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amandacanwrite · 4 months

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Halsin Headcanons For When He's In Love With You/Tav (Ungendered)

I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED TOO SOON

Generously Requested by @cryingoverpixelsetc I can't tell you how much it means to me when people actually WANT to hear about my bg3 brainrot because this game has been my escape lately and also, just a nice little break from the freelance work I have to cram to get done.

(PS if you like these, I am also a writer of my own original stories and I have some WIP's you may like.)

Quick CW|| Some graphic depictions of violence, particularly puncture wounds and viscera, intentions of heavy violence also referenced. In Battle

He trusts you, perhaps more than anyone else, to handle yourself. He doesn't hover, but he always has an eye on you as you tear into the fray.

He always seems so gentle to you that you sometimes worry about your own brutality in a fight. Especially when it leaves you covered in blood.

Because of this, you tend to keep your distance after a fight, too frightened to look into his pretty hazel eyes and see any measure of hesitance or disgust with you. Not that you've gotten used to it, you cant bear the thought of him not calling you 'my heart.'

This is only a fear for you until you got pinned down with a particularly nasty bhaalan cultist. Astarion had already been taken down in the surprise attack, then you were toppled by one of the many in the ambush.

The scream you let out as they sadistically drove their daggers through the palms of your hands was shocking even to you. You felt like a moth pinned to a board--it was too painful to try to break yourself free, even as the assailant wielded his next blade like he was about to field dress an elk.

You'd never felt fear like that.

But it didn't last long. A great cave bear launched through the air and into your attacker, wasting no time before ripping into the soft flesh of his throat and tore it out.

The smell of fear on you was strong, he knew you couldn't fight like that, so he simply stood guard over you, tearing to shreds anyone who got close from what small parts of it you can remember through the utter fear.

It was the after math of that fight when you knew you could never let him go.

He cups your face in his large, warm hands.

"Look at me, dear heart. Look upon me and remember that you're alive. There is no more threat. There is no one to hurt you. I would never let someone take you away from me before nature deigns it so."

The blades, you wept, the blades would hurt to remove.

"They will, but only for a moment, my love. Just a moment of pain before I heal you myself and carry you back to camp."

It's Astarion who removes the blades from your palms and frees you; he has the steadiest hands. But Halsin wastes no time in cradling you close to him, holding both of your hands in his own as he quietly whispers the healing word. You watch as your flesh and tendons weave themselves together. Then he envelops you and comforts you as you cry. Just cry.

How lucky it is that he is so at peace with every expression of you. He takes you as you are at all moments; whether you're bloodthirsty, joyful, or terrified. He basks in it all.

At Camp

Always touching you. Always. To him this isn't a public display of affection. It's not awkward. He loves you, why should he not touch you at every moment he can?

Sometimes it's a small thing, a broad hand on the small of your back as you discuss travel plans with Wyll. A little touch to remind you that he is there, like a tether to safety.

Other times your bodies are a tangle of comfort. Like he's looked for every way he can weave his body with yours. His fingers in your hair, your arm over his shoulder, your leg betwixt his, his wide chest lifting and falling with his sleepy breaths. This is often how you wake in the mornings with him.

Perhaps your favorite, though, is the nights by the fire. He doesn't even ask most days, just places himself behind you and offers himself as your seating arrangements for the night. His arms up behind him as he reclines against a rock or a felled tree, you sitting on his lap or between his lazily bent legs. His husky laughter tickles against your ear, the little hairs on the back of your neck. His rough voice rumbled against you as he regales the camp with yet another story of his youth.

He's a bit of a night owl. You fall asleep long before him most days.

He's also a bit disheartened by how difficult it is to find clothes that fit him in your travels together. Karlach as generously offered to share her clothes with him of course, but...something about her taste doesn't really seem to quite suit him.

(A disappointment to you, considering how nice those legs looked in infernal leather.)

He's the one who does much of the hunting for the party, along with Astarion. Halsin's a shockingly gifted fisher, though most of the fish he brings back to camp have bites in the flesh.

It was unnerving to gale at first, but he learned to live with it when he once brought back a salmon the size of a deep gnome.

When You're Alone

Rarely fully clothed. Not shocking, of course and certainly not something you would ever complain about. He usually just takes his tunic off, he says it feels restrained by it. He feels like he can breathe a bit better when his chest is bare.

No pun intended, of course.

Funny thing though, you always feel its much harder to breathe when he's shirtless.

There are no chaste kisses with this large elf. He seems to not have the restraint.

"I love the taste of you, my heart. It's the finest ambrosia. How blessed I am to have free reign to sate my appetites with you."

He likes to braid your hair and you're not sure why you're surprised at how good he is at it. Braids are a common hairstyle for elves, after all, and the man is a few centuries old. It soon becomes your favorite part of any day.

"I love how long your hair is getting, love. These times with you, my focus lost in your tresses...they have become some of my most treasured memories."

He compliments you often and freely.

One day you tell him about how you worry that you're too brutal to be with him, that you're concerned you'll scare him off one day for good.

"My heart, I spend more than half of my life in the form of a cavebear. I know I have told you how I received this scar. I may treasure the thriving, living of nature but that is only one side of the coin. Nature can be as brutal as it can be miraculous. In you, I see the beauty of brutality. I do not fear it, I admire it."

In Intimate Moments

Potential NSFW below, proceed with caution.

TW|| Mentions of consensual rough housing before...well, you know.

He is...proportionately sized...if you like.

(You do. You like very much.)

You sometimes have to remind him to get his pleasure with you. He is so pleased to be with you in this way that he forgets to indulge himself, even when it would be a moment of shared pleasure.

He loves every iteration of making love with you. He loves to take you fresh after a battle, covered in blood, to remember what it is to live and be alive.

He loves to take advantage of the vulnerability of a bath in the rivers and lakes of Faerun. Seems to particularly enjoy the sounds that come out of you as he thrusts up and into you, the sounds of your bodies muted by the water so he can hear every whimper and hitch of your breath.

He loves to hunt you. More than once you've stolen away into the forests and he gives you a head start. It's some of the most thrilling experiences you've had being intimate with someone.

This is no simple game of hide and seek, it is a true pursuit.

He always finds you quickly and he is fast, but you are faster. It's always a struggle for him to catch you. When he finally does succeed in his quest, you are so lost in the thrill and challenge of the pursuit that it becomes a struggle.

This part he always wins though. Sometimes because your desire for his body takes over your desire for besting him.

Sometimes you are still fighting when he gathers both of your wrists in a single one of his hands and carefully locks your legs beneath his.

He is careful though. He would never do anything without your express consent, without your enjoyment. He may be lost in the moment but he is old enough and wise enough to keep his head.

"Do you still want this, my love? Does your body still burn with need? Or has the pursuit run away with you?"

When you tell him you want this; you want him. That brief tarry into gentleness vanishes. He smiles sharply and turns you over, taking you as an animal in the wild might. Rough and unrelenting.

His hands dig into your thighs, your hips. His fingers tangle and pull your hair.

But when all is said and done, the kisses are soft and sweet. Peppered over your shoulders, down the path of your spine.

He collects you in his arms and soothes you.

"Have you pain anywhere? Is there anything I can get for you my love? You have been so generous with your body this night, it is only right that I take care of you for the remainder of it."

He likes to discuss your intimacy at length. He wants to know what you liked, what you didn't like, what he should change. At first you didn't like to critique, but he pressed you about it once he started to notice changes in your demeanor or reactions in the act. It's gotten much easier for you to discuss these things with him over time.

He simply loves discussing the potential of a family with you. Sometimes enough to be ready for a second round. But that second round is much gentler and more loving than the first. Like he's dreaming of a future with you.

#writing community #writers on tumblr #writing #bg3 headcanons #halsin headcanons #halsin x tav headcanons #Halsin x reader #my writing #romantasy #writeblr #authors #historical fantasy #halsin x tav #halsin smut #baldurs gate halsin #bg3 x tav #bg3 halsin

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stararch4ngelqueen · 7 months

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HERE ME OUT WITH THIS ONE

So Jason and Reader just get finish with spicy times (😏) and reader is laying on his chest, tracing all the scars and old wounds on his body while asking him questions about it as he answers nonchalantly😍😍

(I’m actually so in love with this man it’s BAD)

-🥔 anon

He makes me wanna chew him like a chew toy so he can tell me to stop then hug me like a puppy 🧍🏽‍♀️

I did this on an off mood day so it’s not really large as I wanted, but I hope you like it!

—

Time written - 4:55 p.m

TW - Autopsy Scar mention.

—

His breath is heavy and labored, his body feeling loose with jelly-like limbs, but that doesn’t stop him from tugging the bunched up blankets around your bare body, accepting your sweet gaze with a handsome smile.

“I love you, sweetheart.” Jason, even in his moment of pleasure and exhaustion, he makes sure to say such words loud and clear.

“I love you too,” you exhale, your cheeks still flushed after such an intense climax. He chuckles softly at that cute little afterglow as he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

He doesn’t say anything else, allowing pure silence to invade the bedroom. It’s late, and he’s exhausted both physically and emotionally after such long, hard hours. The day has taken a lot out of you both, with him still recovering from his wounds, and you helping to treat him, Jason would love nothing more than to just close his eyes for a moment after such stress relief.

“I love you so much,” he whispers against your skin, his rumbling voice still a little hoarse while running his hand along your shoulders, fingertips trailing soft, soothing motions over your skin.

Your fingers absentmindedly trailed along the deep, silvery indents coming together in between his pecs. A deep, slim line cutting in between his abs, neither straight or crooked the day the scalpel cut deep through his skin to begin his autopsy.

“Jason?” You break the silence.

“Mm.” He opens his eyes, gazing along your collarbone. “Yeah?”

You almost wanted to ask about this scar, only to change your mind at the last minute, recalling his healing bullet wound in his left bicep. Of course, you’d expect him to heed your concerns when he peppered your neck with kisses about an hour ago. You should’ve known better to think anything would stop Jason from what he wanted.

He looks down just a little more, noticing just how focused you were on that long, ancient cut of his all along the entirety of his chest.

“Does it still hurt?”

Jason’s eyes follow your fingers as they trail across his body. It’s a sensitive area of his—when you mention it, he still feels a few stings. Not of pain, just of … a strange, cynical familiarity of all things awful. The bubbling of putrid Lazarus water flooding his ears, the tension of long cold nerves and muscles stirring to life.

“It hurts a little bit,” he admits, resuming his hand motions along your back. “But it’s not too bad.”

“And your arm?” You quickly scrabble to question, realizing you never clarified. “Your arm, I mean.”

“Hurts a little, but less than it did before… It’s not too bad though,” he adds, his voice coming out as calm as he can manage. “I’m okay, I promise.”

He looks down at your hand, feeling your touch never stop along such a brutal mark. Now it begins to concern him over just how much you’re concerned.

“Does it bother you, baby?” he whispers, his voice so low that it’s almost a murmur.

“It always bothers me when you get shot—“

“Not that,” Jason interrupts, gesturing with the slightest tilt of his head. “That.”

“Oh.” Your fingertip stops just before the scar’s end, feeling his abdomen muscles grow a bit taunt. You ponder this for quite a while, trying to never let your mind settle on such thoughts every time you saw Jason without a shirt.

“Well, it’s not like I was alive when they did it-“

“Jason,” you scoff, meeting his amused expression with your narrowed eyes. He just couldn’t help himself, could he? After such mind blowing sex, as per usual, you both should be either sleeping off well deserved exhaustion, or debating what flavor ice cream and genre movie to watch, while the post sex endorphins still flooded your brains.

“Shh,” he hushes against your crown, kissing along your hairline. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m alright. You know that.”

“I know. Can’t imagine how much this would’ve hurt.” You sigh, settling your palm directly over his heart, fingers sprawled across his chest. There’s no use to think on it, really. He’s alive, he’s here. That’s all that mattered.

“Felt worse.” Jason murmurs to himself, peeking down at your flushed cheeks and glimmering, adorable eyes holding so much worry for him. “Y’know what hurts worse than getting shot?”

“What?”

“Those hands of yours, sweetheart,” Jason smirks, patting the outside of your shoulder. “Could cut glass with those diamonds you call acrylics. Maybe those claws should dig a little harder next time, add onto the collection.”

“Oh please,” you scoff, nearly rolling your eyes while maintaining your smile. “You’d probably do something stupid like getting them tattooed onto your back.”

Jason didn’t answer, but his smirk said it all. Probably get your scratches permanently tattooed?

“Jason, no.”

His smile grows a lot more to your absolute disbelief.

“No! You’re not!”

“It’s not a bad idea, babe—“

“Well, I said no!”

#fought the hat man for this draft #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd gotham knights #jason todd x #jason todd dc

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ghostkennedy · 7 months

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Everybody's Gotta Die Sometime

~step brother Ghostface! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

happy halloween to my ghostface leon fuckers. and to hopefully my new ghostface leon fucker recruits. <3 (shoutout to @lipglossanon for making me discover my love of stepcest. and shoutout to @delusionalbunni for requesting this. and everyone in the discord server for giving me ideas constantly)

Word count: 5419

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DON'T FUCKING EAT IT, dubcon, noncon, dom leon, stepcest, kidnapping, drugging, bodily harm, wounds, cuts, blood, knife usage, serial killer, murders, stalking, pervert leon, discusses scenes from Scream, pet names, degradation, praise, dry humping, aggressive sex, finger sucking, slapping, ass slapping, daddy kink, baby trapping, forced impregnation, talk of body changes, talk of lactation, spitting, blood eating, BREEDING KINK, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, and more dirty talk then you'll know what to do with

!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!!

“Run, my pretty bunny,” he whispers in your ear before pushing you down into the mud. A yelp of pain escapes from your throat as you connect with the unforgiving ground. Blood is already running down your chest from where he cut you just moments ago. A little slice to show you just how serious he was. And if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you’re sure it’d hurt like a bitch.

“By time I count to twenty, you better be out of my fucking sight.”

You push yourself up with all the strength you can muster and force yourself to move forward as he starts counting behind you. The drugs are still flowing through you, making your blood feel thick like honey. Your brain is enveloped in a dense fog that has you disorientated as you weave through the heavily wooded forest.

You know you don’t stand a chance; of course you don’t. But he wants to play this stupid game of cat and mouse, so you’ll play along; it’s probably the only way you’ll make it out of this alive.

Your legs are unsteady as you traverse the uneven terrain, using tree branches to keep yourself up on your feet.

Why you of all people?

The Ghostface copy-cat killer has been terrorizing this small town for months now and you’d never heard of him taking any of his victims to the woods to play “chase.” His murders have always been quick, spontaneous, and brutal. There had never been mentions of a second location.

You must be one lucky girl.

You remember walking home from work. Sure, it was late at night so it was pretty dark, but you didn’t have any other choice. Your boss asked you to stay late, and if you had any hope of being brought on full time, you couldn’t say no.

So you said yes and before you could make it home, someone was grabbing you from behind and holding a towel up over your nose and mouth. Then everything went black.

And then you woke up, tied up in the woods with a bag over your head. The bag was quickly yanked off and the first thing you saw was that fucking mask. The Ghostface mask.

You tried to fight him as best as you could, but you were far too weak, and he was far too strong. You never really stood a chance. You pleaded with him, begged him to let you go, but you were only met with anger.

You knew you were poking the bear when you told him he wouldn’t actually do anything. And when he sliced you open across your chest with his blade, you only really had yourself to blame. And when he told you to run, that he wanted to play with you, you weren’t in any position to fight him on it.

So now you’re running through the dark wooded area. You don’t have a fucking clue where you are, you don’t know where you’re headed, you don’t have a plan, and possibly the worst part? You don’t know where he is. You somehow preferred being in that small clearing with him taunting and tormenting you than being out here amongst the trees all alone, every little sound making you jump out of your skin.

How long have you been running through the woods? Time seems to be passing by so slowly as you put forth your best effort. You’re leaned up against a tree, clinging to the bark to keep from completely toppling over. You’re so lightheaded, your head spinning, you don’t know which way is up and which way is down as the world spins around you.

Your lungs ache from the overexertion, the only things you can focus on being the sound of your heart beat pounding in your ears and fighting back the vomit threatening to spill from your throat.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your arms too weak to keep hanging onto the tree. You feel yourself falling backwards, feel yourself fainting and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Before your body can connect with the ground, arms are wrapping around you just like they had before you passed out the first time. You groan out in pain as you’re laid gently on the forest floor.

Your head is still spinning, your eyes unable to focus as you hear a distant voice talking to you.

You slowly come back to yourself and when you do, you realize you’re looking up at Ghostface himself.

“Are you okay? Can you hear me?” He questions you. You try to answer him, but your words die in your throat. You’re still feeling too weak to even speak.

You look up at the moonlight breaking through the trees above you, thinking about how pretty of a view you get to witness while dying. You guess if you did have to choose, this is the sight you’d choose to experience while your body slowly gives up on itself.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when hands grasp your face firmly and pull you to look ahead of you. It takes a minute for you to fully process that Ghostface no longer has his mask on. And you’re sure you’ve died or are hallucinating as death pulls you under when you see the killer’s real face. And it’s not just any face, because that would be too simple. No, it’s one you recognize and one you recognize well.

You choke out words, them barely coming out above a whisper, “Leon? Is that you?”

His cocky, shit eating grin takes over his entire face. You don’t need him to respond anymore. That look is undeniably and so certainly Leon fucking Kennedy.

“In the flesh, baby sis,” he rubs his thumb across your cheek.

“Are you- you’re Ghostface? Like, the Ghostface?” You’re trying to process what’s happening, but it’s so fucking unreal. There has to be some other explanation.

“You’ve always been such a stupid girl.” He shakes his head as he fights back a smirk. “You never connected the dots? Never pieced it together for yourself?”

You stare up at him, giving up fighting your tears.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s you. All the random murders? Oh baby. They weren’t random,” he laughs with a look of disbelief on his face. “Let’s see. Your boyfriend? Couldn’t have him thinking what’s mine belongs to him. That girl that used to live in our neighborhood? She was always such a bitch to you.”

You search his face for any signs of what he’s getting at, but you don’t find any answers. “I don’t understand.”

“How about that barista who always had an attitude with you? Your old manager who made you uncomfortable and didn’t give a shit?”

All you can do is stare up at him. What does your old boss have to do with this? And what barista is he talking about? They’re all bitchy at the coffee shop near your place. If someone was ever nice to you there, you’d be worried about what’s wrong with the world.

“Oh! I know what’ll make you a happy little bunny! Any guesses?”

“I don’t suppose it’s you changing your mind and letting me go?”

Leon bursts out laughing at your response, “You’re so silly. No, baby. I found the lady who did that hit and run on your car. She was drunk off her ass that day and the day I found her. It amazes me how the police could never find her, yet it only took me two days. Now they’ll really never find her.”

He brings his face down to yours, until he’s barely a few inches away from you.

“You killed them?”

“Every one of them.”

“And what about the others?”

He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Some were for practice, some were for fun.” He shrugs as if he isn’t admitting to a bunch of murders. “But if they were an inconvenience to us, they had to go.”

“None of them had to die, Leon.”

“Everybody dies, bunny. Better to be by my hand than some flesh eating disease, right?” The hand not caressing your face starts to slowly roam your body, his fingers gently running down your side.

“Please let me go. You don’t have to do this.”

You try to shake yourself beneath him, but he’s using all of his weight to pin you to the cold, muddy ground.

“Big brother just wants to take care of his little sis,” Leon coos at you, his fringe sticking to his forehead as the blood there slowly dries.

“You’re not my fucking brother, Leon. We haven’t seen each other since we were kids.” Your voice is mean, a complete contrast from the way you look. Covered in mud, tears, sweat, and blood. You can taste it on your lips.

He laughs down at you. “We haven’t? Baby. I see you all the time. I see you behind the counter at work. I see you at the grocery store when you need to pick up some milk and bread. I see you when you check your pockets for your wallet and keys before you go in the back door of your house.” He drags his knife down your neck, hard enough to sting but gentle enough to not break the skin. “I see you with your fingers buried deep in that tight cunt when you think no one is watching. I don’t just see it either, I hear it. I hear how loud and needy you are. It’s as if you’re subconsciously begging for big brother’s cock. Calling out for me to stuff this little pussy full, breed that tight hole until you can’t take it anymore. I see you everywhere you go baby, even in the privacy of your own bedroom.”

You can’t formulate a response, so you just stare up at him dumbfounded. You hope he’s bluffing–he has to be bluffing.

“So maybe you haven’t seen me since we were kids, but I see you all the time, sweet baby sis.”

“You’re lying. Anybody could say that vague shit.” You give him a dirty look as he presses the blade harshly against your skin. You hiss out at the stinging pain and cringe as you feel your warm blood ooze from the fresh wound.

“Oh? You don’t believe me?” You shake your head, further cutting yourself on the knife, yelping before stilling yourself once again. Quickly trying to correct your mistake.

“Hmm, let’s see,” he shifts his eyes as if deep in thought. “What about that step brother porn you’re always watching? Oh step bro, we can’t do this. Mom and Dad will catch us!” Your face heats at his words. “Or maybe when you shoved your hand in your panties while watching Scream? You came how many times? Do you remember, baby sis?”

You stumble over your words. “I-, um, well, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You give him a stern look, trying to emphasize your seriousness, but it’s useless.

His hand quickly wraps around your throat and squeezes. You struggle beneath him as your air is cut off, but he only squeezes tighter.

“Stay. Still!” He screams right in your face and you freeze in fear. You hold yourself as still as possible despite not being able to breathe.

“Remember when you came when Tatum got stuck in the garage door? Or maybe when Billy revealed he was Ghostface? Or when Billy and Stu were stabbing each other?”

“No,” you squeak out, barely able to speak with your constricted airway.

He squeezes even tighter, your face is on fire as you gasp and whine for air.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, you fucking brat.” He shakes your whole body with just the grip on your throat. “You gonna tell me the truth?” He yells out as your vision starts to blur from lack of oxygen.

He loosens his grip enough to allow some air to enter your lungs. “Tell me, god dammit!”

“Okay!” You choke out and he releases your throat. You desperately suck in air and cough from the ache in your throat. “Okay. It’s true, okay?”

“What’s true? Use your words, princess.”

“I fucking touched myself while watching a Ghostface movie! Is that what you wanted to hear? Wanted to hear me admit it even though you fucking saw it! I got off watching it, okay?”

More tears stream down your face, shame filling you after your confession. Speaking the words out loud makes it all the more real, all the more embarrassing.

How the fuck did you end up here? Exhausted in the mud beneath your ex step brother?

He sits back on his haunches and picks the mask up off the ground, quickly slipping it back on and adjusting it back into place. When his hand falls back to his side, you notice the blood smears left behind on his white mask. Your blood stains it.

“See something you like, princess?” Leon quirks his head to the side, his voice teasing. Your face immediately heats up from being caught staring. You hadn’t meant to be staring so long.

You avert your eyes, looking off into the trees and avoiding his mask completely.

“Why do you think I wear this fucking mask?” He spits out, aggressively grabbing your chin and making you look right into the empty eyes of the mask.

You whimper out and shake your head no. He lessens his grip on your chin in favor of running his thumb softly over your cheek.

“Oh, baby. It’s all for you. Don’t you see it? I killed them all for you, I chose this mask because it gets you all wet, and now?” He chuckles and brings his mouth up to your ear. He whispers as if he’s divulging you in some deep, dark secret, “Now, I’m gonna fuck you while wearing this mask. And you’re gonna fucking love it.”

Your jaw drops as your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “Wha-what? No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He grinds his pelvis into your abdomen and that’s when you feel it. His hard cock pushes against you and it solidifies his claim. He’s really going to fuck you.

And you want to be disgusted, you want to scream and push him off, but you don’t say a word as you clench your thighs together. You had been so caught up in the chase, so caught up in putting up a fight that you didn’t stop and realize how fucking wet you are.

You cringe at the throbbing in your cunt. Your panties and thighs are soaked, you’re sure you’ve soaked all the way through your pants as well.

You want to explain it off. It’s just an adrenaline response, it’s out of your control. But as he continues to grind into you, you find your hips raising up and meeting his rhythm. Your lip is bleeding from how harshly you’re biting it, your hands curled into clenched fists.

“There she is. There’s my dirty fucking bunny. Knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself, knew you needed your big brother’s cock.”

You whine at his words, his clothed crotch grinding into yours causing your panties to dig into your throbbing clit. The friction is so good, it has sweat beading down your back, but it just isn’t fucking enough. Not nearly enough.

“Leon,” your voice is high pitched and whiny. You lift your hands from beneath his thighs and reach out to cling to him, but he’s quick to grab your wrists in one of his hands and pin them above your head.

“None of that, baby sis. Use your words for me. What do you want?”

“Please,” you both continue rolling your hips together, finding an achingly perfect rhythm. If he keeps this up, keeps grinding into that spot that’s just right over and over, you’re gonna cum just like this.

He grinds into your clit particularly hard and it has your eyes rolling back, a pathetic moan falling from your lips and echoing out in the empty woods surrounding you.

“Please what, princess? If I don’t know what you want I can’t give it to you. And I’ll stop right now.”

“No!”

“Then use your fucking words, you dumb bunny,” He spits at you angrily. His muffled voice through the Ghostface mask sounds like sex itself. He could say anything to you right now and it would have you drooling for him.

“Wanna cum,” you whine out, toes curling in your shoes.

He slows his hips, just barely continuing to grind into you. “Not enough.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I want you to fuck me. Please, fuck me. I need you inside of me.”

“See? Not so hard is it? You want big brothers cock stuffing this slutty pussy full?

You arch your back, pushing your body up into his in desperation. “Yes. Please, fuck. Need your cock.”

“Who’s cock?”

“Yours?”

“Nu uh, not good enough.”

You whine out, kicking your feet in frustration. “Big brother’s cock. I need my big brother’s cock inside of me. I wanna feel it.”

He sits back on his haunches, releasing your hands from his grasp. His hands go down to start undoing his belt as you reach out and palm his cock through his black jeans.

You gasp as you feel how fucking big he is.

Leon clicks his tongue as he releases his belt and slowly starts working the zipper on his jeans down, “What? Not what you were expecting?”

You whimper at his cocky tone, unable to speak. The only thing you can focus on is getting his cock inside of you.

“Need your big brother to fill you up with his big cock?”

“Yes. Please,” you whine as you wiggle beneath him. You can’t make yourself stay still, your body thrashes with need.

His pants are undone, barely hanging onto his hips when he releases your legs and pulls you up into a sitting position. He grabs your shirt and quickly pulls it over your head, tossing it off to the side haphazardly. He doesn’t even bother pulling your leggings off, grabbing the crotch and tearing it open.

“Hands and knees,” he instructs you and you immediately comply, rolling over and pushing your ass up in the air for him.

He groans at the sight of your lace panties clinging to your pussy, your arousal working as a glue. He tears your leggings further, not stopping until your whole ass is exposed for him.

He runs his fingers over your panty clad pussy and it has you pressing yourself back into his touch. He makes a sound of disapproval before a loud smack rings out, followed by a sharp stinging pain in your ass cheek.

He presses his chest into your back, bringing his mouth down to your ear. “Such an impatient slut,” he growls as he grinds his bare cock against you.

You go to turn your head to look back at him, but his hand is quick to grab your face and force you to look forward, before his hand roughly covers your mouth.

“Stay fucking still,” he hisses out at you, causing all of your muscles to freeze up in fear. The tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Part of you hates it, but another part, a much bigger part, loves it and has your pussy clenching around nothing.

“That’s it. Stay still like a good fuck bunny for your big brother.”

You feel him pull your panties away from your pussy and bunch them up and out of the way, before his fingers lightly graze around your needy hole.

“So fucking wet. And you tried saying you didn’t want this,” he chuckles directly into your ear, sounding like pure sex to you. He releases your mouth and instead pushes your face to the ground and holds the back of your neck instead.

His free hand leaves where he was teasing your hole, surprising you when he grabs one of your hands and brings it back to your wet cunt.

“Feel how fucking wet you are.” He pushes your fingers up against your soaked clit and your legs quiver at the sudden stimulation. “Feel that, bunny? Feel what your big brother did to you?”

You moan out as he continues rubbing your fingers into your clit.

“Yes,” your voice comes out whiny, “Big brother gets my pussy so wet.”

“Good girl. Should I give you what you want? Want me to shove my cock in my little sister’s pussy?”

You push your ass back against his groin again. “Yes, your little sister needs her pussy bred.”

He pulls your hand from your clit and brings your wet fingers up to your mouth. “Here. Open up and tell me how this slutty pussy tastes.”

You’ve barely opened your mouth before he’s pushing his fingers down against your tongue, causing you to eagerly lick and suck them clean.

“That’s it, taste this sweet fucking pussy for me. Such a good slut, huh? Nothing but a fuck bunny for me,” he shoves his fingers to the back of your throat, forcing you to fight your gag reflex while tears slip from your eyes.

You choke around his fingers and he quickly pulls them from your throat.

“You like tasting your own slutty pussy?”

You can’t stop the moan that slips past your lips, “Yes. I love it.”

“You love what? Come on, baby. Use your words so I can reward you.”

Another harsh slap to your ass has you yelping out, “I love tasting my own pussy. Love when big brother makes me taste myself.”

You crane your neck to look back at Leon and he lets you look at him. Mask still in place, t-shirt bunched up above his belly, his pants and boxers pushed down his thighs.

His cock is right against your needy hole. Just one small movement of his hips and you could finally feel him inside of you.

“There you go. Watch as big brother spreads you open on his cock.”

And then he slowly pushes forward and you look into his mask as you finally feel him inside of you.

Your pussy is immediately clenching around him. Weak little moans continuously falling from your lips as he pushes in further and further.

“Such a tight pussy, fuck.” He praises as he bottoms out and holds his dick inside of you. “You were made to take big brother’s cock. Look so fucking perfect like this.”

You whimper softly into the ground at his words, staying still and willing yourself to adjust to his massive dick. You feel split in half already and he hasn’t even started fucking you yet.

His hand runs up and down your back, along your spine gently. “That’s it, you got this, pretty bunny. Gonna bread this tight cunt, ruin you for anyone else.”

“Pl-please,” you whined out, “Please fuck me. I want it so bad. Big brother, please-”

You can’t even finish begging before he’s pulling out and roughly shoving his cock back into you.

“Oh my god,” your voice comes out in a tone you don’t even recognize as your own. “Yes, yes, yes, please. Oh fuck.”

He roughly grips your hip as he effortlessly thrusts in and out of your soaking wet pussy.

“You like that, baby sis? Already going dumb on my cock and I haven’t even properly started fucking you yet. Such a pathetic little whore, my pathetic little whore. Taking my cock so fucking well.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slowly starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts.

“All yours. Your whore,” you aren’t able to finish your statement before he starts aggressively fucking his cock into you. The only sounds leaving your mouth are broken gasps. The pleasure is too intense for you to make any other noise, mouth stuck open on a silent moan.

He moves his hand from the back of your throat, instead grabbing a handful of your hair harshly and yanking you back until your head is against his shoulder. The moan you release is nothing short of pornographic at the pain in your scalp.

He chuckles before speaking right against your ear, “Fucking take it, you stupid whore. Dumb little sis likes it rough. I’ll fucking give it to you just like you want it. Gonna fucking break you.”

“Oh fuck yes, daddy,” you don’t even register the words you’ve said until Leon let’s out a loud moan.

“Daddy? You dirty little girl. Want daddy to breed you? Need daddy to take care of you?”

“Yes. God, yes.” You’re too far gone in a pleasure filled haze to be embarrassed about calling him daddy. Fuck, you’d call him anything he asks right now.

“Gonna let daddy put a baby in you? Keep you tied to me forever.” He’s practically growling in your ear at this point, so worked up over you calling him daddy. “Gonna swell up with my baby and everyone will know how good I fuck you.”

“No, daddy, we can’t,” you try to reason with him through your brain fog.

He laughs loudly in your ear. “But I can, and I will. God, your boobs are gonna fucking leak all over. Gonna fucking suck those milky tits dry.”

You can’t stop yourself from clenching around his dick at his filthy words.

“Ugh, knew you’d like that. Gonna be tied to daddy forever. You’ll never fucking escape me. Gonna keep this pussy stuffed, gonna make you pop out all my babies. Gonna fucking show you how much of a daddy I am, baby.”

He quickly pulls out of you making you whine out in disappointment. But it doesn’t last long, as he throws you on your back. He wraps your thighs around his hips and shoves his dick back inside of you.

He goes back to his unforgiving pace and all you can do is stare up into the Ghostface mask, which only intensifies your pleasure.

Your hands trail up his chest until you’re gripping the back of his neck and pulling him closer into you. You go back and forth between staring into the mask and squeezing your eyes shut.

You don’t know what comes over you, but you're desperate for skin to skin contact. So you grab the hem of his shirt and yank it over his head, but in the process, you pull his mask off with it.

Then it’s just you and Leon staring right at each other’s faces. Sweat pours from his forehead, his mouth slightly agape as he pants from the exertion, and his eyes blown wide with lust. He looks like an absolute madman, but you suppose that’s because he is.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself up into his body. Your chest presses into his as you connect your lips with his. One of his arms wraps around your lower back while he uses his other arm to hold you two up. He thrusts, never once slowing.

The kiss is sloppy. Your tongues immediately come together and explore each other completely. Spit drips down your chin as you moan into the kiss.

He bites your lip, you bite his. He sucks on your tongue, you suck on his. He sucks your lips until they ache, and you suck his lips with everything you have.

You finally break the kiss, but keep your foreheads pressed together.

Leon pushes your bodies down, your back connecting harshly to the cold ground. He grabs your calves and brings your ankles to his shoulders.

“Oh god, daddy. Yes, fuck, please, fuck, just like that. Please, please, please, daddy, fuck.” You don’t process anything you’re saying. Words just keep falling from your lips as he continuously pounds deeply into you.

“I’m gonna fucking fill you up, baby sis. And you’re gonna take all of it. God, gonna breed my baby sister’s tight pussy. Gonna let daddy breed you, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please.”

He brings his hand down between you two, ru

bbing your clit harshly causing you to cry out loudly at the intensity.

“Who’s gonna breed this pussy? Who’s baby is gonna grow in this fucking belly?”

Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head as your whole body feels more and more wound up, fastly approaching your release.

“Fucking answer me. Who’s breeding this tight cunt? Who’s cock are you gonna cum all over?”

“Yours. Yours, daddy. Gonna, fuck, gonna cream my big brother’s big fucking cock.”

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Tell me how it feels. Tell me how good big brother’s cock is making you feel.” He’s groaning, borderline growling, as he ruthlessly pounds into you.

You force your eyes open, force yourself to look into his eyes. “You daddy. You’re making my slutty pussy feel so fucking good. God, your cock is making my pussy feel so good. Big brother’s cock is making me feel so good. I wanna cum all over it.”

“Come for daddy, then. Cream my fucking cock like the dirty whore you are.” He pulls his hand from your clit so he can hold your thighs up more firmly. “Rub yourself for me. Wanna watch you push yourself over the edge.”

Your hand quickly reaches down, quickly rubbing fast circles on your soaking wet clit.

“Look at me while you cum on my cock. Be a good whore and look at who’s fucking you like this.”

You bite your lip until you taste blood again. Moaning loudly as you stare up at Leon and rubbing your clit furiously. You’re desperately trying to cum, desperately trying to push yourself over the edge. But no matter how close you feel, you can’t send yourself over the edge.

Until a stinging, blinding pain seers into the back of your thigh and you can’t even process the warm blood pouring from the freshly sliced wound before you’re cumming. Cumming harder than you ever have in your life. Not one inch of your body isn’t shaking, not one part of you not exploding with intense pleasure.

You’re screaming, your throat burning from the strain. You have to force yourself to stop as the overstimulation sets in.

“Dad, daddy, please. Fuck, I can’t take it anymore.” You’re practically sobbing now, but your request is ignored.

He pushes your ankles off of his shoulders and you immediately lock them behind his back. One of his hands grips your jaw and spits on your cheek.

“You’re gonna fucking take it, fucking whore.” His other hand runs down the middle of your chest, coating it in fresh blood. You look down and see your dry blood combining with the new blood, staining nearly your whole chest red.

A sharp slap meets your cheek. Your cheek burns and your ear rings from the sheer force of the hit. Before you can even yelp out in pain, his blood soaked fingers are being shoved into your mouth and you’re immediately hit with the copper taste.

“I’m cumming, fuck. Breeding baby sister’s greedy fucking hole. Take it, you stupid slut. Fucking take it, fuck.” His thrusts slow, but are just as hard as he cums deep inside of you.

You’re too distracted sucking his fingers clean to register what the stinging pain in your abdomen is.

Leon groans and moans above you as he comes down from his high. He finally looks back down at your face and can’t stop himself from smiling at the blood and dirt all over your body. He could eat you alive right now, and he just might.

He slowly pulls his spent cock out of you, causing you to whimper at the sudden emptiness and the feeling of his cum steadily dripping from your abused hole.

He sits back on his haunches and lets out a throaty laugh. “Would you look at that,” You follow the direction of his eyes down to your abdomen where you see blood pooling. He quickly picks up his discarded shirt and wipes away the excess blood, causing you to hiss out in pain.

But he finally uncovers his handiwork for you to see in all its glory. And you gasp out in shock at the sight of it.

Carved into your skin are messily drawn letters. L.S.K.

“See? You’ll never forget who you fucking belong to now.”

~masterlist~

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winstonsns · 9 days

Text

dallas winston dating hcs (requested by @cranberrv)

authors note: go check out her blog!! she posts outsider related things too and they’re very fun to read :3 i was answering the ask then accidentally posted it, ended up deleting it so that’s why it doesn’t show the actual ask. sorry about that and not posting yesterday! anyways, enjoy 💗

word count: 0.9k

warnings: cussing, smoking, slightly suggestive parts, wounds, fighting

probably obvious but he protects you with his life

this isn’t necessarily a dating headcannon, but he’s brutally honest so if you ask him something he’ll always tell the truth, unless it’s to run away from the cops or something

whenever he gets arrested for something, you always bail him out since you’re his emergency contact

after he gets into a fight and has wounds, you always patch him up even if he doesn’t want you to

he actually appreciates it a lot and sees it as a very intimate situation since he’s vulnerable at the moment

he’ll also steal random shit for you, you scold him but love how he’s thoughtful enough to get you those things

he’ll smoke sometimes but tries not to as much when he’s around you, he knows you hate the smell and the smoke in general

once, you got him a few presents since the two of you were dating for a year and one of the presents was a bracelet

you made it for him and you had a matching one, he scoffed but thanked you anyways

it seemed like he didn’t care, that he thought it was stupid, but he wore it every day forward and thought it was the cutest thing ever

it always reminds him of you, so when he gets arrested and has to stay for a bit, he has a part of you with him

a lot of late night drives since he has trouble sleeping, normally goes to bed around 1-3 in the morning, sometimes later

he’ll randomly call you and ask, “hey doll, wanna go for a drive? i can pick you up..” talking quietly since you probably got woken up

you’d complain for a bit before getting up and dressed, he’s already on his way to your house

the two of you would be quiet on the drive, he’d park somewhere random since you suggested the two of you could look at the stars

he didn’t think much of the stars, nor the moon, but when he saw you looking up with interest, he could only keep his eyes on you

normally has an arm around your shoulder in a protective gesture, when you’re walking down the streets and he’s smiling, laughing and talking to you

he knows he’s in deep shit when you just call him ‘dallas’ and don’t say anything else

then he figures out you just wanted him to try the cupcakes you made

speaking of baking, he’s the guinea pig and is always trying out sweets you make

he’ll tell you if something tastes off or if something tastes amazing, but will normally eat it even if it doesn’t taste the best

he just loves it when you put your head on his chest, trying to sleep while he thinks about how lucky he is to have you :3

you get all blushy when he’s shirtless and he teases you about it constantly

he just loves seeing you get flustered seeing him literally do nothing

he’ll compliment and thank you you whether it’s about your looks, outfit, something you did for him, etc

you’ll wear an outfit he likes and he’ll compliment you, mumbling, “your outfit looks real nice today, doll” while putting his hands on your hips, kissing your neck

if you’re cold and in public then tell him, he asks “baby, why didn’t you bring your jacket?” but gives you his jacket anyway

if someone’s hitting on you, he goes behind you and kisses your cheek, saying “hey doll… oh, who’s this?” and when you look back at the person he stares them down

if you’re cooking or baking, something like that, he’ll go up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist

sometimes he’ll randomly start kissing you, then it turns to making out

occasionally, he’ll actually pay for food when the two of you go out to eat

he’ll share food with you if you’re hungry, not before rolling his eyes though

he’s actually more than willing to give you food

when he’s genuinely concerned about you, he’ll look at you with the cutest eyes ever, pulls you into his chest and kisses your forehead, telling you it’ll be alright

when he’s bored or just wants to see you, he’ll walk to your house if it’s not that far away

then he’ll climb up to the second floor, where your room is and tap on your window

sometimes he’ll sleep over and curl up into your side

your heartbeat calms him down but he would never tell anyone that

when you’re sad or upset about something, he doesn’t really know how to comfort you besides telling you you’re amazing and perfect, rubbing your back and giving you reassuring kisses

then he’ll take you out to a fast food place or restaurant

if the two of you eat sour patch kids, he says he hates the blue ones and they taste like shit, he’ll give them to you even though he actually likes it

authors note: sorry this was short! i hope it wasn’t too basic 💗

#dallas winston x reader #dally winston #the outsiders dally #dallas winston #dally x reader #dallas x reader #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders #winstonsns #send asks #request #reqs open #fem reader #x reader #headcannons #hcs

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crownofgildedlilies · 2 months

Text

wishin' you were kind enough to be cruel about it -> cool about it [2]

in which: a son of Jupiter can't remember the life he lost to time and circumstance. or the daughter of mercury he lost, too.

pairing: jason grace x daughter of mercury!roman!reader

warnings: you guessed it! more angst and cursing!

word count: 6.4k

a/n: did not mean for it to be this long but, im obsessed.... no like u don't understand. so much to be said! inbox/comment to be added to the taglist!

one [two] three four

At least you had the comfort of preparing for war to distract you.

Armor polished to perfection, swords sharpened, denarii in your pocket to pay for passage to the Underworld, should you meet your end facing an endless army of monsters that couldn't die.

Really, how Roman of you to seek the blissful nothingness at the start of battle.

You knew the exact number, down to the minute, of how long it had been since you had last seen Jason. But if someone were to ask you how many days Percy, Frank, and Hazel had been off on their quest, you would have stared at them blankly.

And even as you readied for war, your eyes had a glossy look to them, pinned on a fixed point just above the horizon.

"Don't let the legionnaires see you like this," Dakota had murmured in your ear as he adjusted the straps of your armor. You knew he had a point, but hated him for saying it, anyways.

What did it matter? The legionnaires had already seen you in hysterics in the camp center, tearing through the place in search of Jason. They wouldn't be surprised to see you were still not right, even with the promise of military glory.

But it didn’t change the fact that he had a point.

You were a centurion for a reason, and not just because the great Jason Grace followed you like a shadow. You needed to be strong and brave and ruthless, because that was what a Roman leader should be.

And the reason you became a centurion was apparent the moment you stepped onto the battlefield, New Rome at your back and your brothers-in-arms at your side.

See, the giants hadn't taken into account how much anger and fear you had bottled up inside you, uncorked with the first swing of your sword and spilling out over their armies.

Violence untethered, one of the now-retired centurions from the First Cohort had once described the way you fought. Brutal. Efficient. Roman.

And if you had been untethered before, when you still had Jason at your side—

The casualties on the Roman side were few.

You had taken a couple of big hits, but you welcomed the pain. The first actual bite of something other than heartache felt almost like a relief, like a promise that you were not trapped in a body that could only grieve.

The rest of camp may have been rejuvenated by Percy's retrieval of hundreds of Imperial Gold weapons, but all you could do was grit your teeth and limp back into the city.

The cries of 'Praetor!' that echoed after you, announcing Percy as Camp Jupiter's second leader, felt like they were twisting a knife in a wound long infected and left to rot.

Jason was praetor. Jason.

You liked Percy, you really did. He was funny—or at least, you would have thought so, if you weren't constantly looking for the next excuse to leave camp and search for Jason—and kind. He had Roman bravery, if not a little rebellious, which the Mercury in your blood seemed to enjoy.

Percy might have even been your friend, in another life. One when you had met him with your hand tucked in Jason’s, the son of Jupiter the levelheaded side to your double edged sword.

And at least you trusted Percy a whole lot more than Octavian.

"These... Greeks," Octavian hissed the word, lips curling in distaste. The day after the battle, still bruised and wounds leaking blood, you found yourself in the forum, dressed in a toga wrapped over your armor. You still couldn’t put too much weight on your ankle, and the shoulder on your shield arm was swollen. "You're an even bigger fool than I thought if you trust them."

You rolled your eyes, but bit down the dramatic gag. If Jason had been there, he would have been very pointedly ignoring you—because you had been guilty on more than one occasion of making more and more ridiculous faces in an attempt to make him laugh.

And after the third time you had gotten him to break his stony facade, Jason had implemented a 'no looking at you during meetings' rule, which he more or less succeeded in executing.

Or less, being the key words.

"Talking about fools," You murmured, and from beside you, Dakota jammed his elbow into your side so harshly, you almost yelped. In his defense, you hadn’t told him about the Cyclops that had probably broken your ribs, but you wished he hadn't hit you where you were so sore.

"Look, they're my friends up there." Percy gestured widely towards the open air roof as he spoke. You found yourself studying the skies, as if the flying Greek trireme Percy claimed would be arriving might suddenly appear out of thin air. "I trust them, and you voted me praetor. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It's something, alright." Octavian scoffed. You rolled your eyes again, almost growing dizzy with the movement.

A bad habit during meetings, Centurion, Jason had chastised you, once, with a smile so warm it didn't feel like a punishment. The two of you had just left the forum, still wrapped in your togas, your hand curled around his forearm as he led you through New Rome and towards a bakery you favored.

Wouldn't happen if you let me challenge Octavian to combat, Praetor, you had fired back, and in a moment of weakness, pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw before darting off ahead of him, giddy.

Soldiers, not lovers, you had to remind yourself. No matter how much you wanted, you couldn't force Jason to be anything he wasn't ready to be—or maybe what he just wasn't.

Octavian's watery stare landed on you, snapping you back to the moment like a rubber band pulled taut.

"I can hardly imagine you support this, Centurion? With Jason Grace gone—"

"Do not," You snapped, breath coming out in short, labored spurts. Violence untethered, indeed. "Neither I nor you get to decide who is praetor, and the spot was open—"

Your voice cracked. It tasted like a lie. The spot wasn't open. It belonged to Jason, just as your heart and tears and smiles did.

"—and Percy Jackson was raised to the rank after receiving glory in battle." You recited. You hoped it didn't sound like you had practiced in the bathroom mirror that morning, trying to make it seem like you believed it, even if you had. "I seem to recall a certain Apollo legacy cowering beneath my shield during the second Cyclops onslaught, don't you, Augur?"

And maybe it was a low blow, calling a Roman's battle bravery into question, but Jason had always been your bridge to your self-control.

"I—no—it—!" Octavian stammered, flustered, and Percy laughed. Dakota and several of the other centurions Octavian hadn't managed to blackmail or brainwash to follow him pressed their palms over their mouths to suppress their own chuckles, and even Reyna was struggling to bite back a grin. "You think you'll still hold rank as centurion, come the next election?"

He was threatening you, you realized, and you would have hauled off and socked him in the mouth, consequences be damned, if a shadow hadn't crossed over Octavian's head, darkening the whole of the forum.

Twisting your gaze up, heart hammering, you found a flying Greek trireme.

Percy was right.

And maybe he had been right about something else, too. Something you hadn’t dared to consider.

While Percy was dropped at Camp Jupiter, Jason might have been carted off to Camp Half-Blood.

Mercury swiftness blessed you once more as you took off, darting out of the forum before Reyna could finish saying dismissed.

There wasn’t much that could have stopped you, not even the bitter cold of crashing through the middle of a Lar.

You didn’t even bother pausing to shout an apology to Cassius, glowing purple and claiming to curse your bloodline for such an insult.

If you have been able to breathe, you would have told him your bloodline already felt a little cursed.

There was shouting, but you barely could hear it over the buzzing in your mind. You felt like you were going to vibrate out of your skin, eyes squinted, head tilted up, and fighting against the sun for even a glimpse of your missing half.

“Helmet on, fall in line,” Dakota tugged your arm, pulling you back to his side. You felt a little, a lot, frantic—felt desperate—but Reyna was already struggling to get everyone to fall in line, and she had given you so much leeway in the past months, that you stepped beside your fellow Fifth Cohort centurion.

“I left my—“ Left my helmet behind, you would have said, but Dakota shoved the metal piece into your hands. With buzzing fingertips, you placed on your helmet, adjusted the straps of your armor that were already perfectly done up.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Seconds ticked by like hours, limbs swimming through thick air like you were in a dream. From your spot nestled between Dakota and Paulette from Fourth Cohort, tucked under the hull of the flying trireme, standing behind Percy and Reyna, you couldn't see any of the ship's occupants.

But then they dropped a rope ladder, and your heart stuttered in your chest. Nails bit into your palms, your own fingers the culprit, and you forced yourself to stretch out your hands in an attempt to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

Jason, please, Jason, I need you, oh, gods, please—

It was like a mantra, repeating on a loop in your head. Tears stung at your eyes, overwhelmed by just the sheer possibility that your golden haired love could be so, so close to returning to you.

The first body began to climb down the ladder. A girl, with yellow hair dragged into a ponytail. In front of you, somehow, you heard Percy inhale sharply and you realized it must have been Annabeth.

The only person he remembered from his past life, until he had drank the gorgon's blood and gotten his memories restored. Unease trickled through you. There wouldn't be such a quick fix for Jason.

A second girl descended the ladder after Annabeth, with choppy brown hair, baggy clothes, and a wicked dagger at her hip.

You started to doubt Percy's theory. Maybe Jason hadn't been taken by Juno or Hera or whichever deity you felt like blaming. Maybe he was stuck somewhere else, alone, and hurting, and you were—

A purple shirt appeared over the side of the ship, atop a set of broad shoulders you could have recognized blind.

Jason.

Your Jason.

Home, to you, at last.

A gasp shuddered through you as he started to climb down the rope ladder and into New Rome. You started to step forward, but Roman training froze you to your spot as Reyna pinned you with a look that screamed 'don't break rank, not in front of Octavian,' which would never be enough to keep you from reaching Jason.

But still, you stalled.

It didn't mean you stopped staring, your eyes tracing his form from head to toe, trying to see what changed about him, what was still the same.

The scar on his lip, the sky blue eyes, the golden rays of his hair. It was exactly as you remembered, except for the hair, which had grown out just slightly. You liked it better, but you would never tell him. You knew how much he liked to keep it short, in regulation.

Look at me, please, you begged him in your mind, because you were forbidden to say the words. Another boy scaled down the rope ladder, but you paid him no attention. Jason, Jason, Jason.

It was dizzying. In all the years you had loved him, never had it felt so much like a compactor was pressing in on your chest.

Their group approached, four rag-tag demigods, three Greeks and a Roman. It sounded like the set-up to one of the awful jokes you used to tell Jason when you were stationed on guard duty together, just to pass the time and see him shake his head with a smile.

Reyna stood tall before you, strong and powerful and part of you wanted to push her to the side and race into the arms of your lost soldier.

Why hadn't he looked at you yet?

This was it, the moment you had been dying for, for months. When Jason finally came back to you, his eyes locking with yours, rules and regulations tossed aside as he wrapped you in his arms so tight your toes left the ground and his mouth slotted over yours, a kiss nearly a decade in the making.

Fear and emotion clogged your throat, and you had trouble swallowing around it. Didn't he see you? He knew you always stood between Dakota and Paulette, just to the right of the second praetor—his rank, formerly, now given to Percy Jackson.

But, there—his blue eyes scanned the row of centurions lined behind Reyna and Percy, starting with the First Cohort and making his way to you. Oh, how you were going to scream and cry and hold him later, all as punishment for making you worry—

Jason's eyes passed over you, carrying on towards Dakota like you were nothing more than another face in the crowd.

Fear and routine and fear of your routine were the only things stopping you from tearing off your helmet and slamming it into his chest, demanding to know who the hell he thought he was, scaring you so thoroughly for months and then acting like he didn’t know you.

But then you remembered Percy, and how he hadn’t been able to remember anything.

That couldn’t be right, no, Jason loved you. And maybe it wasn’t in the way you loved him, but hadn’t Hadlee, the daughter of Venus, gone on and on the other night about different types of love? You knew with a certainty you had never felt before that Jason loved you, even if it was only in the sense of friends.

The way fellow soldiers would die and bleed and get torn to shreds for each other.

You had gotten upset when he asked what else was there for the two of you to be. Now, you would trade every scrap of pleasure and freedom for the chance to be only soldiers with Jason Grace for the rest of time.

You pressed your arm tight against your side, elbow pointed in and poking at the unhealed, unchecked injury from the Cyclops. At first, you had refused to go to the medics because they were still all cheering for Percy to take place at praetor.

Then the pain just became a good enough distraction from losing Jason, even if it didn't really work.

These thoughts and more swirled in your mind as Jason introduced himself and the Greeks he had arrived with. Annabeth, Piper, Leo, Coach Hedge. The names meant nothing to you, but still you memorized them, because they were important to Jason.

He and Annabeth took turns explaining the quest they were on. You only understood half of what they were talking about, because every time someone other than Jason even attempted to speak, their voice was drowned out by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Gaea is rising. Giants trying to wake the earth mother. Need to go to the Ancient Lands to stop them.

You gathered enough to know that whatever was happening was bad. They needed Jason, your Jason, and the fate of the world was more important than the heartbeat pulsing in the tips of your fingers.

Wasn't it?

Miles and miles away, maybe already in the Ancient Lands, you heard Reyna's voice cut through the static.

Let's discuss over a meal, she had said, your stare watching the relief wash over Jason's face. You were certain no one but yourself noticed the minute reaction on his behalf. At least, you had hoped. We reconvene in the city proper for a lunch. Centurions, dismissed.

There it was, that permission you had been waiting for.

Your helmet was torn from your head before Dakota even had time to slouch, shoulders dropping from the stiff way he held them while in formation.

It clattered to the ground beneath you, and you might have even stubbed your toe on it as you stepped forward, desperate for proof that you weren't imagining things. Your soldier was home, gods praise, he was home and within arms reach.

The rank of centurions behind you remained still, anticipating the long awaited and bitterly fought for reunion between two of New Rome's finest, the two soldiers that rarely ever separated, but spent six and a half months apart.

You surged forward. Jason stayed still. You understood what was happening, but you wanted to pretend for a moment longer.

"Hey, soldier," You breathed, voice tight and eyes burning. You clenched your hands into fists, then splayed your fingers wide, stretching, desperate to reach out and touch.

But you were on very uncertain ground. You had to wait for him to make the first move, even if it killed you.

"If the legion weren't here, I'd kick your ass for making me cry." You settled on saying, knowing that he would understand just how much you missed him.

Once, during a particularly violent round of training, Jason had caught the underside of your jaw with the blunt end of his lance. Nothing had broken, which considering Jason's strength, had been both a shock and a blessing, but you hadn't been able to control the tears that sprung to your eyes and raced down your cheeks in pain.

I did this to you, he had lamented, torn between anger at himself and grief for having hurt you. His aching in his words had been nearly enough to get you to resent yourself for feeling pain. I should have been more careful. Next time, I will.

His hands had been cradling your face, turning in it ever so gently to the side to inspect the bruise already forming on your jaw. His touch on your skin had felt like too much, but now you were realizing it had never been enough.

Next time, I'll be faster, you had promised hooking your leg around the back of his and shoving into his chest, sending him sprawling backwards and landing square on his ass in a move that never would have been possible if he hadn't been distracted by your tears at his hand.

You had barely cried then. What would he say, now, learning of the hysterics you had been reduced to?

“Er, do I know you?” Jason asked, stammering, flush coating pale cheeks you could have drawn from memory.

The simple question felt like being dunked in an ice bath, then held under while your lungs filled with water. It had to be some cruel joke, some wicked nightmare you would surely wake from any minute.

Know you? Did Jason Grace know you?

The question was almost unnecessary. Laughable, even. Seven months earlier, if someone had asked that question, you would have cracked a grin. Jason would have been by your side, naturally, and been offended by the insinuation that he didn't.

And then he would have proceeded to list off all of your favorite things, in alphabetical order, organized by category.

The idea was laughable. He knew you. He had to know you.

“Jase?” It was pathetic, really, that that was all you could muster. A breathy, pained whisper of the nickname you’d given him when he was being stubborn about taking care of himself and you poked out your bottom lip to try and convince him to rest.

Most times, it worked.

Now it just hurt.

“Sorry,” He shook his head, darting a glance to the curly haired Latino boy wincing at his side, your stomach dropping to somewhere around Pluto’s palace. “I don’t remember, well, anything, really.”

How foolish had you been? Percy had remembered Annabeth, sure, but Annabeth was his girlfriend. What were you to Jason?

Just another soldier, like he had claimed the day he went missing.

Just another soldier. Only ever soldiers.

And the worst part was he looked genuinely apologetic. You wished he could have scoffed and waved you off, like some prissy, no-good asshole that turned up his nose simply because he was the savior of the world and had earned so much battlefield glory he practically reeked of it.

But that wasn't like Jason. No, not only did the jerk have to be the strongest, most strategic soldier you had ever had the pleasure of fighting alongside, he was also one of the nicest.

Holding open doors, comforting the new, young, arrivals, braiding your hair for you to keep it out of your face that one time the stomach bug had torn its way through the Fifth Cohort. You had spent thirty-six straight hours bent over a toilet, and Jason had been there through all of it.

I don't remember, well, anything, really.

But you had never just been anything to Jason. Sometimes, he looked at you and you could almost convince yourself that you were his everything.

Dakota, of all people, a little hopped up on kool-aid, came to your rescue. Knotting his red-stained fist in the back of your toga, he tugged you back into the line of centurions, using his body to block Jason from your line of sight.

And you would have expressed your thanks, if you had been able to express anything beyond total heartache.

“No one would blame you if you snuck out,” Dakota lowered his voice, ducked his head close to your ear, and that snapped you out of your stupor.

“And leave my legion?” You glared sharply at him, glad for an excuse to funnel out some of your anger, though you felt a little bad that Dakota had been your punching bag the last six months. Really, you owed him. “I don’t think so. I’m fine. Just… shocked. I’m good.”

Dakota winced. Usually, you were ace at lying.

Who tied Octavian’s shoelaces together?

Not me, you’d dutifully shake your head.

Who broke curfew and snuck into the city to retrieve little Julia’s stuffed teddy from Octavian’s sacrifice pile?

I’d never, you’d claim, aghast.

Who’s head over fucking heels, dizzyingly in love with Jason Grace?

Not my type, you’d hold a hand over your heart, scouts honor.

But a simple I’m fine?

Even Frank Zhang couldn’t pretend to not know you were lying through your clenched teeth, and he pretended like he had never found you sobbing outside bunkhouse after curfew one night, a few days following his arrival at camp.

How had Jason forgotten you? It didn’t feel real, but everything felt like too much.

Maybe Dakota had a point. Maybe you needed to get out.

"Come," Reyna ordered, breaking the silent tension that had been building as Greeks and Romans alike stopped to gawk at your conversation with Dakota. "Let's eat."

You picked your helmet up out of the dirt, a dutiful little soldier with lungs full of glass shards.

You were supposed to be strong.

You were supposed to be strong, but you were just a kid.

Ten years old to be exact. Tears stung at your eyes, burned their way up your throat. You could have vomited. You might have already.

You're a thief and a monster, the other kids at school had claimed, words like bullets as they lobbed pencils and crumbled paper and anything they could get away with at you.

A thief, you would admit to being. You couldn't help it, fingers moving almost of their own accord, always finding the easiest target, the shiniest reward. It didn't matter that you always returned everything you took. No one wanted to be friends with the freak that managed to lift the teacher's wedding band off her finger in kindergarten.

A thief, you were.

But a monster? Monsters were the creatures that clawed at your window at night. Monsters were the odd shapes in the grass your mother never managed to see. You weren't a monster. You were ten.

"Hey, we're not supposed to be back here."

The voice of another child cut through your misery, and you sharpened your glare to pin the intruder to his spot. You recognized him, because he was the type of guy that had called you names in school. Tall—for a kid—and built like an athlete. Tan skin, blond hair, blue eyes.

You were pretty sure his name was Jake Greene, or something.

"You're back here," You reasoned, waving a hand littered with scabbed knuckles around for emphasis. Here being the stretch of unwatched grass behind the Mess Hall, a little place you had discovered on your second day and realized it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry.

Now, a week in, you discovered that it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry, but Jake Greene.

He looked around uncomfortably, like he was just then realizing that he, too, was breaking the rules. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, as if checking for witnesses, before trodding through the plush grass to sit beside you, legs stretched out in front of him while yours were pulled tight to your chest.

You checked the ground quickly, relieved to find you hadn't actually vomited.

"I'm Jason. Jason Grace." He introduced himself, as if your eyes weren't bloodshot and face blotchy and cheeks wet with tears.

Not Jake. Noted. Now that you thought about it, you didn't think there was a Jake at Camp Jupiter. Not one that you had met, yet, at least.

You nodded, hoping Jason, Jason Grace would get the hint that you wanted absolutely no fucking part of whatever nice guy routine he was putting on. Even if he was one of the few to approach you since you had arrived, bloody and starved, at the camp's borders, Lupa and her pack deciding you worthy.

This one is feisty, you could have sworn the alpha wolf had snarled a grin at the older centurion who found you. Young, but strong willed.

You didn't feel strong willed. You felt like you missed your own home.

You had to remind yourself that your own home hadn't wanted you and your new home was a Roman military camp.

"Your father is Mercury, right?" Jason tried again, this time earning a sharp glare.

It was easier to be angry than it was to be vulnerable, wasn't it? Wasn't that why you always bit the hand that fed you, got sent to the literal fucking wolves at ten years old?

Jason Grace didn't flinch at your hatred. Hatred? That wasn't the right word. You didn't hate anything or anyone but the schools and teachers that had convinced your mother that you were too difficult to deal with, that you needed to be sent away.

Can I come back for Christmas, Mom?, you had naively asked, not understanding why your mother was crying as you rolled to a stop outside a crumbling, wooden house in Sonoma.

A week later, you wondered if your mother was still crying. Or maybe she was enjoying the peace of no longer getting calls from schools or policemen about you.

You wished you could wipe your hands clean of yourself, like Mom had. Maybe you would understand why everyone in your life always seemed happier after they had gotten rid of you.

"It's not so bad here, I promise," He tried, again, and part of you had to congratulate him for not giving up. You would have. "I cried, a lot, when I first got here."

"You?" The exclamation fell past your lips before you could help it, and Jason's own twisted into a victorious grin. He had a scar, on the side of his lips, shining pearly white in the sun, set against his skin.

"Me," He confirmed. Sure, you had just met the guy, had been calling him the wrong name for a week, but he didn't seem like the type to cry. "I did come here when I was two, though."

You didn't know whether to gasp or swat his arm in retaliation, so you did both, finally uncurling from the ball of fear and hatred you had woven yourself into.

"You're really good in training," Jason complimented, taking your childlike assault in stride. You nodded, picking a few blades of grass out of the ground, right at the roots.

"I used to fight in school," You offered, if it was that simple. But punching your bullies was a whole lot different than locking sword and shield.

In the bunkhouse, the boy in the bed across from you was a son of Ceres, the goddess of the harvest. Your first night, in an effort to make you stop crying, rambled on and on about plants. How to properly care for different crops, what too little sunlight did to a flower, and how a tree could be dug up from the ground, roots and all, and planted somewhere else to live a perfectly normal, perfectly long life.

You stared at the blade of grass in your hand, feeling very much like the plant, your roots floating in the middle of nowhere by the hand of some unseen, unforgiving god.

But maybe you could plant your roots, too.

"If I don't make it here," You whispered, little kid voice hoarse. "Then that's it for me. I don't have anywhere else. I'll have to live on the streets. I've done it, once. Made it a whole week before Mom found me."

Part of you regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. What had Lupa shown you about weakness? It got you killed. It got you punished.

But Jason didn't sneer. He pursed his lips in a thin line, scar shining even brighter with the movement.

"I don't know my mom," He confessed, suddenly just as weak as you. Frowning, you tried to figure out why he was saying it. Big, strong—at least to ten year old you—Jason Grace should not have been any kind of weak.

Nodding, you didn’t have anything to say. But you felt the connection build, just two weak children, forgotten by their mothers.

“But I know you,” Jason offered, the admission warming something in your chest involuntarily. And you knew in that moment that maybe you were scared, but you weren’t alone.

At least Jason Grace knew you.

You grinned, then. A far cry from the glares and snarls everyone else you had come across had received. The ones that even he had been victim to, at the start of the conversation.

"Well, Jason Grace," You stuck out your hand, and he clasped your forearm like a good little Roman. "You're never getting rid of me, now."

The smile he gave you in return was a little lopsided, and when he dropped your arm and glanced over his shoulder, you remembered that your not-so secret hiding spot was off limits.

"Just don’t tell anyone we were back here, please.”

If you had thought your mood was bitter before the trireme arrived, it was nothing compared to the sulking, sorrowful mess you currently were.

For starters, you had somehow been shoved and duped into the seat beside Octavian and across from Jason. You didn't really want to see either of them, at all, at the moment.

Secondly, and you may have been reading far too much into things, but the second girl the Greeks arrived with, Piper, was sitting entirely too close to Jason. You wished that you had a good enough reason to not like her, but with your rotten luck, Piper McLean had been an absolute sweetheart despite your best efforts to act like a dickhead.

And it wasn't like Jason had ever actually been yours, ever.

Third. The plate the sprites dropped in front of you was filled with all of Jason's favorite foods. You weren't sure if it was your will or the sprites that made it happen, but you felt like tossing it all away.

Maybe you would dump it in Octavian's lap. It might make you feel better. It certainly was worth a try.

Finally, there was one aching thought echoing inside your mind relentlessly. The last conversation you ever had with your Jason had been an argument. You had walked away from him, a little petulant, entirely unnecessarily. And you had lost your soldier boy.

Because the Jason seated across from you at the Dining Hall in New Rome was not the same one that wrote out your to-do lists for you on neatly lined paper, offering to tag along with you while you checked them off.

He was just Jason, not yours.

And that hurt far more than you cared to admit.

“Centurion, you must be ecstatic,” Octavian crooned, his sickly smirk pinned on you. You felt a whole lot of things, but ecstatic wasn’t one of them.

“How so, Augur?” You huffed, even though you knew it only invited trouble. Across from you, Jason and Piper clearly had one ear on the conversation.

"Well, you have been inconsolable with our dear Jason Grace missing," Octavian said, as if he really cared about you. More heads started turning in your direction, and you found your fingertips inching to do something that would really get you in trouble. "You were a mess, honestly. Looking like—"

"That's enough," Jason interrupted, even though he didn't have any memories of you.

At least he was still the same horribly perfect sweetheart he had been before he left. His months with the Greeks—all of them watching you with mixed emotions—hadn't turned him sour.

"Oh, you should have seen her, Jason!" Octavian was going now, flourishing in the attention and you hated him, hated him so much your cheeks burned as bright a red as the kool-aid trapped perpetually in Dakota's hip flask. "Crying, every night. She even has—"

"I said, enough, Octavian,"

"—has a key to your bunkroom!" The augur finished, and if you had been able to think of anything beyond your embarrassment or frustration or fear that you were totally, irrevocably erased from Jason's mind, you would have remembered Octavian's threat, earlier, before the trireme arrived. He was just exacting his twisted form of justice.

Embarrass me in front of the Senate, and I will destroy you in front of Jason Grace, you could practically hear him sneer.

"Wait," The Greek named Leo narrowed his eyes at Jason before darting them to you, a grin on his lips that screamed trouble. "Did you two use to date?"

"I don't know," Was Jason's clipped, short reply, his cheeks dusting pink as he fixed his attention on your face. He studied you like he didn't understand you, which was ridiculous, because sometimes it felt like you and Jason shared a heart.

"No," You grunted, shoving your plate forwards, glare fixed on the stupid cherry tomatoes rolling atop the porcelain that you despised and Jason adored.

"We never could figure out if that was the truth," Octavian slanted a look to you, smirking. "But I guess we don't have to worry about that now, do we Centurion? Since he has no memory of you, of—"

Faster than what would have been possible, if your father had been anyone different, you lifted the knife set beside your plate and slammed the tip into the wooden table, between two of his fingers. He screamed, and the plates on the table rattled.

Weapons were forbidden inside the Pomerian Line, but dinner knives were only utensils.

The whole table fell silent. And maybe the whole Dining Hall, had, beyond Octavian's spluttering and cursing and calling for your trial before the Senate for attacking an Augur.

And maybe if Percy wasn't glaring at Octavian, and Reyna hadn't been the one to slip you Jason's key, he might have had a case against you.

"Praetors," Standing, you bowed your head to Reyna and Percy, and though every muscle in your body screamed to pay the same respects to Jason, you couldn’t get yourself together enough to meet his eye. How could he not know you? "I request to be dismissed."

"I will come find you later." Reyna nodded, intelligent eyes shimmering with understanding, and you never realized just how much it hurt to be pitied by her. "We’ve got much to discuss."

"Yeah. Uh, lots." Percy nodded, looking between you and Reyna like he couldn’t quite figure out what he was missing. But then his attention snagged on Jason, seated across the table, and you saw it all—the understanding, the pity, the sorrow—pass over his face. "Wait—"

Annabeth jammed her elbow into his side, and you met her eye briefly. She might have been the only one who understood even a fraction of what you were going through.

But at least Percy remembered her, and he had loved her freely, before.

“Later.” You confirmed through clenched teeth, turning swiftly to try and find a spot far enough from Jason Grace so that his lack of memories didn’t hurt.

You weren’t sure such a spot existed.

Your feet carried you deeper into the city, walking past store after store. You couldn't stomach going into much of them, every bakery and café and bookstore holding some memory of Jason. Far more memories than he held, of you.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before you heard the first explosion.

And Roman training kicked in, instantly, as you raced towards the forum, where the Greek trireme was firing on your city, the one you had only just saved from and army led by a giant.

Fall in! You shouted, organizing legionnaires, your mind and your instincts at war. And you knew Greeks and Romans were at war, too. Protect the city!

You barely were able to glimpse the dark haired boy, Leo, manning the ballistae attached to the side of the ship before it took off, rocketing through the skies, even with Roman firepower slamming into the hull.

And as the trireme disappeared into the distance, fear tore through you.

Because you knew Jason. You knew he was on that ship, with his new friends. You knew he was sailing off with them, bound to a quest that meant saving the world, if what they said was to be trusted.

And you knew what came next.

Jason Grace, loyal to the end.

You were going to have to kill him.

a/n: did not mean to give reader such a tragic backstory but I kinda love it... im so curious to know what ur fav part is, bc I cannot decide. ty for reading this much and plz let me know what you think!

tag, you're it: @aezuria @tayswiftlovebot @bonnie-tz @folklorefantasies14 @sunshine-of-ur-life @irwinchester@bellamysnatblida @saph-nic @auroraofthesun1 @helloimamistake

#jason grace #jason grace fanfic #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you #jason grace x reader #heroes of olympus #pjo #rays of sun #Jason Grace fanfiction #Jason Grace reader insert

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astariontopofme · 9 months

Text

𝐀 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐫𝐲 𝐎𝐧 🤍 (Astarion x F!MC)

Summary: Astarion is on a personal journey of self improvement to support his relationship. A little fluffy / hurt/comfort drabble.

Word Count: 1.8k

—————

By any sense of the word, Astarion was not known to be a nurturing man.

He wasn’t quite as in touch with other people's feelings in the way that Wyll or Halsin could be. If anything, he was rather cold in the sense of comforting another. Comfort was something he was deprived of in his two hundred years as a slave to Cazador, so what he’d never received he felt could not give out.

Which left him in a tricky predicament tonight.

Unlike most nights, she did not wish to indulge him in the details of her brutal adventure as soon as she returned. His strong little love had arrived shivering, distant and doused in dozens of conflicting scents of cold blood. All he could do was gawp at her for a moment, unsure of whether or not he should do something. It wasn’t uncommon for members of their party to return in such a state of gore and emitting a strong stench of death, but to return looking so mentally sore and empty was something he was yet to deal with.

Entirely unsure as to why, he wanted nothing more than to be the comfort she so clearly needed after such a day. He wanted to see her smile, it was the only thing that brightened up his night at camp. Smiling was obviously not in her repertoire of emotions that evening.

As much as he wanted to give in to this new desire to nurture her, he didn’t dare get close until she had washed away the temptation staining her skin. No matter what, he had to resist the urge to aid in the cleaning of such an abundance of thickly spread blood. Visually, she was in a bad way, and he wouldn’t be able to help her while resisting the temptation to help himself to the scarlet feast she was drowning in.

All he could do was sit outside his tent, watching as Halsin helped to wash away the liquid badge of accomplished combat whilst healing her own open wounds. He studied the gentle touch of the well-built Druid, his large and rough hands so carefully patching her up as he tried to coax her out of her hypnotic-like state. Although the kind words from Halsin didn’t seem to be soothing her, Astarion made a note of the words of encouragement and sickly sweet pet names the healer used in an effort to make her feel safe.

Once she was patched up and in a much cleaner set of comfortable clothing, Halsin had offered her a shoulder to lean on and ear to listen to her troubles, but she quietly declined. Before she made her way to the lake, she thanked him for his help as she stood from her makeshift seat, not stopping when he suggested that she return to him if needed.

Astarion suddenly felt uneasy about her leaving such comfort to go and sit alone. Sure, she was his partner, but even he couldn’t deny that Halsin could give her emotional support and likely the warmest hug of her life to at least give her the slightest sense of security.

It often made Astarion wonder what it was she actually saw in him. There was no doubt that the two of them were pretty nifty in battle, and she knew as well as he did that they had each other's backs. They were fearlessly protective of each other, each willing to do anything to shield the other from harm.

But was that all their relationship could be defined as?

He wanted more for her, and admittedly for himself as well, but he was the only thing in the way of their progression. She was ready, willing and able to begin that chapter in their relationship, but he couldn’t let it be one sided. The cuddly and intimate side of things was still a learning curve for him as he progressively taught himself what he was and was not comfortable with and where his boundaries lie. He’d never had the luxury of boundaries before now, so her encouragement of him slowly discovering his own was greatly appreciated.

For that very reason, he had no qualms with her seeking comfort from other members of their party. If anything, it helped him learn the importance of patience and understanding and taught him how to express his own feelings. Although it wasn’t something he had yet expressed to the others, he was grateful for their unconditional support of her where he couldn’t yet give it.

Many nights he sat in his tent, building himself up to take that first step towards being the partner he wanted to be to her, only for his courage to come crumbling down as he thought more and more about whether or not he truly was ready for it. So as he watched her sitting by the lake, her arms wrapped around her own waist and shoulders slightly shaking from her torment, he felt something new.

Almost like a feeling of connection, he was suddenly completely drawn to her. He was standing from his uncomfortable perch on the bumpy terrain below him before he could even process any thought for what he was doing. She needed him, and this was both the first time he had recognised it and the first time he was acting on it. He moved toward her quickly, actually sensing her level of distress before he even knew what was truly eating away at her.

Unlike any other night at camp, he wanted to hear every detail of her troubles; tears and all. He wanted her to confide in him the way he had in her so many times before. He wanted her to lean on him for support because he wanted her to feel better.

Most importantly, he wanted to be her main source of comfort.

So as he approached his sniffling partner and silently sat himself behind her, he felt the first almighty crack in his hefty barrier. Fighting off the sudden quickening of his breath took mere milliseconds, a record by all accounts. That defensive stance of panic that repeatedly presented itself at even the slightest thought of being part of someone else’s emotional support system was overstaying its welcome, and he was ready to rid himself of it.

His hands gently pried her arms away from the tight hold they had on her waist, her grip so strong that it seemed she was trying to hold herself together before she fell apart in front of him. He locked his own arms in their place around her middle, pulling her back into his chest with a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered suddenly, his mouth taking on a mind of its own.

Never before had he said such a sweet sentence with zero malice or ill intent. Every little doubt in his mind slithered away as her tense form shook pathetically in his hold. She was holding something in, a traumatic detail from her adventures that she may not want to relive.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The more he rubbed little circles into her waist with the tips of his fingers, the more she sank deeper into him. Her raised shoulders began to relax as each muscle softened within her, the unsettling tension slowly leaving her. He could feel himself doing something right, something that made him feel worthy of her love and time. Not even sex could make him feel as good as he did in this moment.

Astarion waited patiently for a response as she seemed to be clawing through her thoughts for an answer. His cold lips pressed a gentle kiss into her hair, the faint smell of blood still presenting itself upon her person. The smell did not deter him from his focus on her state as she began to break down into pitiful sobs, each heartbreaking tremor shaking them both as he completely enveloped her into him.

“Shhh,” he whispered softly. “Shh shh shh…it’s okay.”

She shook her head quickly, inhaling a shaken breath in an attempt to calm herself enough to speak. “I-I couldn’t…s-save-”

She needn’t speak any further, unable to anyway as she buried her face in her hands to muffle her sobs. She couldn’t save somebody, something that had been a reoccurring torment for her whenever she faced what she deemed as the highest form of failure. If Astarion was being wholeheartedly honest, he didn’t entirely understand her strong feelings for helpless people that had zero relation to her.

She couldn’t save everyone.

He didn’t want to lose her in her personal mission to be everyone’s saviour, but he tactically held his tongue about his opinions. Conflicting opinions was, as Gale would put it, a normal part of a relationship, but Astarion knew he could be rather cut throat in his approach to such topics. He didn’t want her to think him heartless, because he really was trying to at least see things from her point of view first. And even if he couldn’t see why she was so attached to the helpless and needy, he wanted to convey that in a way that wouldn’t damage their relationship.

He still had a lot to learn, but truth be told, he was rather enjoying this personal journey to becoming his own person. A shocking turn of events to say the least. Something about this particular adventure made him feel like he was doing something right for a change. He was finally finding himself. Not the slave that Cazador created, but a man with his own morals and feelings.

His lips pressed many more little kisses wherever he could plant them, shushing her softly to alleviate the harsh sobs wracking her body. The back of her head eventually found its way into the crook of his neck, her soft hairs tickling at his puncture scars. He swayed them both slowly, resting his cheek upon her head to embrace her as much as he could.

She wasn’t in the right mind to tell him the story of her tragic day, so as much as he currently didn’t want to blindly promise her that she’d be presented with this side of him tomorrow, he wanted her to know that she no longer needed to seek out comfort from anyone but him. He wanted to hear about her upset, whether that was tomorrow or a week from now. All he knew was that tonight was not the night.

Tonight, she just needed a shoulder to cry on.

_____

A/N: Hope you enjoyed my first little fic/drabble for BG3! FYI, I do accept requests! If you haven’t followed me from my HL blog, then please know that although I’m fully confident in my English, it is not my first language 🤍

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darklydeliciousdesires · 3 months

Text

Animal - A Luca Changretta/Reader One Shot Story.

It's here, besties! :D Hope you like it!

Words - 2,380

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

“I want you, Luca. I want you in every single way a woman can enjoy a man. I want your mouth all over me, your hands to touch every last inch of my flesh, to paint your pleasure across me like I’m a canvas, until every colour in the palette runs into the next. I want you to fuck me until I’ve no voice left, until I’m trembling and gasping for breath, until I’m begging you to stop, but pleading with you to keep going all at once.

I want you to be rough with me, wrap my hair around your fist, fuck me brutally from behind until I gush all over your beautiful, perfect big cock. I want you to turn me over and fucking choke me on it, fuck my mouth until I gag and spit on it, making it wetter before you tell me that I’m you’re dirty little puttana and you love me for it. You know I’ll swallow every goddamned drop when you finally come for me, too.

In short, my darling, I want the kind of sex that would make half the barbarity in the Old Testament look tame. Hurry, lover. I miss you.”

The note fluttered from his grasp, a wide-eyed and very, very hard Luca lost to a sexual daze, the near ever-present toothpick in his mouth dangling from his lower lip. “Is this broad for fuckin’ real?” he whispered, wondering how in the fuck he was even meant to stand up after reading that, let alone put one foot in front of the other and then drive a car without crashing it.

Not only had you told him how heavily your want was stirred for him, you’d told him in the dirtiest, yet most poetic way he’d ever had a message conveyed to him. He isn’t sure he wouldn’t have suffered a heart attack, had you actually whispered those words in person.

He can, however, muster the strength to rise and, with trousers entirely too tight due to the colossal erection your words have left him with, walk somewhat awkwardly to the telephone.

“Is that my insatiable Italian?

“You’d be real embarrassed if it was your mother calling you right now, huh?” he drawls, rolling his toothpick over his lower lip with this tongue.

“But it isn’t, so I’m safe,” you chuckle, “So, how can I help you? I take it you found my reading material?”

“I did,” he confirms, “and how you can help me is getting over here right fuckin’ now. I’ll send a driver.” He hangs up before you can confirm your presence, knowing that just by the sultry tone of his voice, he’s tightly wound, and a tightly wound Luca is never worth missing out on.

After all, watching him unravel is half the fun of doing the tight winding in the first place.

Upon your arrival, you find him reclined on the sofa, long, lean legs spread, a hand rested to his thigh, index finger pointing very deliberately at the giver of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever received.

“You called?”

“And you wrote, didn’t you?” he smirks, looking you up and down. Oh, you’re in trouble now, the absinthe green glint of his eyes conveying a weight that should topple your nerves, yet it only serves to electrify. “Yeah, doll. I’m only surprised the paper didn’t fuckin’ catch fire.”

Lifting your chin, your grin is all self-satisfied accomplishment, knowing that you've stirred the beast in him. It only ever prowls just below the surface, though, awakened at a moment's notice. “So, now I’m here?”

He rises from the sofa, sauntering to you while reaching into his pocket, the press of his thumb releasing the long, sharp blade, the flick knife brandished. “Now the fun begins, baby.” Reaching you, his hand grasps your jaw, fingertips indenting your flesh, the precursor to a slow, sumptuous glide over your anticipation-riddled skin. Clutching your dress, he brings the knife up, slicing into the fabric, his hands grasping to literally tear it open.

The sound runs sharp beneath your skin, sends flint strikes through your blood, the cold of the blade dragged into your cleavage before he cuts your bra from you, your undies next on the path of destruction. Stepping from your shoes, the floorboards beneath your feet feel cool in contrast to the inferno of his stare, Luca casting the knife aside, his long arms snaking around you as he puckers a searing kiss to your sternum, descending slowly as he drops down to kneel before you.

“La mia dea,” he whispers, pressing a kiss upon your pubic mound, hands smoothing down deftly over every rise and fall of your body. “You should know you’re the only woman in the world I’d gladly fall to my knees for.” Lifting your thigh to rest over his shoulder, he runs his tongue up it in a in a languid glide, teeth closing in a sharp bite. “But that don’t mean I’ll fuckin’ go easy on you, though.”

You’d expect nothing less.

Letting the heat of his breath flutter over your sex, he teases you with the promise, tongue touching his top lip momentarily as he leaves you teetering on anticipation. He strikes like a viper, mouth wrapping around your slit and sucking with a hungry grunt, knocking the breath from your lungs. His hands glide down your back, resting on your bum, squeezing the rounded orbs in his big hands as the flat of his tongue seeks the pearl of your clit, beginning to work in a side-to-side beat.

The fever he evokes rises like a summer storm, a swirling tempest of wet dragging against you, his piercing, green stare defying you to look away as your mouth drops open, a shrill cry shattering the silence of the room. Your hands move, one reaching to grip his arm, the other sliding into the silken raven of his hair, grasping, tugging hard as your hips begin to weave against the relentless beat of a very hot, very eager tongue.

He has you clasped hard, but balanced upon one leg you feel precarious already, teetering, the pleasure beginning to throb strongly through your core, a grunting rumble from your lover causing a fierce prickle to jab against your insides. “Yeah, that’s what I wanted, getting to feel this pretty little cunt drip all over my tongue.”

His hands continue to knead at you as his tongue drags down, pushing against your streaming little hole, the hook of his nose rubbing over your clit as he tongue fucks you with aplomb. A hail of pain meets your skin deliciously when he releases his grasp, hitting the round of your bum with a spank so hard, your eyes water. Another and he has you mewling, a third and you’re crying out in rapture, the honey of your cunt flooding his mouth, Luca licking your slow and firm back to your clit, wrapping the throbbing little bud in a hard, unrelenting suck.

Your stance falters, and his hands clench at you, arms tensing as he keeps you upright. He might be skinny and lithe, but lord, he’s deceptively strong. He pulls you against the ferocity of his mouth further, tongue working you harder, meeting your gaze with a wink that sets the sparks in your belly to burn.

The heat of his mouth suffuses through to your very marrow, builds rapidly like a supernova, the black holes of his inked pupils devouring the lush green as he watches you falling apart for him, being remade around the rapid, carnal beat of his tongue. The sensation of it sends tiny arrows darting through you, a mist of heat radiating your spine as you pant, your clutch within his hair and upon his arm tightening as you rock against each lick.

“Fuck, Luca!” The words are torn jagged from your throat, chest heaving as it hits you in ceaseless waves. He groans as you trickle into his mouth, drinking the undoing from you as you cry out, every colour illuminating, throwing your head back and submitting to the never-ending inferno darting over your nerves.

He releases your leg, letting your foot return to the floor, but holds you tight in his grasp, tongue gentling before kissing his way back up your shuddering body as he rises, the taste of your orgasm on his lips making your insides quake. You reach for his waistcoat, nimble fingers hurried in your quest for his nakedness, tie and shirt following, your diligence having him bare before you speedily.

He presses a kiss to your neck, looking down at you with a mix of triumph and amusement. “Can you walk?”

“Probably not,” you confess, watching his eyebrow flutter.

“Fine,” he rumbles, making a circular motion with his long, outstretched forefinger. “Turn around and bend over.” You do as you’re instructed, anticipation ghosting your skin as you feel the heat of him behind you, Luca taking his cock and dragging it in tease over your slippery folds.

Sliding the head down to stroke over your clit, the lust tumbles through him wildly at watching your little hole spasm, pushing into you just enough to widen you, pulling out again and returning his cock to push against your bud.

He did say he wouldn’t go easy on you.

“Please, Luca,” you gasp, feeling him inch in again, no mercy given, leaving you empty once more. His hand weaves into your hair, an olive skinned, tattooed, gold adorned grasp clenching tight, pulling you flush against his chest.

“You said that you wanted me to paint my pleasure across you like you’re a canvas, but baby doll, you know better than anyone I don’t paint within the lines.” His free hand slides up your body, grasping your breast, rolling your nipple in a tight crush between his thumb and forefinger. “Beg me.”

“But...”

“Ah, ah, cara mia,” he reprimands, yanking your hair so hard, the pain sears across your scalp. “Beg.”

“Please, Luca.” Swallowing hard, your nerves buzz at the sensation of his cock sliding back and forth over your clit, keening to feel it fill your gaping hole. “Please fuck me. Please feed me every inch of that gorgeous, big cock. I need it. I need you. Please. I’m begging you.”

He pushes forth once more, a few more inches stretching you out, his cock twitching against your walls before he leaves you bereft once more. “Beg again.”

“Luca, I...”

His hand meets your bum in a ferociously hard slap. “I said beg. Again.”

Fire roars over the frost spiking at every nerve ending in your body, swallowing hard, your teeth crushing a bite upon your lower lip. “I’m begging for your cock, Luca. Please fuck me.”

Again, he sinks back in, but this time you are blessed with every last thick, delicious inch, your walls stroked by hot, veiny hardness, the grasp within your hair released. His hands come to rest upon your hips, pulling back from you, until only the head of him remains. He lets you clench upon him, teasing you wickedly, forcing a primal groan when he fills you again with a sharp thrust.

You expect him to continue in torture, but instead he gives you deliciously teasing alternation, pounding your heat rapidly one minute to slow right down the next. The thick head of his cock drags your wet plush slowly, so very, very slowly, sparks crackling, your heart thundering, his groans making your insides pulse with desire.

It’s so good and he’s so thick and hot within you that you practically sob with pleasure, slow, slow, quick, quicker, slow, agonisingly slow, so quick you feel he’s going to go through you and then back to slow again, until he has you shivering violently before him. He roots himself deep into you, pausing, feeling you flex on him with greed, spanking your already stinging backside before slowly dragging back again, the friction delicious.

He’s iron hard within your molten core, his tease giving way to speed and piledriving your slick with lethal intent, ferociously aroused. Your skin smacks together, his grunts peppering the air, drowning out the soft little cries you emit in response to this, a full-on attack to your insides. You feel as if your legs are about to give way, the timing perfect when he slips out, turning your body to throw you over his shoulder with ease, matching you to the bedroom.

You’re tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll, Luca grasping your ankles and hauling you across the mattress, plunging back into you while holding your legs high and wide, giving you not a single drop of mercy from the carnal, animalistic onslaught he delivers.

Each speedily delivered thrust has you sparking, your walls clenching around the thick heat driving into you rapaciously, his cock pumping your release into you strongly, the waves beautiful as his lightning cracks your sky, your hands gripping the bedclothes beneath. He lets you cool down, slowing within you, enjoying the way your slick muscles feel as they flutter around him.

It takes no time at all for the pace to be set to feral once more, holding your legs against his chest as he licks a circle at your ankle, marking the area he then brands with his teeth, virtually growling with incandescent arousal. His stare is broken by his eyes closing tightly, a string of swears gritted, pulling from your soaking cunt, hauling your shattered body to the edge of the bed.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth.” You do, his cock sliding between your lips, hand fisting tight into your hair and holding the back of your head firmly, hips beginning to pump against your face. “Yeah, that’s it, my dirty little puttana. Fuck, I love you.”

He fucks your mouth like he doesn’t, hard, accerbic with you, making you practically choke on his cock until with a deep, guttural groan, he’s spilling into your throat, hot white swallowed down, just as you told him you would.

“Mmmm,” you purr, after releasing his twitching cock, licking your way up to his neck, the black cross the focal point of your teeth. “If that’s what I get, I’m going to have to write to you more often.”

#luca changretta #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x reader #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders smut #luca changretta x you #luca changretta fanfic #luca changretta fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #adrien brody

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wannaeatramyeon · 6 months

Text

Jake Kim x Reader: Mother in Law

Requested. G/N. Meeting Minseon for the first time.

"You want to bring someone over for dinner?" Curiosity colours Minseon’s question.

Jake imagines his mom on the other end of the phone. Hand stilling, cigarette halfway to her lips. One eyebrow quirked at the unusual request.

She asks for the name of the guest and Jake tells her.

"And is this Y/N a particular someone?"

"They're... someone to me," Jake doesn't hide his grin, "I'm serious about them and I want to introduce them to you."

About time, Minseon thinks. Rumours of her son's dating life has reached her ears months ago

"Very well. See you Saturday."

Minseon's eyes flicker down to your's and Jake's joined hands and back up again, giving you both a polite, cordial smile.

Suddenly, you feel like the contact is inappropriate. Too intimate. Jake must agree, because between the two of you, you don't know whose palm is sweatier.

You untangle your fingers, and bow. Ninety degrees, parallel to the ground. Showing Minseon the respect her station and status deserves.

Returning upright, you take the bouquet from Jake and hold it out to his mom. Jake had said it was unnecessary, but how could he expect you to meet her for the first time empty handed?

You clear your throat, "Thank you for having me over. It's lovely to meet you, Mom!" and immediately wish you never said anything at all.

Mom?!

You take one look at her shocked expression and feel your cheeks bloom. Jake tries to mask his chuckle as a cough and receives a sharp elbow in the side.

"Ow!"

Minseon blinks in surprise at your familiarity. Hmm, she knew her son can be lively, so it's only fitting that he found someone similar.

"Mom is fine," she says, "Thank you. These flowers are beautiful." She smiles, and you're taken aback by how much Jake resembles her.

You sit through a reasonably comfortable dinner.

Minseon now knows all about your family history.

Where your parents grew up, what they do, what you want to do, your grade point average. How you do fine with Math but struggle with grammar and tenses. The dog you had as a child, the fish you had as a young teen, the scar on your hand from your grandparent's cat.

Something about her, despite first impressions, welcomes you. Makes it feel like you're never talking too much, taking up too much time.

Then when you apologise for rambling, she tells you not to be ridiculous.

But the conversation shifts.

Minseon asks if you know about the Kim family history, what Gapryong Kim does, did. What Jake Kim actually does. You say yes but she gives you a rather grizzly and brutal history lesson anyway.

When she excuses herself, you release a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Mom is..." Jake scratches the back of his head, face contrite and apologetic. "Just making sure you know what you're getting yourself into. Sorry. That was intense."

"Is she always like this?"

"Sort of." Jake picks up his chopsticks and picks at the leftover beef ribs. Munching thoughtfully, he adds, "I thought she might be better with company. I've never actually brought anyone over before."

"Your dad had some... undesirable traits in a partner." Years old wounds flare up after dinner. Over coffee and delicate pieces of cut fruit. Bitterness and anger flashes across Minseon's face before she regains her composure and takes a careful sip.

"If Jake ever gives you any trouble, you let me know."

"Mom..."

Jake rolls his eyes; is about to say that he is nothing like his dad, at least not in that regard.

But then he sees her place her hand over yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. The same protective, maternal look in her eyes that he is so familiar with, and he can't bring himself to say anything to ruin this sweet moment.

Just give him time, and he'll show his mom, and you, how different from his dad he is.

Jake rests his hand on your knee. Big and warm. Holding hopeful futures and kept promises.

#back on requests! maybe just briefly...#lookism #lookism manhwa #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #jake kim x reader #jake kim #lookism fic #lookism fanfic #wannaeatramyeon

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flowerandblood · 4 months

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (12)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, fingering, smut, angst, violence, swearing, mention of a rather bloody nuptials ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She couldn't kill him. It crossed her mind then, when he put his own dagger in her hand, when he said she had to choose what would happen, when she lifted his blade and stopped at the line of his neck.

She felt her love and regret weave into one in her mind.

She felt pain at the thought that trying to take her own life had come easily to her, and now that she could free herself from him, her heart screamed with despair.

When she finally decided what to do, she simply cut his lower lip, holding his cheeks in her hand, watching him as he closed his eyes with a loud sigh; it seemed to her that this painful act gave him pleasure, that he felt relieved, his fingertips digging into the soft skin of her face.

Their nuptials were bloody, her wounds stinging and burning, as if someone had actually touched her with fire.

The pain, however, could not drown out the pleasure that spread through her body as he lifted her, pressing her body against the cold stone wall, and spread her wide open on his cock throbbing with longing, rooting into her with greedy, desperate thrusts of his hips.

All she could do was clench her hands on his body, moaning loudly along with him, and take what he was giving her, again and again struggling to fit it inside her, feeling him stretch her walls to the limit, the fat head of his cock rubbing her with each of his movements against a spot that made her feel like everything around her was spinning, the tension and tickling in her lower abdomen unbearable, her nipples hard and sticking out with desire.

It seemed to her that she had mumbled his name before they both made almost animalistic, pathetic sounds of relief and pleasure when they came at last – she squealed loudly when he fell to his knees, as if, like her, he had lost control of his body.

She sighed quietly and leaned her head back, resting it against the wall, feeling her muscles clench against his half–hard erection, his manhood twitching inside her, spilling the remnants of his warm seed.

"− I know − forgive me −" He muttered, as if trying to explain to her that his brutality did not come from his anger or wish to punish her, but from his desire and the tension that had been growing inside him for so many days. She swallowed quietly as his slit hand gently touched her cheek and lifted her face to look at him.

They lasted for a moment in a tight embrace, listening to each other's loud, shuddering breaths – it seemed to her that many minutes passed before she felt him slowly slide out of her.

She hissed quietly, feeling how sore her insides were because of him, their mingled liquids running down her buttocks.

She wasn't sure what she saw in his gaze, calm and tired.

He said no more, just tied his breeches, fastened the buckles of his tunic and cloak, and then took her in his arms, moving with her with a slow step on the way back. She looked at him uncertainly when she saw that instead of going to her chamber he had taken her to his, the one she had always sneaked into when they were children.

The guards standing at his door were horrified to see their slit mouths and hands, to see that they were both filthy with blood, but before they could say anything, her uncle spoke to them first.

"No one is to disturb me and my wife. Open." He said coolly in an unobjectionable tone and nodded, one of the men swallowed loudly, terrified, and followed his command without a word.

The door closed behind them as he carried her to his bed, gently laying her down on his sheets; she looked up at him feeling that her whole body was quivering with terror and disbelief, her plump lips parted in an erratic breath. He stared at her without a word, undressing slowly, dropping the wet material of his coat and tunic to the ground, remaining in only his shirt and breeches.

She watched him carefully when he hummed under his breath, as if he had remembered something and moved to one of the drawers, opening it with a key, taking out a small vessel and a linen cloth. She stared at him as he tore it piece by piece into long strips, then moved back towards her, sitting down next to her on his bed.

"Let me see." He said softly, taking her cut hand in his. She hissed quietly, feeling discomfort and pain, thinking of the fact that she would now have another scar, symbolising something completely different.

Their marriage.

Her uncle opened the lid of a vessel and took a little amount of something that looked like a thick ointment onto his fingers, applying it to her wound; she sighed quietly feeling that whatever it was, it brought her immediate relief.

"I use this for injuries after my trainings." He said calmly, spreading the medicine carefully with his fingertips.

She thought with pain that he spoke to her as he had when they were still children, when he liked to explain to her what he was doing and why.

When he had finished with her hand, he scooped another layer of ointment onto his fingers, this time spreading it over her lower lip, applying it with his thumb.

"Has the pain eased?" He asked, and she nodded; she heard him hum under his breath, satisfied apparently with her answer, reaching for the strips of cloth that lay on his thighs.

She pondered in the back of her mind who the man she was looking at was.

"Will you marry her?" She asked quietly in a trembling voice, and he looked at her surprised; he stared at her intensely for a moment, his nostrils twitching in an anxious breath.

"A deer will never understand the ways of the dragon." He muttered, taking her hand in his, wrapping the material around her palm at the side of the injury. She furrowed her brow at his words, thinking with regret that this was not the answer.

"Will you marry her?" She repeated the question with impatience and pain, her jaw trembling, a quiet, ragged breath escaping her lips. She saw him clench his eye shut, as if what she was doing frustrated him, lean in and press his fingers against the base of his nose.

"Borros Baratheon is a proud man. He will not accept his daughter being a second wife. He will consider what I have done a personal insult. Enough." He said warningly, rising his hand, as if to make her understand, seeing that her mouth had opened again, that he was about to lose his temper.

"I am tired, and tomorrow we must show strength. Together. Do you understand?" He asked lowly, looking at her again; she stared at him with a fast pounding heart and thought in disbelief that he took what he did seriously.

That he had no intention of stepping back.

She nodded, lowering her gaze and swallowed loudly.

"Let me treat your wounds." She muttered quietly, playing between her fingers with the material of her nightgown, and heard him sigh heavily.

"Come, wife." He said tiredly, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, a shiver run down her spine as he called her this way, thus sealing what had happened.

Although she didn't believe it, she was his wife in the eyes of their gods.

Their wounds were visible proof of it.

She rose on his bed and moved towards him, taking the vessel of ointment from his hand, scooping it onto her fingers – it was sticky, oily and colourless, pleasant to the touch. She leaned over the inside of his palm and applied it to his cut skin – she heard him hiss quietly in discomfort as her fingertips spread it with gentle, delicate movements.

As he had done earlier, she treated his wound with a thin linen cloth, then rose and nestled against him, taking his cheek in her palm, applying the ointment with her thumb to his lower lip. They looked at each other for a moment, for the first time in many years so intimately, without secrets, without pretense.

"I recognise you." She whispered, stroking his soft skin with her fingertips, his sharply defined cheekbone and jaw; she felt him twitch, his pupil narrowed, heard him swallow loudly.

She knew he felt something at her words.

She sighed quietly as his trembling hand lifted slowly, his fingertips running over her cheek, his gaze becoming dreamy, hazy, his lips puffy with emotion, parted slightly.

"– Rhaenys –"

She felt what he said in her heart and deep between her thighs, a wonderful wave of heat surged through her, spreading through her lower abdomen. She leaned towards him, wanting to kiss him in some natural, subconscious reflex – he reached out to meet her, but they both froze, looking at each other intently, the tips of their noses touching.

"Never when we were children did you kiss me first. When we spoke to each other, you always approached me close, touched my face with your fingers and looked at my lips until I brought you relief."

"You never spoke openly about what you wanted. You never called things by name when it came to the needs of your heart. You were a perpetual mystery to me. I was fascinated by how little could be drawn out of you." She whispered into his mouth, a quiet, helpless gasp of surprise escaping his throat as her other hand touched his knee and rose slowly up to his thigh.

She said softly, running her fingers over his forehead, his temple, his cheek, his jaw, his lips, as if she wanted to remember this moment.

She felt him tremble all over at the memories that apparently filled his mind; he closed his eye for a moment, as if his feelings overwhelmed him, a ragged breath escaped from his throat.

His hand gripped the back of her neck and clamped down on it in a gesture of impatience, his breathing quickened and ragged as her fingers slid down between his legs, meeting the throbbing, hard bulge in his breeches; he sighed as if relieved when her lips brushed his, but without giving him a full kiss, merely teasing him.

She thought with a heavy pounding heart that if she could tame him, if she could drive him mad, she could slowly influence his aggression and impulsiveness, be his sweet promise of pleasure and fulfilment that he would never want to lose again.

"− do you wish your wife to take care of you? −" She whispered tenderly, increasing the pressure of her fingers on his cock throbbing under her hand – she felt his hips rock towards her, wanting to find a greater source of friction, his fingers tightened on her hair.

It seemed to her that the fact that she wasn't giving him what he needed, that her fingertips were merely trailing over his swollen length hidden beneath the material of his breeches aroused him even more, his breathing grew heavier, shaky and hitched. He froze as if in anticipation, wordlessly showing her that this was what he desired.

She thought with surprise, hearing and seeing his reaction, that she was wet.

"− yes −" He mumbled out like a helpless, vulnerable child and that was enough for her; she had no idea where she got her confidence to just climb into his lap, to press her moist lips, swollen with longing against his. They both moaned in pain, their wounds sore and burning.

They kissed each other for a moment with lazy, sticky flicks, stroking their faces and hair with their fingers, his treated hand sliding uncertainly down to her buttocks, pulling up the material of her nightdress, his fingertips clamped down on her firm, soft skin with his low murmur of satisfaction.

She felt her core begin to clench around nothing as his hips with impatient motions began to rub his swollen, throbbing erection against her wet folds – there was something liberating in the idea that although he would never admit it, he had somehow given her the initiative.

She could feel his uncertainty and tension, as if he was expecting a blow from her, that there was something more beneath it, that she wanted to take advantage of him, to lull his vigilance.

She thought she needed to regain his trust.

Make him want to confide only in her.

He stared at her wide-eyed, breathing loudly as her hands reached up to untie her nightgown, watching intently as she slid it slowly off her shoulders, exposing her bare body to him; she felt his manhood react intensely to the sight and twitch heavily between her thighs.

She grasped his hand in hers, guiding it unhurriedly down her neck, to her breast – she heard him swallow loudly, trying to calm his breathing as she tightened her fingers on his, showing him how she wanted him to touch her.

There was something intimate and arousing in the way he looked at her, as if he was surrendering, resigned to the fact that neither of them could escape each other.

She shuddered and drew in a loud breath when he leaned in, feeling her own wetness run down her thighs as his lips tentatively brushed and licked her nipple – a quiet, shy moan escaped her throat as he slid it between his lips and began to suck on it.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled out surprised at how intensely her body was responding to this gentle caress, her muscles inside her throbbed impatiently, his murmur of pleasure vibrated through her entire body.

Her hand involuntarily tightened on his hair, pressing him closer to her naked flesh, his fingers sinking into the warm skin of her buttock, rubbing against her more and more aggressively.

She drove his hand lower, between her thighs and heard his breath catch in his throat as she slid his fingers down to her warm, moist womanhood, rubbing against it with the movement of her hips.

"− here − yes, uncle, right here −" She mewled, throwing her head back with a moan of pleasure as she guided his fingertips to press sensitive, wet skin around her little bud with slow, sure strokes.

She heard his low groan of pleasure, muffled by her breast, which he caressed with his lips, teasing her nipple with his tongue, her fingers clenched in his hair, keeping him close.

"− this is how you brought yourself to fulfilment? − hm? −" He gasped, running the tip of his nose over her nipple only to close his lips on it again, his fingers digging harder into her sensitive, sticky flesh, teasing her with the increasingly loud click of her moisture.

"− y-yes −" She muttered in embarrassment as she felt the tension in her lower abdomen become unbearable – she felt like her whole body was on fire, her lips, her fingertips, her breasts seemed to tickle and pulsate, oversensitive from his gentle treatments.

"− what were you thinking about then? −" He purred, enveloping her naked skin with his hot, excited breath. She swallowed loudly, felt shivers on his skin as her fingers ran over his neck, her hips moving back and forth, responding to his slow strokes, his palm wet with her moisture.

"− about you − only about you −" She whispered with some kind of relief, closing her eyes as if she needed to tell him, to explain that she had never forgotten him, that she had never seen another man at her side.

She whimpered loudly, startled, as his two fingers slowly made their way inside her, with deep, sure pushes teasing the spot because of which she had no longer controlled what was happening to her body, stretching her fleshy, hot muscles again and again with a lewd clicks.

"− what a fucking mess you are − already soaking wet for your husband −" He exhaled, grabbing her by her hair, tilting her head back to look at her with satisfaction, digging his fingertips into her fleshy muscles, his lips parted in contentment, clearly something in her expression pleased him.

The awareness that she was reciprocating his desire.

She could only nod at his words, feeling that her cheeks were all red with emotion, her lips swollen with desire as her walls squeezed his fingers, sucking them inside – she felt his free hand slide from her hair to her mouth, parting it with his thumb.

"− open −" He commanded; she obeyed his order and moaned helplessly as his thumb slid deep inside her mouth, and in some involuntary, subconscious reflex she began to suck on it with a soft hum.

"− fuck −" He muttered, sliding it in and out between her lips with a quiet, lewd click of her saliva, digging his fingertips into the spot inside her from where she could see stars.

She felt her body was in some kind of euphoria, she had the impression her heart was going to jump out of her chest.

"− fuck − fuck, ride me −" He gasped, letting go of her, with a quick, desperate movement untying his breeches. She was breathless at his words, simultaneously terrified and aroused, looking down at him with her lips parted wide.

He will let her be on top.

He wanted to trust her, wanted to believe that she wouldn't humiliate him.

She raised herself up on her knees, resting her hands on his shoulders, panting along with him, seeing that he licked his lower lip as her warm, moist slit rubbed against the pink, glistening tip of his erection.

She thought with a rapidly beating heart that he held his manhood in his palm perpendicular to her body.

"− fuck − keep going −" He breathed out, not moving, however, at the same time trying by the tone of his voice and his posture to pretend he was in control of the situation, while on the other hand apparently wanting her to give him pleasure and decide for herself at what pace she would do it.

"− slide it inside you −" He ordered in a trembling, deep voice that sent a shiver through her.

She slowly sank down onto him, feeling the fat head of his cock open her tight, fleshy muscles, stretching her throbbing walls to the sides; they both moaned low, delighted by the sensation.

She decided that she would take it slow.

It was for this reason that she lifted herself unhurriedly on top of him, only to fall back on his cock again with a soft sigh, his hand stroking her buttock in a tender gesture, digging his fingertips into her hot skin – he closed his eye as if he wanted to focus only on what he was feeling.

She leaned towards him, running her fingers through his hair, pressing her forehead against his, focusing on how much he was filling her, feeling every twitch of him, every vein on his hard, swollen length.

Their bodies, in some natural, simple reflex, began to slam against each other with a loud slaps of her moisture, quiet, pathetic, surprised moans of pleasure escaping from their mouths, her lips teasing his, brushing against them as she sped up her pace, feeling his manhood begin to throb hard.

"− me too − oh, gods, uncle, me too −" She mewled, opening her lips wide, clenching her eyelids, her eyebrows arching in pain as her body shook with a powerful, hot fulfillment.

"− mghm − f-fuck, m close −" He muttered, clearly embarrassed that it felt so good, imagining apparently that as a man he should be able to persevere for as long as he himself desired – one of his hands slid down between her thighs, his thumb begging to tease and rub her puffy bud hidden between her folds.

She tilted her head back, her insides starting to clench against his cock, the tickling in her lower abdomen unbearable.

She heard his whimper of relief, his hips rooting his cock into her with a few more sloppy, deep thrusts before he came inside her, pressing his face against the hollow between her breasts.

"− fuck − fuck −" He gasped out, no more than a mumble coming from his mouth. She hugged him tightly with her arms, stroking his hair, kissing his forehead again and again, his half-soft manhood twitching inside her for a moment longer.

There was something so innocent about what they did, so tender, so sincere, that she felt tears under her eyelids.

"I love you." She whispered with pain and regret, combing her fingers through his snow-white, soft, long hair. "I've always loved you."

She felt him freeze whole at her words, as if he didn't believe she'd said it; his fingertips clenched painfully tight against her naked flesh, his breath raspy and shallow.

She heard him swallow loudly, knew he wanted to get something out, but couldn't.

She didn't resent him for that.

It was just the way he was.

"For years, lords slipped their daughters under my nose, and all I could think about was that they weren't similar enough to you." He whispered, and she felt a tightening in her throat, clenching her eyelids, knowing that was his answer.

He pulled away from her after a moment and leaned back to look at her face – his gaze was surprisingly calm, dreamy, tired and fulfilled. His fingertips ran gently over her hot, soft cheek in a gesture full of affection.

"I will never marry her."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar

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libraryofgage · 8 months

Text

Mermaid/Pirate Steddie Four

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Hi hi! It's been kind of a long week for me lmao but here's the next part! You'll def wanna stick around to the very end of the post; there's a very fun surprise for y'all lol

Also! If you like my writing or want to see a quicker update of this or another series, I've opened commissions (student loans are hitting a lot harder than I expected orz). If you're interested, you can find more information in this post

Even if you don't commission me, I appreciate your likes/comments/reblogs of my work! They keep me going and make me really happy ^_^

Anyway, now for the good stuff. As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

----

Sinking a ship takes skill, intense planning, and strong tails. Or, if you're Robin and seven guppies, it takes incredible, unbridled rage and a worry that could kill a Kraken. A ship that should take half the day to sink only takes the group two hours, their tails bashing against the hull and claws ripping planks to let seawater surge inside. Dustin is particularly brutal, recruiting Lucas and Mike to help him use the same net that caught him and took Steve to drag the ship beneath the waves.

Between tending to Dustin's wounds, lying to the pod about why they're going to be away for a while, and actually tracking the damned thing, it took Robin and the guppies a few days to catch up to the ship. And as they scavenge the drowned wreckage, pushing past broken doors and through holes in the hull, it becomes increasingly clear that they're too late.

"Where could he be?!" Dustin shouts, his gills flaring and bubbles rising in an enraged pattern above him. He takes a spear and jabs it into a water-bloated plank. "If he's not here, that means he escaped, right? So why hasn't he found us yet?"

"Steve could have been taken by another ship," El points out, her head poking from behind a mast. She's gained a dagger with a jewel-encrusted hilt and is currently using her nails to dig the jewels out and drop them into a seaweed bag.

Robin frowns, swimmingly anxiously in circles. She's not the one that's good with guppies. That's Steve. If she's the fun caretaker that encourages them to play Scuttlefish with sharks, Steve is the one a tail's-length behind dragging them back to the pod before they can get hurt. He's the one who knows how to keep the guppies calm and healthy. Robin is the one who keeps them energetic and chaotic.

"He was definitely here," Will says, swimming out from a cabin on the ship. He stops in front of Robin and holds his hands out, letting her see the dull, blood-stained scales sitting in his palms.

With a shaking hand, Robin takes the scales and turns them over, hoping they're somehow not Steve's. But he's her partner. Robin could recognize him by the flick of his tail alone. So, of course, she knows they're Steve's scales at a glance.

She turns, her tail creating a small current that brushes over the guppies and forces them to look at her. "If he's not on this one," she says, "then we'll just keep sinking ships until we find him."

"Let's start with the other ship," Erica says.

"The other ship?" Robin asks.

Erica nods, pointing in the direction they'd just come from. "A few leagues before we found this one, I saw another one that was sailing in the other direction. Maybe they crossed paths."

For a brief moment, Robin wonders how she missed the other ship. But then she remembers how she's been caught between her own worries and keeping the guppies from spiraling, and she gives herself a break. "Yeah," she says, nodding as she closes her fingers over the scales. The edges cut into her palms but don't draw blood. "Let's go track down that ship. But don't keep something like that from me next time."

The guppies all nod in agreement, and Robin looks at the wreckage around them. She's half-tempted to let the guppies loot the rest of the ship, but she knows they're all aching to find Steve already. So, Robin herds them away from the sunken ship in the direction Erica pointed and hopes Steve can hold on for just a little longer.

----

Excerpt from "The Lovelorn Fool's Guide to Merfolk Courtship"

Song Types

There are several song types that merfolk are likely to use in their lifetime. While the human ear cannot distinguish the intricacies of the songs, it can tell the major categories apart.

As newly-born guppies, they know only how to vocalize wordless sounds based on their needs. These sounds are referred to as Guppy Songs. These songs are generally lacking in any real melody or rhythm. They are rough and unskilled, but many caretakers consider them precious.

Pod songs are shared tunes and melodies among the pod to communicate big news. When hearing a pod song from a lone merperson, it will sound incomplete. Pod songs usually require at least one other merperson to support or respond to the initial measures, which creates a complete and satisfying loop.

Individual songs are varied and unique, as the name suggests. They cover a range of emotions that simply can't be communicated through regular speech or bubble patterns (to learn more about bubble patterns, please see Part I: The Basics). Among these songs, the most important to know is the courting song, which can actually be multiple songs using the same opening measures and melodies with slightly different tones.

Now that you know the most basic kind of songs, we can move to harmonizing. Truthfully, a human's ability to harmonize with a merperson is nearly impossible. However, it can be done with an instrument, which can reach ranges the human voice cannot. So, if you don't know how to play one, I'd suggest learning. Harmonizing is a key step in the courtship process, after all.

----

Steve shrieks as Eddie spins him around, the sound high and grating, and clings tighter to Eddie's neck. His tailfin slaps Eddie behind his knee, hard enough to make him falter and slip on the rain-soaked deck. He falls on his ass, Steve safely in his lap, and laughs. The charms in his hair knock against each other, and Steve idly reaches up to brush his finger against one. "What was that for?" Eddie asks, the words slightly breathless.

"You surprised me," Steve says, frowning slightly as raindrops catch in his eyelashes and make them heavy. He holds a hand above his eyes and then does the same for Eddie.

"You just looked so pretty, sweetheart," Eddie says, grinning at Steve like he knows what bubble pattern his fluttering gills would create (flustered and flattered).

He rolls his eyes, looking at the sky and sea in the distance. The ocean is surging, and waves and sea foam collide as the wind picks up force. Dark clouds hang over the sea, and Steve would be concerned if he didn't know the storm would clear up soon. He can tell from the sound of the ocean and the taste in the air: the water isn't angry enough and there isn't enough salt on his lips.

The rain is still going to turn brutal, though, and Steve would prefer they weren't on deck when it happens. He overheard Asher and Jeff talking about the last time Eddie got soaked to the bone and got sick. He's not sure what a "cold" is, but he doesn't want Eddie catching it again.

"Let's go back to the cabin," he says, looking back at Eddie with a light smile. "I want to hear you play that, uh, gee-tare."

"Guitar, Stevie," Eddie corrects, holding Steve tight as he stands. He has an excited smile, something expectant in his eyes that Steve still hasn't figured out.

Steve hums, knowing very well how it's pronounced, but he likes to see the somewhat dopey smile Eddie gets whenever he mispronounces something. He gets the feeling Eddie also knows he's doing it on purpose, but he's not said anything yet.

Eddie carries him down to the captain's cabin, kicking the door shut with his foot. "Where do you want to be, sweetheart?" he asks.

After a moment's consideration, Steve gestures to the bed, looking forward to the soft pillows and even softer sheets. When Eddie places him down, he wiggles until his tail is curled comfortably, soaking the sheets beneath him, and looks at Eddie expectantly.

"Any requests?" Eddie asks, clearly amused as he grabs his guitar and hops onto the bed next to Steve. His knee brushes against Steve's tail, drawing Steve's attention briefly to the faint scar that lingers across his scales.

He's been healed for almost a day now, and Steve should probably start bracing himself to say goodbye, but he'd like to remain in denial a little longer. He doesn't want to leave. Even if he knows he'll come right back with Robin and the guppies, Steve doesn't want to be away from Eddie that long. They haven't even confirmed their courtship. Leaving before they do means any merperson with half a brain could see how much of a pearl Eddie is and try to steal him away.

Steve forces the thought away, forces himself to focus on answering Eddie's question, and shakes his head. "Just play something," he says.

Eddie nods and thinks a moment as he tunes the guitar. "Could you hum something?" he asks.

When he looks up at Steve again, there's something oddly intense in his gaze. He looks determined, as though something very important is riding on this moment. Steve isn't sure what it is, exactly, but he knows he doesn't want it to pass him by. Steve nods and starts humming a soft and familiar tune, one he's used a lot more after meeting Eddie.

It must be the right choice, because Eddie practically lights up, a grin tugging at his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes as he listens. After a few seconds, he starts plucking strings on the guitar, adding a gentle accompaniment that makes Steve's humming rock back and forth like the ocean currents.

Usually, Eddie plays fast, his music filling Steve with the same heat and energy as an underwater volcano in the middle of an eruption. But this is slow and sweet like the honey Steve tried a few days ago. It creeps through him, his gills fluttering with each note that Eddie pulls from his guitar. He feels soft and happy, his voice shifting to follow Eddie's lead as inspiration hits him.

They trade the lead back and forth between them, and Steve starts to actually sing at some point. He doesn't know when he opened his mouth and started to vocalize the notes instead of just humming them, a sweet melody forming as his voice resonates with the guitar. It just happens as naturally as swimming. Steve can no longer tell where his voice ends and the guitar begins. They've fallen into sync, strumming and singing together without missing a beat.

Steve leans closer, his heart pounding against his ribs even faster than usual. They're harmonizing. He realizes it suddenly, but it doesn't catch him off-guard. It's just a whisper in the back of his mind, a little nudge that makes him smile and move without thinking beyond the desire to be closer.

The song doesn't end naturally. In fact, Eddie is in the middle of a particularly lovely string of notes when Steve kisses him, still humming low in his throat. Eddie's fingers fumble, a sour note pulling from the guitar, but Steve doesn't care. He's too busy wrapping one hand around the back of Eddie's neck and placing the other on Eddie's chest.

He can feel Eddie's heart beating just as rapidly as his own, and Steve presses closer. He's barely balancing on his tail as Eddie moves the guitar from his lap, pushing it to the side of the bed while he kisses Steve back. Eddie pushes his hand into Steve's hair, tangling his fingers in the strands.

Steve's humming happily rises in pitch, and he finally loses his balance, his weight pressing entirely on Eddie and causing him to fall back on the bed. The kiss breaks when Eddie bounces slightly, their foreheads knocking together, and Steve can't help laughing.

"You're fucking gorgeous, sweetheart," Eddie whispers, his free hand trailing to Steve's waist and settling on his back. His fingers brush against the line where scales meet skin, and Steve shudders, his mouth going dry, and he kisses Eddie again before he can say another word.

----

Tag List (the tag list is full! I wasn't able to fit everyone, so if you aren't on here, I'd suggest following #high seas steddie. I think you should still get updates on your dash if you do)

@mugloversonly, @raisedbylibrarians, @thegirlwiththelibrarybag, @savory-babby, @vankaar, @beckkthewreck, @itcanbepalped, @imfinereallyy, @finntheehumaneater, @mightbeasleep, @weekend-dreamer7

@whenindoubtb72, @troublemaker2azz, @just-a-tiny-void, @upallnightogetloki, @mxmakessense, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @haelreadsshit, @y4r3luv, @starman-jpg, @littlewildflowerkitten, @estrellami-1, @stevieschrodinger, @gaelicblue, @they-reap-what-we-sow

@5ammi90, @noodle-shenaniganery, @acrolius, @hallelujahimatheist, @rainbow-freckle, @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @79chevyimpala, @aliea82, @hopefulcookieoperatorpersona, @sani-86, @queenie-ofthe-void, @goosesister, @hello-fellow-nerds, @luthienstormblessed, @xtkxkrzrizir, @potato-of-the-lord, @geekymagicalpotato, @child-of-cthulhu, @aizawa-emma, @m-owo-n, @newtstabber, @cartercaptainofthemoon, @spectrum-spectre, @a-little-unsteddie

And, if you've made it this far, here's a little meme for your entertainment

#steddie #steddie fic #high seas steddie #merman steve harrington #pirate eddie munson #robin buckley #the party #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing

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