wedding band against her warm skin causing her to jump. He massaged her flesh with his thumb.

"You look stunning, love." He leaned over to kiss her neck gently. "Absolutely stunning." She'd been dressed by Cartier for the evening in a floor length gown with a thigh slit going up the left leg. The dress was a deep blue-purple to match the small flower on his chest. Her shoes were silver as well as her jewelry. She typically wore her hair in a bun, however, it'd been pressed and framed her face beautifully.

"You alright, baby?"

The corners of her lips rose to produce the most convincing smile she could muster. She saw the twitch of his brow and the restraint on his face. He wanted to ask why she was lying about how she felt, she could tell. But, he didn't want to push her.

"Mhm. You let me know when you wanna tell me how you're really feeling."

The doors to the limo opened before she could fix her lips to respond. She inhaled deeply as she turned her rings around to calm her nerves. The cheers were heard from excited individuals when Austin came into view. They only got louder when she was fully out of the car.

"And here we have it, actor Austin Butler has arrive with who we are almost certain is his wife." Multiple reporters spoke into microphones and earpieces as they were ushered to the carpet. Her grip around his hand tightened, causing him to pause.

"You alright? We don't have to walk right now, if you don't want to..."

"No, no, it's okay. A little nervous," she admitted. "I'm okay." She gave a reassuring nod and squeeze of his hand before allowing him to lead the way to the carpet. She wondered if they could tell that she was ready to collapse from all that was going on.

The yells and hollers, flashing lights, jeers and boos. How did he deal with it? How did anyone deal with it? She felt his hand snake around her waist and rest on her bottom. "Almost done, baby, you're doing great."

She met his eyes with a nervous smile. "Mrs. Butler!" Her name being called captured her attention. "Tell us--how did you and your husband meet?"

"Coffee shop in Australia during filming," she managed to answer sweetly. "Mid to late 2019, I'll say." "What attracted you to him? His looks or his occupation?" Her eyebrows furrowed. "Was he an opportunity to put your name out there as an attorney?"

She was taken back. Taken back, angry, confused, and embarrassed. They tried to make her out to be a gold digger. Not a woman who worked damn hard in her profession to make it where she was. She needed no help from no man.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know what you're trying to get at here," Austin interrupted boldly, anger bubbling within him. This was exactly what he feared--a lack of respect for his wife.

"The whole gold-digger assumption is outdated and ridiculous. A woman can be successful without the help of a man. I have nothing to do with her success, it was all her. I just support wherever she needs me to. I won't let you belittle my wife for the sake of a good story to take back to your boss. Talk about me all you want, I'll be damned if you come for her."

"Let's go, sweetheart."

They trailed further toward the end of the carpet. She stopped him though, resting her hand on his chest and bringing her blood-stained lips to his ear.

"Thank you, honey. I appreciate you defending me."

Austin smiled and pulled her closer by her waist, letting his hand drop further. "I always got you...and I'll have you later when this dress is off." A soft giggle fell from her lips as she tipped her head back. She kissed his lips gently and she felt her nerves washing away.

"Looking forward to it, Mr. Butler."

#softlispoken #just a little something #black authors #austin butler x reader #austin butler #writers and poets #austin butler x black reader #support black authors

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foundtherightwords · 9 months

Text

Same Streets, New Memories

Pairing: Eddie x Chrissy (No Vecna/No Upside Down AU)

Summary: Sixteen years after he got his diploma and ran like hell out of Hawkins, Eddie is forced to return home. Disappointed and disillusioned, he broods over his past failures, until a chance meeting with a certain former Queen of Hawkins High puts things into perspective for him.

A/N: This is mostly inspired by the song I Finally Love This Town by Tired Pony. Also, I've seen a lot of "rock star Eddie" fics, so I wanted to explore the opposite of that - what if he never made it big at all?

Warnings: angst (quarter-life crisis stuff - they're all in their mid-30s though, is that too late for a quarter-life crisis?), mentions of drug dealing, drug use, and drinking, some violence

Word count: 6.5k

"Hawkins!" the driver called out amidst the hissing of the brakes, jolting Eddie from the stupor he'd sank into since the Greyhound left Indianapolis. He sat up in his seat and rubbed his aching neck, trying to suppress a groan. Sometimes he'd forgotten he could no longer fall asleep in any position and wake up just fine. For one thing, he wasn't nineteen anymore; for another, all those years spent pretzeled up into all sorts of shapes in the van, on the floor, or on the couch of anyone kind enough to let him crash at their place, were catching up with him.

The bus door clunked open, and Eddie stepped off, blinking in the watery spring sun. It took him a while to recognize that Hawkins' Greyhound station was still in the same place—the parking lot of Palace Arcade and Family Video—because Family Video had been taken over by a Blockbuster, while a Starbucks had replaced the Palace.

It had been sixteen years since he left, and he wasn't prepared for the changes. They say you can never go home again. But what if the place had never felt like home in the first place?

He was one of the few that got off the bus. There were no familiar faces among the passengers or those that came to pick them up. All the better. He didn't want to see anyone he knew.

Hoisting his bag over his shoulder and picking up his guitar case, Eddie trudged toward Forest Hills Trailer Park. It was early March, yet the air was already muggy, even more uncomfortably so after the cool dryness of Los Angeles, and he ran an irritable hand through his fizzy hair, again regretting his decision to come home. Well, what were his options? Stay in LA and work some shitty job with shitty pay that couldn't even afford him a shitty apartment, or return to Hawkins and work some shitty job with shitty pay, but at least he could stay with Wayne in their shitty trailer so he could save money on rent? The second one was an obvious choice, even if it made his insides shrivel up in shame every time he paused long enough to think about it. The prodigal freak of Hawkins, slinking home with his tail between his legs... It'll be OK, he told himself without conviction. Humiliation rarely causes death.

As he walked through Hawkins, Eddie noticed all the changes in the landscape and the people, some subtle, some obvious, but changes nonetheless. Compared to the constant flux of LA, Hawkins seemed older, more tired, the people wearing a harsher look on their faces. He wondered how much of the changes came from himself.

At the turnoff, he almost collided with some spotty-faced kids rolling past on their skateboards. "Watch it, old man!" one of them yelled. The word stung. Eddie thought about giving them a piece of his mind, but thought better of it once he got a closer look at them. Jesus, did he ever look that young? He must have. And thirty-six is not old. Yet, watching those kids, with their frosted tips and the hems of their jeans dragging in the dust, he felt ancient, like Rip Van Winkle returning from his twenty-year-long sleep in the mountains.

But that feeling waned, the closer he got to the trailer. In fact, by the time he pushed open the door, it was as if no time had passed at all, and he was ten years old, getting dropped off by Hopper after Al got arrested yet again. By that point, Eddie had gotten used to staying with Wayne whenever his old man got into trouble, and neither of them had noticed when that particular stay had extended from days into weeks into months and finally years.

The trailer was a time capsule. There was the prehistoric TV by the door, the old faded rug on the floor, the cramped, messy kitchen. All the mugs and hats he'd given Wayne for Christmases and birthdays still lined the walls. It had started sort of as a joke one Christmas, when Eddie first started living with Wayne and couldn't think of a present for him. He had found a Garfield mug and bought it with the little money he had. Wayne had laughed upon opening it and given it the place of honor on the shelf over the TV. And so for Wayne's birthday next year, Eddie had bought him another mug, and another for Christmas, occasionally throwing in a hat just to keep Wayne on his toes, until it had become a tradition and Wayne had to put up new shelves around the living room for the mugs.

Eddie still remembered the Christmas he'd given Wayne a "World's Best Dad" mug.

"I'm sorry, they didn't have a 'World's Best Uncle' one," he'd mumbled apologetically. Wayne had said nothing, only clearing his throat and giving Eddie a tight hug.

And there was Wayne himself. Eddie looked at his uncle with sadness. When had Wayne become so worn out? Ever since Eddie knew him, he had seemed to have been born old, always of some undetermined age between forty-five and sixty, yet full of a quiet energy that never went out. Now, slumped in the rocking chair in front of the droning TV, he looked shrunk, a tired old man. Guilt pricked at Eddie's insides. He'd promised himself the first thing he'd do when Corroded Coffin got big was to get Wayne out of the trailer park and into a decent house, and not only had he failed, but he also had to ask Wayne to take him back.

Eddie sighed and gave Wayne's shoulder a gentle shake. The old man opened his eyes, blinking at his nephew.

"You're home," he said, as if Eddie had just left the previous day.

Eddie wondered if he'd ever really felt at home anywhere. Here, in this rundown trailer, with his gruff but kind uncle, was probably the closest he'd ever gotten. "Yeah," he said simply. "I'm home."

***

Eddie got a job as a bartender at the Hideout.

He suspected that Lenny, the owner, gave him the job for old times' sake more than anything, but it suited him just fine. It meant he got to go to work when most of the townspeople were already on their way home, so fewer chances of running into people he knew. Besides, those that knew him and might mock him didn't usually frequent the Hideout.

It didn't pay that well, and Eddie wondered if the idea of raising enough money to self-produce and release the next Corroded Coffin album was even plausible. He briefly considered dealing again. But even back in high school, he had never made much money from it, mostly just enough to buy a new record now and then. And he couldn't risk getting arrested. Plus, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't even know where to begin now.

"I had to get out, man," said Reefer Rick, when Eddie dropped by his house on Lover's Lake one afternoon. "Kids these days, they're so much tougher. Cannier. And they deal with the hard stuff. I couldn't keep up. I had this place. I had a nice bit of money put away. So I got out while I could." Rick was well on his way to middle age now, spending most of the time sitting on the porch drinking or even fishing on the lake, like those bozos they used to make fun of back in the day, and, oddly enough, he seemed content. Eddie envied him that.

Rick was one of the few old friends that Eddie saw. Eddie found his initial fear about running into people he knew laughable now, because there was almost no one left. All his friends from high school had moved away. His bandmates, Jeff and Grant, had gone to LA with him after graduation, but Gareth, who'd graduated a year later, never made it. "Sorry, man, my mom wants me to stay close," he'd said. They had found a replacement for him, but it was never quite the same.

One Sunday, Eddie ran into Gareth at the store. Gareth recognized him first, and no wonder—Gareth's hair was now cropped short, making his cherubic face look tired and much older than his thirty-three years.

"Holy shit, man, when did you get back?" he asked, giving Eddie a bear hug.

"Gareth, language!" hissed the woman holding a baby, standing just behind them at the check-out line.

"Sorry, hun," Gareth muttered and gave Eddie an embarrassed grin.

They caught up at the Hideout that night. Eddie was relieved to be able to unload to Gareth all about the band's struggle, as he knew no one else would understand. Gareth was understanding, but Eddie couldn't help feeling that his old friend was congratulating himself for not following them to LA and subjecting himself to such hardship. A boring life with a boring job and a boring wife in boring Hawkins was preferable to that. And then Gareth's pager beeped and he excused himself to get home because his wife needed help with the baby, and that was that.

The rest of Eddie's Hellfire buddies, all those lost sheep he'd taken under his wings, were gone too. Henderson was in MIT, working on his PhD. He still sent Eddie a Christmas card every year. Byers, the only one who could rival Eddie as a DM, was in California after Mrs. Byers and Hopper got married and moved the whole clan there, but they were in San Bernardino or somewhere, and Eddie never ran into them in LA. Wheeler had also gone to school there—he was dating Hopper's daughter at the time, if Eddie remembered correctly—and stayed. Sinclair, who had turned out better than Eddie had expected, given his association with the jocks, was working in Indianapolis. They had all done well for themselves.

So perhaps it was a good thing that they weren't here to see their fallen leader.

***

But not everyone left Hawkins. Some stayed. And sometimes, those who stayed were the fucking worst.

It was a usual night at the Hideout, with the regular crowd of five drunks. Nobody paid attention to the band, some lame punk cover act. Eddie wanted to feel bad for the band, remembering that Corroded Coffin had once been in their shoes, but he couldn't muster up the sympathy. Looking at their carefully ripped clothes and perfectly coifed hair, he knew this was just a hobby for them, a pastime to make themselves look cool, and could be easily left behind when they went back to the safety of their parents' houses and their cushy little lives. Then he caught himself and shook his head. Jesus, when did he become so bitter?

A group of men burst through the door, their raucous shouts and laughter putting an end to his dark thoughts. Eddie barely glanced at them. He'd seen enough of those, both in the few weeks he'd been working at the bar and back when he was playing here with Corroded Coffin. Suburban dads, most of them, out on their allotted once-per-week guys' night. Bored with the usual, they decided to check out the Hideout as the most underground place Hawkins had to offer. Ha. They wouldn't know underground even if they woke up buried in a six-foot grave.

Silently, he filled their orders and gave them to Trish, the server. She was one of the new hires—just out of school, barely old enough to be working at a bar—so Eddie made it a point to watch out for her when he could. "You'll be OK with those?" he asked, indicating the men sitting in their booth.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," she replied, though her face was grim.

The group stayed for a long time. As the night went on, they became louder, more obnoxious, and the grim set of Trish's mouth started to waver. She tried to act tough, but she was just a kid, really, and she was no match for those men.

After Trish brought the men their third rounds of tequila shots, Eddie heard a yell coming from the booth. "Get your hand off me!" It was Trish. She was grappling with one of the men, who was holding her by the waist, trying to pull her into the booth with him.

Eddie looked around. The band was gone, having finished their sets more than half an hour ago. Lenny wasn't even in. With a sigh, Eddie left the bar and approached the booth.

"Do we have a problem here?" he said.

"Damn right we do," said the man holding Trish. "You'd better teach your staff to be friendlier to the customers!"

"They are friendly. To those who can keep their hands to themselves," Eddie said, taking Trish's hand and pulling her up. She gave him a grateful look and scurried to the back.

The man got unsteadily to his feet. "Watch your fucking mouth," he snarled, giving Eddie a shove.

Eddie seized the man's wrist. "What did I say about keeping your hands to yourself?"

The man winced, and his friends glanced at each other, worried. "Fuck," the man said. Then he took a closer look at Eddie, and his eyes popped. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "Munson? Eddie 'The Freak' Munson?"

Eddie's stomach dropped, and his grip on the man's wrist loosened. He stared back at the man. Square jaws, a low forehead, and small, arrogant eyes. Loathing stirred his memories. His mind's eye added a letterman jacket and a baseball hat, and the man's features solidified. One of Jason Carver's cronies from the basketball team. What was his name?

The man's mouth lifted in a mocking smile. "Well, well, well. What happened to 'fuck this town', Munson?"

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Eddie said, ignoring the question.

"What are you going to do, kick me out?"

"Yes."

The others exchanged glances again, and Eddie was aware of how he looked in their eyes—a tall, intimidating guy in a leather jacket. Someone you don't want to mess with. One of them put his hand on the square-jawed man's shoulder. "Come on, Andy." Andy. That was it.

Andy jerked his shoulder away. "Don't let this freak scare you. All bark and no bite, aren't you, Munson?" he said, grinning at Eddie. "Just like in high school."

Eddie tried to swallow the hot gust of anger rising to his throat. "My bark is actually worse," he said evenly. "If you refuse to leave, I'm going to call the police."

Andy's friends had had enough. "Let's go, man. It's getting late anyway."

They filed out of the booth, throwing down money as they went. Andy still stared at Eddie, his already small eyes narrowed into angry slits, while his friends dragged him away.

***

After the bar closed, Eddie made sure that Trish was picked up by her boyfriend. It was four in the morning by the time he finished cleaning up and locking the door. As he walked through the parking lot that was still steeped in darkness, a voice called out, "Munson!"

Eddie turned around. It was Andy, standing by a car. What the hell?

"You really humiliated me tonight, you know that?" Andy said. By the slurring of his voice, his drinking hadn't stopped after he left the Hideout.

"You must have a really fragile ego, if that was enough to humiliate you," Eddie said, continuing to walk.

"Don't act all high and mighty with me, freak," Andy growled. "You were nothing in high school, and you're nothing now."

A haze of red came over Eddie's eyes, but he tried to keep it in check as he turned around.

"Hey man, I don't know what your problem is—" he began, but before he could finish, a fist landed on his cheek. Since said fist belonged to a guy who wasn't even standing straight, it didn't hurt much, but the surprise threw Eddie off his balance. Andy used the momentum to grab Eddie's shoulder and yank him down. Eddie's face collided with the car's side-view mirror.

Dazed, Eddie sat on the ground and touched his cheek. It stung where the mirror cut him, and his fingers came away wet with blood.

The haze of red slammed over his eyes again.

He jumped up and lunged at Andy.

What followed was a blur of punches, some connecting, either with flesh or metal, but most didn't. The more he missed, the angrier Eddie got. As if this bastard hadn't made his life miserable enough back in high school, he had to come to his work and attacked him as well. And for what? For ruining his night out with his buddies? As far as Eddie could see, Andy was doing a pretty good job of that himself.

Finally, Eddie had Andy by his neck against the car.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" he roared.

"Fuck you, fucking freak!" Andy spat out.

Suddenly the fight went out of Eddie. What the hell were they doing, two grown men having a pathetic drunken brawl over some imagined animosity nearly twenty years ago? He let go. Andy sank to the ground, and Eddie staggered away.

***

His cheek throbbing, Eddie found his way into the woods surrounding Hawkins. He couldn't let Wayne see him in this state. Better to walk off some steam and come up with some excuse before facing his uncle.

At this hour, the sun was not up yet, but it was no longer pitch dark. The woods lay silent under a cold gray half-light that sapped everything of color and life. The only sound was the squishing of the wet, dead leaves of many winters under his feet, and the only movement, other than his own, was the drip-drip-drip of water, either rain or dew, from the new buds onto his head. Irritated, he reached up to rub the wetness out of his scalp, and winced as he accidentally touched the cut on his face.

He shouldn't have let Andy get to him. The encounter left a sour taste in his mouth and a heavy weight, like a lead ball, in his guts. It wasn't simply anger or shame, or rather, it wasn't his usual shame of being a failure. It was the shame of feeling like he and Andy were similar. He hated the idea that he could have something in common with that jerk, but there it was. It was like they were still teenagers, ready to use their fists at the merest hint of an offense, always trying to prove themselves, trying to be cooler than this or that person. Eddie thought he'd grown out of that high school mentality, but apparently not. It only took coming back to Hawkins, being amongst these people, to bring out that aggressive side of him.

Perhaps coming home was a mistake.

A rustling made him look up. It was light enough now for him to glimpse, through the trees, a figure in a tracksuit, a jogger, a woman, blond hair bobbing along with her steps, running toward him. Shit. He didn't want to run into anyone, especially not right now, skulking through the woods with dry blood down his face and caked on his knuckles. They'd think he was a serial killer or something.

Eddie whirled around, trying to blend into the trees before he and the jogger crossed paths. A branch smacked him in the face, blinding him, making him lose his footing. He took a stumbling step back. The embankment he was standing on, already weak from the endless rain of the past week, gave way, and before he knew it, Eddie was plummeting down a slope, dead branches and rocks scratching at his face and arms as he went.

For a moment, he lay sprawled at the bottom of the slope, blinking up at the green dome above him, too stunned to move.

Then a face appeared in his view. A woman's face, full of concern.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Then the concern on her face slowly dissipated, replaced by surprise and recognition.

"Eddie Munson, as I live and breathe," she said. "I almost didn't recognize you with that beard." When Eddie didn't answer, she gave him a teasing smile. "Don't you remember me?" She extended a hand to help him up.

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could sink into the earth and disappear right there and then. But when the trees remained above him, and the musty earth remained underneath him, he had no choice but to accept the helping hand and get to his feet.

"Hi, Chrissy," he said.

***

Chrissy Cunningham. The last person he'd want to run into, especially in his current state.

Though her hair was shorter and held back with a headband instead of pulled into a ponytail, she still looked exactly as he remembered, as she had in high school, those wide blue eyes, that bright smile showing a hint of her crooked front teeth. Next to her, Eddie felt like a tramp. Probably looked like a tramp too.

"You OK?" she asked, taking in his bedraggled and bloodied appearance.

"Uh, yeah."

"That's a nasty cut right there," she said, pointing to his elbow. It was only then that Eddie felt the searing pain. He must've snatched it on a rock or a broken branch. "You should get that cleaned up, or it'll get infected." Without waiting for an answer, she took his other elbow and guided him up the other side of the slope. "Let me go grab a first-aid kit from school, and I can take care of that for you."

"What school?"

Chrissy stared at him. "Hawkins High, of course."

"Are we that close?"

"Don't you recognize this part of the woods?"

They were up on the opposite side of the slope now, and Eddie saw an old picnic table and bench set, all rusty and weather-beaten, by a tree stump that stood like a sentinel over the place. He immediately recognized it. He must've been too pissed off about his encounter with Andy to realize where he was walking.

"Wait here," Chrissy said. "I'll be back in a minute."

As she jogged off, Eddie thought about running away himself. But that would be ridiculous. She'd already seen him. How embarrassing would it be if she came back and found out he'd ran away like some coward? Besides, the fall had left him too sore to move. He gingerly sat down on one of the benches, afraid it would collapse from his weight, and cast a look around. Back in his schooldays, this had been the hangout for the stoners and the burnouts, and there had always been some empty beer cans and cigarette stubs scattered about. Now add to that some old needles, and he could've sworn he saw a used condom too. Jesus. Even this place had gone to the dogs.

What twist of fate had sent him here, and into the path of Chrissy Cunningham, of all people?

Of all the drug spots in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine...

Before he could contemplate that, Chrissy was back, bringing with her a first-aid kit. "So when did you get back?" she asked, lifting Eddie's elbow and cleaning the wound with practiced hands.

"A few weeks ago," Eddie replied, trying not to hiss at the sting of the rubbing alcohol.

"Are you just visiting? You're some big rock star out on the West Coast now, aren't you?"

Eddie was glad that her face was bent over his elbow, so she couldn't see the half-downcast, half-furtive look on his face. But his honesty won out. "Hardly," he mumbled. "Our albums sold like twenty copies each, and I think Jeff's mom—you know Jeff, right?—I think his mom bought most of them." He chuckled to show that he was joking, and Chrissy smiled back.

"I'd love to have a listen," she said. He knew she was just saying that to be polite, but it didn't stop butterflies from fluttering in his stomach. "I know it's not the same as seeing you guys live..." She lifted her eyes briefly to his face, before looking down again. "I always regret not making it to one of your shows at the Hideout, you know."

Eddie stared at her bent head, not knowing what to say. Being here with her and talking about Corroded Coffin and the Hideout brought back memories of another day in March, sixteen years ago. Back then, he'd felt, if not on top of the world, then at least pretty near it.

And that night... if he hadn't felt on top of the world that afternoon when he made Chrissy Cunningham laugh, then he'd certainly felt it that night.

It felt just like yesterday, the two of them driving back to his trailer after the successful conclusion of his Cult of Vecna campaign, trying the Special K, and then just staying up and talking. He couldn't remember what they'd talked about. All he remembered was a sense of... not happiness, exactly, but contentment, and it wasn't because of the Special K. No, it was because Chrissy had been there and she'd felt safe with him, and he with her.

He had never asked why she'd wanted to try the Special K. Later, as he drove her home, she'd asked him to drop her off a little further away so she could walk to her front door, and he'd guessed the reason, but hadn't pressed her about it.

"Sure, no problem," he'd only said, watching the way she twisted her fingers in her lap and fighting the urge to reach out, to put his hand over hers, and tell her everything would be alright. "I'll stay here and keep watch until you're inside."

She'd said thank and leaned over, perhaps to plant a kiss on his cheek, but at the same time, he'd turned his head to tell her "You're welcome", and the kiss had landed on his mouth instead. They'd both jolted back, embarrassed, only to be drawn back toward each other, inexorably, irresistibly, until her lips had found his again, deliberately this time. He still remembered the softness of her mouth, the taste of her lip gloss, the way she'd melted into his arms as he pulled her close...

He should've known it was too good to be true.

Queens of Hawkins High don't go around kissing freaks.

Chrissy had pulled away from him abruptly, ran out of his van, and disappeared into the night. When they got back to school after spring break, she'd actively avoided him.

Looking back, he realized that had been the first in the long string of disappointments that was to be his life for the following sixteen years.

And now here she was, talking as if nothing had happened.

It still stung, but he tried not to let it show.

"I didn't know you were in town," he said, changing the subject.

"Oh, I moved back a couple of years ago."

That surprised him. After leaving Hawkins, he'd tried hard not to think about Chrissy, but when he did, usually after some heavy drinking or after a late gig, when he felt particularly lonely, he'd imagined that she was leading a perfect life somewhere. Moving back to this shithole didn't seem that perfect.

And if she was here and Jason wasn't, that meant...

Eddie found himself glancing at her hand. No ring.

"My dad's passed, and my mom's had a stroke, so I moved back to help out," she explained. Eddie could feel all the years apart stretching out between them like a gulf. Their lives were so separate, so different.

"Shit. That's rough. I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Moving back was a relief. I wasn't doing great in Chicago anyway. Divorced, working a dead-end job..."

"Oh. Sorry." Then, because he couldn't help himself: "Jason?"

She actually laughed, but there was no bitterness in it. "No. We broke up right after graduation. Just a few days after you left, in fact. He's married with a couple of kids now, living in Bloomington, I think."

She remembered when he left? Nah, don't be stupid. She only remembered 'cause that was when she broke up with that prick...

"What about you?" Chrissy asked.

"Me?"

"You married?" Was it his imagination, or did her nonchalance seem a little forced?

Eddie smiled ruefully. "Almost did, once."

"What happened?"

"She wised up." After that, it was just a string of fleeting relationships and meaningless hook-ups. More disappointments.

They talked about their classmates for a while—Nancy, Wheeler's sister, Miss Valedictorian, now a journalist in New York, Robin Buckley and Vickie Ryan, who shocked Hawkins when they started dating after graduation and then moved away together, and Billy Hargrove, the bad boy of their class, who was killed in a car accident in '92.

"Shit. Sounds like everybody left Hawkins," he said.

"Some stay. Some even came back," she said, gesturing to him and herself.

"That's only because they have no choice."

"No, I think it's nice to come back to a familiar place. You always know where you are. And if the place's changed... well, you've changed too, so that's even."

He hadn't thought of it like that. Suddenly the whole moving back home thing didn't seem so bad after all.

"You should be a motivational speaker, Cunningham," he said, trying to sound dry. "Have you considered that as a career?"

"I already kind of am, with the cheer squad."

"You're still cheering?"

"No, coaching." She perked up. "Didn't I tell you? I'm the cheer coach at Hawkins High now. Hard to believe, right?"

"No, not at all. You were always good at that." He remembered Chrissy in middle school, how young they'd been, how enthusiastic—how long ago was that, over twenty years? Jesus. No wonder he felt old.

"The only thing I'm good at, you mean."

"No, no," Eddie quickly said. "Well, you're good at this too," he added lamely, indicating the first-aid kit.

"I did study to be an RN." She finished bandaging up the large wound on his elbow and moved on to his other cuts and scrapes.

"So why—"

"Dropped out my third year." There was an awkward silence, but Chrissy didn't seem embarrassed. "I just couldn't cope with the stress, and there was no one to sell me half an ounce of weed at a discount," she said, twinkling at him, and he couldn't help smiling back at her.

That smile disappeared when Chrissy asked, "So, any exciting new project with Corroded Coffin coming soon?" Seeing Eddie's face fall, she sobered up. "I'm sorry, was that—"

"No, it's OK."

Eddie felt like opening up to her. Perhaps they weren't so different after all. Perhaps she'd understand.

"Well"—here Eddie took a deep breath, and the truth he'd been hiding came out in a rush—"there won't be any new stuff. Not for a while anyway. We got dropped by the label. The last album didn't sell that well, so they dropped us."

And there it was. The reason why he had to come home, the reason he felt like a failure. It had taken them years to get signed, and when it was only to an indie label, he and the guys had told themselves it was for the best, it would give them more independence. As it turned out, an indie label was less likely to interfere with their creative process, it was true, but it didn't interfere much with anything else either. They were left floundering, having to do almost everything themselves. Ten years of that would put a strain on anyone.

Without Gareth, they went through a string of replacement drummers, none lasting more than a few years, since they had never been part of Hellfire and didn't share their camaraderie. Then, when the label dropped them, it had been the last straw. They had held on for as long as they could, but eventually, when Grant and Jeff quit, Eddie had no choice but to quit as well. Grant had gone back to Hawkins for a while, then left again, having found a job in Detroit. Jeff, the rock of their group, was the only one who stayed in LA, working as a session musician. He had tried to convince Eddie to stay as well, but Eddie couldn't stand watching some other bands hit it big while he was forced to play someone else's music. To him, it would be a special form of Hell. So he'd gone home, feeling like he'd failed his bandmates, his uncle, and himself.

Chrissy listened to all that in sympathetic silence. No judging, no mocking, no clichéd advice or words of encouragement, just a softening of her eyes and a gentle squeeze of her hand on his arms as she placed Band-Aids on his cuts.

"Do you ever feel like you're a failure?" he asked, by way of a conclusion.

She peered at him for a moment before answering. "Oh just... you know, on a daily basis."

Those words rang a bell in Eddie's mind. He looked up to see Chrissy grinning crookedly at him, but there was some self-deprecation in that grin that made him realize how tactless his question had been.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean—"

"No, it's OK." Her smile got a little brighter. "I don't mind being a failure. Takes a lot of pressure off." When he raised a questioning eyebrow at that, she continued, "When you're already a failure, people don't expect much from you. You're free to live your life how you want, no need to live up to anyone's bullshit standard."

Eddie tilted his head to look at Chrissy more closely and realized his first impression of her had been wrong. She had changed. He could hardly recognize her from the nervous girl who jumped at the mere cracking of a branch when they met at this very bench sixteen years ago. She seemed... not exactly more confident, but rather, she no longer cared what others thought of her. Still, even back then, there had been a wild streak in her, a devil-may-care attitude that had driven her to buy drugs from him and agreed to come back to his trailer with him. Time and experiences had mellowed it, but it was still there. The same wild streak that had drawn him to her in the first place.

Chrissy finished with his arms and stood up so she could clean the cuts on his face.

"Do you remember that night before spring break, back in '86?" she said.

Their eyes met, and he held his breath. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I ran off like that. I'm sorry I ignored you in school afterward. It was—stupid of me. I cared too much about what other people thought."

So she remembered. And understood.

Eddie let out a breath, not just the one he'd been holding, but also the one that had his chest in a tight grip ever since he moved back home. With that breath, he also let go of all the heartache, guilt, and shame of the past. None of it mattered anymore. If he kept clinging to them, he would be no better than Andy.

He reached for Chrissy's hand, which was resting on his cheek. "You're not the only one," he said.

As she looked into his eyes, he would've given anything to be able to stay like that forever, with Chrissy standing over him, her face bent toward his, their hands intertwined, and the sun shining softly through the trees behind her, turning her gold hair into a perfect halo.

A branch snapped somewhere in the woods, breaking the spell.

Eddie cursed under his breath. His only consolation was that Chrissy was looking slightly flustered and disappointed, while she packed up the first-aid kit.

As she turned to leave, Chrissy blurted out, "Why don't you come to the game this Friday night? It'll be a walk down memory lane—oh, sorry." She winced. "I forgot that you don't care about—what did you call it? A game where you—"

"—where you toss balls into laundry baskets," Eddie said with a rueful smile. "I did say a lot of stupid shit back then. No, you don't have to apologize. It's just that—I have to work Friday night."

"Oh."

"But you're welcome at the Hideout anytime," he said, emboldened by her crestfallen look. "Drinks are on me."

Her face brightened. "I'll hold you to that."

"So... guess I'll see you around then?" he asked.

"Looks like it." She flashed him another crooked smile and walked off, while Eddie remained at the bench, feeling like he was fourteen again.

***

Wayne came out of the bedroom to find his nephew sitting on the fold-out bed. When Eddie first came home, Wayne had tried to give the bedroom back, saying the fold-out had served him well for ten years and would serve him well again, but Eddie had vehemently refused. His reason was that he was the one working nights now, and he didn't want to wake Wayne up when he came home early in the morning. In the end, Wayne had relented. He knew Eddie's guilt about having to move back in with him; no need to make the boy feel worse than he already did.

Eddie's face was bruised and bandaged, but he was looking more content than Wayne had ever seen him since he came home. And he had taken his guitar out of its case and was strumming a soft melody, occasionally stopping to jot something down in a battered old notebook in front of him. Wayne took that as a good sign.

"Mornin'," he said, shuffling toward the kitchen, making no comment on Eddie's late return or injuries. "You want some breakfast?"

"Hmm," Eddie replied distractedly, his attention still on the notebook.

It was his first attempt at writing a song in about eight months. He was a little rusty, but it felt good to pick up the guitar.

They say you can never go home again. But what if you can make the place feel like home? By peopling it with those that you know and love, and those that know you and, perhaps, if not love, then at least like you back?

She'd asked him to a game.

She'd said she'd see him around.

Maybe he could get someone to cover his shift...

"Hey Wayne," Eddie said, looking up from his guitar. "You ever watch a basketball game at Hawkins High?"

Wayne turned away from the pan of sizzling bacon to eye Eddie suspiciously. "Since when did you become interested in high school basketball?"

"Since today."

"Why?"

"No reason." Eddie shrugged, then he grinned, that familiar ear-to-ear grin that Wayne hadn't seen in a long, long time. "Just wondering if I could suffer through it this Friday night."

A/N: OK, I meant for this to be a one-shot, but my brain kept screaming at me to add more, so maybe I will expand on it later… not as a full multi-chaptered fic, but as a series of interconnected one-shots. We'll see.

#hellcheer #eddissy #hellcheersource #hellcheer fic #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #everybody lives/nobody dies #older eddie munson #one shot

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