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dcxdpdabbles · 7 months

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Cave boy Danny gets kidnapped by the joker. He's missing for an hour and a half at most but when the bats find him, he's sitting unbound in a chair looking at the jokers corpse. Danny's face has a soft smile and when asked what happened Danny just says 'justice'

Later they find video of Danny while tied up reading the jokers mind for absolute filth leaving him cry and broken on the floor, and the the camera glitches out and cute for a few minutes then comes back on to the joker dead and Danny free.

Danny wants it to be known that he hadn't gone looking for trouble, no matter what Tim Drake says. He only meant to go to the mall and do regular teenage things with the ward of cash Bruce had handed him.

He hadn't been lying when he said the mall back home was small, and after a lap, it got really dull. It was more entertaining to go to Nasty Burger than to linger around the few shops selling the same thing.

Alfred had let it slip the last time he came around for Danny's clothes- the old man had thrown a fit when Danny attempted to do his own laundry, and then Danny threw a fit claiming he had to do some of the chores or he wouldn't live there, and they came to an agreement to do 50/50 of responsibilities- that the mall was one of Bruce's favorite places to be as a teenager.

He didn't fully outsay it, but Danny could tell Alfred was getting tired of him not venturing out. Alfred also seemed bothered by Danny's lack of motivation for anything- and probably feared that he was slowly falling into depression for being stuck here.

Granted, Danny did not allow them to see him do anything besides sleep, eat, and laze about- with a shower every night- he could see where his concern was coming from. Danny was most active at night when he left a duplicate- he could not make it move or speak since it was a new power, so it placed it in his bed to appear asleep- and rushed away for a few hours to work on his ship.

So Alfred not so casually told him of Gotham Mall, with its five floors containing five hundred and twenty stores. The Mall at Amity Park only has seventy-one stores.

Danny was dying to see it just to see a mall that big.

Then the Butler made the deal sweeter by suggesting Danny do his outing alone, without his Wayne bodyguards, and convinced Bruce to give him some pocket money.

Nine hundred! Bruce's idea of pocket money is nine hundred, which means Danny could have an excellent time shopping. So Danny took a shower, threw on a nice pair of jeans that hugged all the right places- according to Steph- a black T-shirt, and scurried down the stairs.

At the door, Bruce talks in low voices with his sons- Damian and Jason- but all three turned to him once he appeared.

Damian's regular haughty expression evaporated once he caught sight of Danny's shirt. His jaw slacked in surprise as he breathed, "What are you wearing?"

"Oh, this? Alfred had it printed on a shirt for me." Danny gestures to the notable constellations floating in space's blue, green, and purple gasses.

Orion was the center of the work, being the only one with a figure shaped into a human with the stars that made him visible inside his body. The other constellations floating around him remained bright spots with no lines.

"I drew you that," Damian tells him as though Danny forgot where the image he passed along to Alfred had come from.

"Yeah, and I put it on a shirt 'cause it's awesome. I love it from the moment I saw it." Danny shrugs, watching with an amused grin as Damian's face flushes bright red.

The younger boy looks down at his feet, but not before Danny can spot the pure, unadulterated glee his words have caused in the kid.

"You have some taste, it seems." Damian mutters. Jason and Bruce are beaming, their eyes sparkling in a way that would belie their relationship is through adoption instead of blood.

"Most parents put their kid's drawings on the fridge instead of wearing them," Jason teases, and Danny shrugs.

"Most parents have talentless kids." He barely bites back the rest of his words. Damian isn't my kid because I am not Bruce, and he hurries to the doorway. "Anyway, I'm heading out. I'll be back by eleven,"

"You'll be back by nine." Bruce corrects, taking on the tone of a scolding parent. Danny is violently reminded of his own dad when Jazz is dating Johnny. He misses him. "Gotham is dangerous after dark. Alfred got us all to let you go alone, but that doesn't mean you can be reckless."

"Please, what's the worst that can happen?" Danny asked, practically skipping the stairs to the Uber Alfred called for him.

The worst that could have happened was that a stupid clown, calling himself Joker, had attacked the mall while Danny was browsing a gothic store.

He had been comparing two black dresses, trying to figure out which one Sam would prefer- and no, he was not blushing or feeling giggly thinking of her reaction. Just like he hadn't done the same when he picked up a personal electric planner for Tuck two floors down- when the Joker's goons had literally yanked him out of the store.

He only had a few minutes to blink in the bright light, as "Hot Topic" had been low light sightings for the store's ambiance, before he was thrown at the feet of a cackling man in purple.

His hands had been tied behind his back as they moved him, and Danny could only applause their quick hands. It's impressive for them to get it done with how much he thrashed.

Danny's first thought of the purple suit man was, "That's a ghost if I ever darn seen one," only to realize that his ghost sense had not gone off. The man just looked like that. How unfortunate.

"Well, well, if it isn't Brucie's newest charity case!" Joker shouted, yanking Danny's face up from his chin and leaning close to his face.

"Dude, personal space." He says, scrunching up his nose as the Joker's breath hits his nostrils. "Also, invest in some dental insurance."

"Oh, we have ourselves a jokester here, folks!" The clown's laugh did not hide the anger or shy away from madness. Danny suddenly felt he may have to tap into Phantom to get away from him.

This was a being that hurt others just because he could. Joker very existence was to simply harm others.

The very opposite of Phantom.

All of his instincts were screaming as Joker put his arm around Danny's shoulder and told the watching horrified crowd. "I'm a bit of a jokester myself. Why don't I give you private lessons and let these people judge whose death is funnier? Little Danny Kane or Bernad Dowd?"

The crowd parted, most gasping in horror as another teenage boy was dragged to the front. He was covered in wounds, bleeding a slow, sluggish mess, and his head bobbed as if though he was about to faint.

Danny's pupils shrunk, and his core raged as the boy was backhanded in front of him. Joker- the soon-to-be dead man- spread his arms, shouting for the whole world to be heard. "This is a special performance for Timothy Drake-Wayne. I hope you enjoy watching your boyfriend and adoptive brother partake in my game as a thank-you for your generous donation to the families of the last people I made laugh! I want everyone to know that any more donations to such families will have a similar show for their own loved ones!"

Danny's mind went white with a loud ringing, and somewhere far away, he was aware that Joker had them moved to a room to play his game.

He barely registered the camera being set up or tied to a chair surrounded by tortuous-looking items. He didn't even notice poor Bernard- already lost consciousness- tied to the chair beside him.

He only had eyes for the laughing man in purple.

But it was not Danny watching him, it was Phantom.

And Phantom was fresh out of mercy.

"No need for such an ugly frown," Joker chuckles, unaware of the ghost's core vibrating with the need to Protect what it recognizes a an attack on the Waynes.

An attack on his people.

"Let's turn that frown upside down!" Joker says, and- those are his last words.

Phantom pounces.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes an hour and a half for them to be found. It might have been more, but Danny had only counted for that amount. Bernad had been stabilized after he performed some emergency field first aid on him, trying his best to not look at the smear of bones and guts that used to be Joker.

Bruce breaks down the door with Tim rushing to his boyfriend in a frantic cry for his lover's name.

Danny steps back to let him have better access. He follows beside Bruce, watching Tim hold Bernad to his chest, breathing him in. He'll be fine. A few bruises and broken bones, but Bernad will leave.

"What happened?" Batman demands.

Danny looks up to stare at him right in the eyes despite the mask blocking his pupils. "Justice."

Bruce doesn't say anything in response, but the silence- for the first time since he found Danny in that cave- is heavy and weary.

Danny needs to hurry with his repairs. He thinks he is about to wear out his welcome at Wayne Manor. It's a pity he was just starting to like it there.

Master post link

#dcxdpdabbles #Cave boy #Part 6 #Offsecreen Murder #Danny just showed that he does have Bruce Wayne's volient reaction #Bernard Dowd #Damian was so excited about the shirt too #Danny was just minding his busniess

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mrchiipchrome · 8 months

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Helmet

W.C.- 1,7 k

prompt 8. -Loving you was a hazard, so I got my heart a helmet. prompt 11. -Oh I’m down on my hands and knees, begging you please. prompt 13. -I’m feeling so tired, really falling apart.

A/n: this started out as a song blurb, but it became too long. anyways if you want to request there's a prompt list linked in the masterlist :)

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You knew it was risky to date the ‘fuckgirl’ of the team, but as she flashed you that cheesy loving smile, all those worries slipped to the back of your head. She was no longer the hot girl that your teammates told you to stay away from, she was just your Leah.

Your Leah that would kiss you oh so tenderly, your Leah who would look you in the eyes and tell you she loved you, your Leah who had you convinced that she’d changed. Your Leah who wasn’t yours.

When you notice the first signs of your declining relationship, you outright chose to ignore them. To this day you can’t understand why you did what you did, maybe you had inherited the same naivety as your mother, maybe you were just too in love with the blonde.

Either way, it didn’t matter, not when she wasn’t yours to love.

When Leah started password protecting all her devices like she had done in the earliest stages of your relationship, you should have packed your bags and left. But you didn’t listen to that gut feeling that told you something was up, now you know to always trust your gut.

Then came the secrecy, the one that made you feel so stupid and like you were a stranger in your own relationship. Leah would leave you at random points during the day, claiming that the physio needed her to come in for a ‘quick session’, technically she wasn’t wrong it was just a different type of session than you thought.

After that most of the sweet, intimate moments began to wither away. You no longer got a kiss goodbye nor did you get to do something as simple as hold her hand. And when you finally did get an intimate moment with her, it was like she didn’t mean her actions. She didn’t mean the kiss she would press so feather light to your lips, the kiss that once meant so much.

Leah was slipping through your fingers, and the worst thing was that there was nothing you could do about it.

But it was really when she started to come home with gifts after her every outing that the pattern truly emerged. It was eerily similar to how it had been when your father had been having an affair with his secretary. You feel so incredibly stupid when all the puzzle pieces finally fall into place, of course history has to repeat itself. I mean it was just your luck.

No matter how disgusting you feel at the thought of invading Leah’s privacy, it was essential for you to get your proof.

So when Leah decides to take a shower at your place after another ‘session’ with the physio, you take the opportunity to look through her phone.

It only takes you two tries to get it unlocked, the woman having the audacity to have it as your birthday. It takes even less time to find the proof you need, the overly suggestive comments between her and one of the assistant physios telling you everything you needed to know about their less than appropriate activities.

By the time Leah exits the bathroom in one of your fluffy towels, you’ve already screenshotted it and sent it to your phone, the naked photos on her phone so revolting that you have to keep yourself from throwing up all over your expensive rug.

“What are you doing with my phone?” Leah questions carefully, her wet hair splayed over her strong shoulders and dripping onto your floor.

“What in the fuck does it look like I’m doing Leah fucking Williamson?” You shoot back at her, the usually overconfident woman retreating back at your tone.

“It looks like you’re invading my privacy.” You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips, Leah always finding a way to flip all the blame onto you.

“I can’t believe you, I’m not even sure why I’m surprised. Of course that’s what I get for dating a fuck girl.” The offended look that appears on Leah’s face only makes you chuckle harder, the mask of finding the whole situation funny hiding the hurt you felt at her betrayal.

“Baby, I promise it’s not what it seems like. We’re only friends.” Leah hurries the words out, trying her hardest to make you believe them.

“Oh it’s not what it seems like, IT’S NOT WHAT IT SEEMS LIKE!? ‘I had fun last night, we should do it again sometime;)’ or maybe ‘Be careful, I think Y/n’s on to us.’ that does not sound like something I’d say to a friend.” The firmness in your voice worries center back, never having heard it sound like that.

“Baby please, I didn’t mean it-”

“You’re pathetic and a FUCKING HAZARD TO LOVE Leah Williamson! I mean, I knew the whole ‘love’ thing would be risky, but god damn it Leah loving you is a hazard and I really should’ve gotten my heart a helmet while I had the chance.” You finish off your rant, moving towards your own door fully intent on leaving her there in your apartment.

Just as you pass her on the way to your door, Leah grabs hold of your hand tightly, willing you not to go out the door.

The blonde soon found herself on her knees in front of you, your frame towering over her.

“Baby, I’m down on my hands and knees begging you to not go. I love you so much and that girl was a mistake. I promise, just please give me another chance.” Her desperate voice rings out through the apartment, and the slight chuckle that escapes your mouth is enough for the tears to start streaming down her face.

“Get up. GET UP I SAID! I’m not going to accept any of your pathetic attempts to get me to forgive you. You knew exactly how I felt about cheaters yet you went and cheated on me, congratu-fucking-lations Leah, you lost me the second you started sleeping with that tramp. Now I’m going to give you four days to get your shit out of my apartment or else I’m burning it, you understand?” Leah nods her head frantically, her wet tears landing on your cheeks where you wipe them away.

Continuing on your way to the door, Leah’s choked up voice stops you in your tracks for the last time.

“Where are you going?” Sighing, you respond as quickly as you could, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m staying with a friend, don’t contact me and don’t try to find out who I’m staying with. I have proof of your affair so don’t even try to test me.” And with that, you’re out the door, leaving Leah to pick up the pieces of her heart she herself broke.

The rain soaks through your hoodie and all the way down through to your socks. Just great, of course the weather had to match your mood.

The alkaline water falling from the sky mixes with the tears falling down the vicinity of your face and paints a painstakingly beautiful portrayal of how it feels to love someone even after they’ve wronged you. How it feels to be betrayed the way you were.

Arriving at the house where your favorite lives, you can’t help but feel completely defeated when they open the door, the fight no longer in you at all.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Beth asks you as she swings the door open, seeing your slumped over form, despair written all over your face.

“She fucking cheated on me” You cry, Beth holding your rain soaked sobbing body in her arms.

As Viv appears around the corner she looks questioningly at Beth, but the woman holding you just gestures to the upstairs area. Viv gets the hint quickly and disappears up the stairs to get you some dry clothing, your current ones plastered to your skin like a second skin.

“I loved her so much and she cheated on me. Why’d she cheat on me Bethy? Am I really that hard to love properly?” The sobbed words feels like a stab in the heart for the older woman, she knew she should’ve told you exactly why Leah was bad news.

“Shhh shhhh, it has nothing to do with you sweetie. Leah’s bad news and she’s truly stupid for doing that to you.” Viv rejoins you, patting your shoulder awkwardly while trying to help Beth console you. It only gets her a glare, and she makes the motion of going to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“I’m feeling so tired Bethy, she’s really succeeded in making me fall apart this time.” Beth leads you over to the bathroom and hands you the dry clothes to put on, the comforting smell of them leaving you to think about how Leah’s used to be equally as comforting.

Back at your apartment, Leah sits slumped over on the shiny hardwood floor, tears streaming down her face. The realization that she just destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to her came like a punch in the gut.

She’d never loved someone like you before, having been hurt the same way she just hurt you so many times before. Leah can’t help but think back on the beautiful times you had together, the feeling of being so incredibly loved, something she’d never felt from a romantic partner before.

She had gotten scared of her own emotions and she had hurt you in the process, if she could she would go back and stop herself from ever texting that girl back.

Like a wise woman once said, you never know what you’ve got until you’ve lost it.

At the same time, you’re laying with your head in your best friend's lap and your feet in your other one’s. Tears slip down your cheeks and color the older woman’s pant leg a darker version of its earlier shade.

Yeah, the next time your friends warn you about someone, you’re sure as hell going to take their advice.

#woso #lionesses #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #song prompt blurb

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fragileheartbeats · 2 months

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Do a male Rhaenyra x sis reader x male version of your oc Selaehra

THE THREE HEAD DRAGON

꒰͡ ⠀ ִ 𝑅ℎ𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑎𝑟 𝑥 𝑆𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑆𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑛 ⠀ׂ ⠀ ͡꒱

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 ☆ 𝑹𝒉𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒂𝒓 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏

Rhaynar is proud and fiery, embodies the spirit of House Targaryen with his unmatched valor and stubbornness. His skills in combat are only matched by his fierce protectiveness over those he loves. Yet, beneath this warrior's exterior lies a heart that yearns for the affection and approval of the only family he has known. His jealousy over his sister's attention towards Selarion is not merely a reflection of sibling rivalry but a fear of losing one of the few constants in his life: her companionship and support.

Rhaynar, with his long, straight silver-gray hair that falls like a curtain of moonlight down his back, stands tall and proud among the crowd. His eyes, a deep and mesmerizing purple, scan the room with an intensity that speaks of power and a fierce protectiveness. Clad in a doublet of dark red that complements his noble stature, he moves with a grace that belies his warrior's strength, each step a testament to his claim to the throne and to the heart of the one he loves.

He wears his heart like a badge of honor, fierce and unguarded. His affection is as intense as his spirit, expressed in grand gestures and bold declarations. His hugs are enveloping, a sanctuary of strength and warmth, often lifting Y/n off her feet in moments of spontaneous joy or comfort. He is not one to shy away from public displays of affection, seeing them as a declaration of his claim and devotion. Rhaynar's kisses are fiery, mirroring his passionate nature, often sought in the heat of the moment, leaving her breathless and wanting. Yet, beneath this stormy exterior lies a sensitivity; he cherishes the softness of kisses on his forehead, seeing them as acts of pure love and acceptance. His jealousy, a fierce flame, can lead to impulsive actions, driven by the fear of losing his love to his brother. However, his anger, though quick to ignite, is equally quick to dissipate, especially in the face of his sister gentle reassurances.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 ☆ 𝑺𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏

Selarion on the other hand, arrives at the Red Keep carrying the weight of his mother's death and the burden of his unique heritage. His red eyes, a rarity among humans, mark him as an outsider from the beginning. Yet, it is this very difference that captures Y/n's fascination and sympathy. Over time, as he teaches her Valyrian, a language not just of words but of their shared history and blood, Selarion begins to see in his half sister a kindred spirit, someone who looks beyond the surface to the person he is inside.

Selarion, is the embodiment of the sun's last light, his short but lustrous silver-golden hair catching the candlelight and setting him aglow. His shining ruby eyes sparkle with mischief and intelligence, a striking reminder of the dragon's fire that courses through his veins. Dressed in a simple yet elegant tunic of soft gray, edged with silver, he stands slightly apart from the throng, his gaze fixed on his sister, the object of his affections and the catalyst for his rivalry with Rhaynar.

in contrast, is the whisper to Rhaynar's roar, his affections conveyed through subtle glances and the soft brush of fingertips against skin. His hugs are rare but meaningful, a tight embrace that speaks volumes of his deep feelings, often shared in private moments where he allows his guard to drop. Selarion's approach to love is thoughtful, every gesture and word carefully chosen to convey his affection without overwhelming. His kisses are tender, a delicate touch that promises more, often placed on his sister's palms or wrists as a sign of reverence and deep affection. Selarion prefers kisses that linger on his neck, seeing them as an intimate exchange of trust and desire. His jealousy is a silent storm, manifesting in a cool distance and sharp words, yet he never lets it cloud his judgment or actions for long. Selarion treasures every detail about his sister, from her laughter to the way her eyes light up at the sight of the night sky, storing these memories like precious jewels.

Y/n, younger than both and thrust into their world, finds herself drawn to each brother for different reasons. In Rhaynar, she sees the strength and passion of her house, a mirror to her own fiery spirit. In Selarion, she finds a depth and complexity, a shared sense of being different in a world that values conformity. Her heart is torn between the two, each holding a piece of her soul in their hands.

As the years pass, the rivalry between Rhaynar and Selarion intensifies, both in their quest for the Iron Throne and their affection for their sister. Their battles, once confined to the training yards, spill over into the court, a dangerous game of power and persuasion. Rhaynar, ever the warrior, tries to win his sister's heart through acts of valor and demonstrations of his prowess, hoping to show her that he can protect and provide for her in a chaotic world.

Selarion, meanwhile, employs a subtler strategy. His gifts are not swords or shields but whispered words and shared secrets. He listens to her, understands her dreams and fears, and in doing so, offers her a partnership of equals. His charm and intelligence serve him well, presenting a vision of a future where they might rule side by side, not just as king and queen but as true companions.

Their expressions of love, though differing in intensity and manner, are equally profound, each brother seeking to carve a place in the Y/n's heart. Rhaynar's love is a tempest, demanding and all-consuming, while Selarion's affection is a river, deep and enduring. Their first kisses with their sister are emblematic of their approaches to love: Rhaynar's, a spontaneous act of passion, and Selarion's, a gentle confession in the quiet of the night.

The rivalry between them is as much a part of their love as their shared history. It drives them to greater heights of affection and acts of devotion, each brother striving to be the one who holds the Y/n's heart. Yet, it is also this rivalry that sharpens the fear of loss, the dread that one might be chosen over the other.

As the music begins, a soft, haunting melody that fills the air with a sense of longing and possibility, Selarion sees his opportunity. With a confident stride, he approaches his sister, his gaze never wavering from hers. "May I have this dance, my beautiful lady?" he asks, his voice low and inviting, a smile playing on his lips that promises secrets and adventures untold.

Before she can respond, Rhaynar steps forward, his hand extended, his expression a mixture of challenge and desire. "I believe my sister was about to accept my invitation," he says, turning his gaze sharply towards Selarion, the tension between them palpable.

Selarion's smile widens, but his eyes harden, the ruby depths gleaming with an inner fire. "Ah, dear brother, always so quick to assume," he retorts, his tone light but edged with steel. "But it seems you've forgotten that it is her choice to make, not ours."

Y/n, caught between them, feels the weight of their stares, the air charged with the intensity of their rivalry. Yet, in this moment, she finds her voice, her strength. "I choose to dance with both of you," she declares, her voice steady and clear. "One after the other. That is my decision."

Rhaynar's expression softens, a grudging respect in his gaze as he nods, stepping back to allow Selarion the first dance. Selarion, triumphant yet gracious, offers his hand to his sister, leading her onto the dance floor with a flourish.

As they dance, Selarion's movements are smooth and calculated, each step a whisper of his affections, his body close yet respectful. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his breath warm against her ear. "As if the gods created you to be worshipped by mortals."

Her heart flutters at his words, at the feel of him so near. Yet, as the music swells and their time together draws to a close, she knows that this is but the beginning of their dance, a dance that will require all her strength and wisdom to navigate.

When the music ends, and Selarion steps back with a bow, Rhaynar takes his place, his dance a contrast of passion and power, a promise of his undying affection and his determination to win her heart.

As the night unfolds, with each brother vying for her favor, she realizes that her heart is not a prize to be won but a gift to be given. And in the end, it will be her choice, a choice made not in the shadow of rivalry but in the light of love.

𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗨𝗦:

In the heart of a forest as ancient as the realm itself, where the whispers of the old gods still lingered among the rustling leaves, the hunting party moved with a grace that belied their noble birth. Rhaynar and Selarion, scions of House Targaryen, rode side by side, their rivalry momentarily forgotten in the shared thrill of the hunt. The morning mist clung to the earth, weaving a silvery veil that shrouded the woods in mystery and magic.

Rhaynar, with the sun's first rays glinting off his silver hair, seemed as much a creature of the dawn as the woodland around them. His eyes, a striking violet, scanned the forest with an intensity that spoke of a fierce desire to prove himself, not just as a hunter but as a man worthy of respect and, perhaps, love.

Selarion, ever the enigma, rode with an elegance that was almost otherworldly. His ruby-red eyes, so often regarded with suspicion and fear, were alight with a different flame today—a competitive spark that matched his brother's. Their horses, magnificent beasts of pure Targaryen stock, moved with a silent understanding, as if they too sensed the importance of this day.

As the forest awakened, a white stag, majestic and ethereal, appeared before them. It stood in a clearing, bathed in a shaft of sunlight that seemed to crown it in a halo of gold. The sight of it took their breath away, for it was said that to encounter such a creature was a portent of momentous change.

Rhaynar's hand went to his bow, a reflex born of countless hunts, but something stilled his movement. The stag, with eyes as deep and knowing as the oldest tales, held his gaze, and in that moment, Rhaynar felt a connection to the world around him that was as profound as it was inexplicable. With a silent nod, as if acknowledging the stag's sovereignty over this realm, Rhaynar lowered his weapon.

Selarion, watching from a slight distance, observed his brother's action with a complexity of emotions swirling in his eyes. For a heartbeat, he too was caught in the stag's mystical presence. Yet, where Rhaynar saw a connection, Selarion saw opportunity. With a swift, fluid motion, he notched an arrow to his bow, drew, and released.

The arrow flew true, a perfect arc through the misty air, striking the stag with a silent, deadly grace. As the creature fell, the spell of the morning was broken, and the forest seemed to sigh with a sorrow as ancient as time itself. And then Selarion moved and cut it's head to make it's death less painful.

Rhaynar turned to Selarion, his eyes ablaze not just with the fire of anger, but with the hurt of betrayal. "Why did you kill it???" His voice, thick with emotion, echoed through the trees. "I was the first to find it, and I spared it! You had no right to kill it After I, the future king of seven kingdoms let it go!!!"

Selarion, wiping a splatter of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, met his brother's gaze with a calm that belied the tumult within. "Exactly, dear brother," he said, his voice low and steady, yet carrying a sharpness that cut deeper than any blade. "You had the opportunity, but you didn't use it. The world is like that. Either you get what you want, or someone else gets it instead of you. And you may forget it but you're no king in my eyes, not now and not ever."

As the words hung in the air, heavy with implication, the brothers stood on the brink of an understanding profound and unsettling. The hunting party, silent witnesses to this moment of raw truth, looked on as the future of House Targaryen, and perhaps the realm itself, teetered on the edge of a knife.

In the heart of the forest, amidst the ancient trees and whispered secrets, Rhaynar and Selarion faced not just each other, but the realization that the hunt was for more than game—it was for power, for love, and for the destiny that awaited them beyond the woods.

@ 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 . 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.

@emily2003alzaga @nash-dara @altaircc @heavenly1927 @omgsuperstarg @asoiafhyperfixation

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alexisomnias · 1 year

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WHEN YOUR GONE. . . | obey me

obey me nightbringer spoilers

characters | BROTHERS

they return home, a sunken feeling moving along with them as their home feels much more empty. Despite the attendant never living with them, it feels as if a room lost its shine that kept the home lifted. they go to the bedroom to mourn for the loss of a friend who they've known for no longer then a week (yet it feels like years).

LUCIFER "Hopefully you found me helpful from time to time? Don't push yourself too hard "big brother."

lucifer finds himself staring at your writing, it was clearly handled with care, perhaps even written with a shaky hand. he finds himself doing nothing other then staring, he can't even reread it as if his throat was choked up for good. lucifer, who thought your position as attendant was nothing other then stupid found his heart slow to if he didn't know better would be a stop. he did... he did find you helpful... his eyes close as he leans his head back and takes a deep breath, as if to stop tears.

why must you of done this too him? why couldn't you just leave with a goodbye that he would forget come hundreds year?

MAMMON "Thank you for always thinking of me. I always had fun when we were together."

mammon prided himself in his ability to hold his emotions, but after his eyes came across the last letter, reading each syllable as if it was his first time he lets out a sob. clutching the letter in his hand as if all of you would disappear if he ever let it go. you were cruel, he thinks, so cruel for leaving him alone like this. he sobs quietly leant over the desk as he sobs into his arms, why did he always get attached to things that would soon leave him? you don't realize, that even after your gone. your memories, even the happiest ones will leave him thinking of you as left pain.

his heart aches for you already, he wants to continue to be together, he wants you back.

LEVIATHAN "Make sure to take good care of Snake, okay? I know you'll make an amazing demon !!"

it took a lot for leviathan to even build up the courage to exit the comfort of his own room. without you there by his side, what will be there to help him navigate around? you've been barely gone for 3 days and yet it feels as if you've been missing from his side for centuries. curse him for getting attached, curse the universe for making you the friend that leaves for his own character development. he sniffles, rereading the text over and over. he let out an ugly cry, uncaring for if the world outside saw it.

how could he be the amazing demon you claim him to be, without you by his side to reassure?

SATAN "Someday we should both go bookstore hopping! You're fine just the way you are Satan."

he doesn't know why you left, but dear lord is he so angry. at the world, at his brothers for allowing you to leave, at himself for not being there to tell you he needs you. satan doesn't cry, satan doesn't even rage out in anger as he reads your letter. he stares, and he stares until a figurative hole could be burnt through the crisp paper left in your place. the only memory left of you for you weren't there for long. why couldn't he be there to see you leave? send you off? why was he the one stuck under the impression you would come back for him, until you didn't?

did you even realize that you were the reason he felt like he belonged in this world?

ASMODEUS "Looking forward to the next Asmo Night! I love you! more then words can say!

asmo loves you more then words exist, thats why he needs you by his side, thats why he needs you there to remind him of why he's deserving, of why he deserves to be happy like the others. asmo needs you more then words can say, he lets out a quiet cry, almost silent as tears drip down his porcelain face. clutching his own note close to his body. why did you have to leave so early? why did you have to leave him so abruptly after carving your place in his heart?

he trusts in the fact that you will return, maybe its denial, or trust, but he believes you'll be back for him.

BEELZEBUB "Be careful not to eat too much! Keep your brothers safe, okay?"

beelzebub did not cry, but he did mourn. how could he always lose those he grows to care for? all in such a short time? he swears he would starve if it meant you'd come back, he'd never complain about hunger again if you'd be back to tell him off, back to make him breakfast out of food he's unfamiliar with. he clutches the note strong enough that if he tried it would rip, but he'd never destroy a memory of you.

beel wants to keep his family safe, but as their attendant, that includes you, he wants you safe as well.

BELPHEGOR "Someday I'll buy you the ultimate alarm clock. I adore that happy look you have while asleep."

Belphegor was the last of the brothers to visit your room, as if he contemplated for days of whether it would be a good idea. belphie despised humans, and you being a human would of included that, wouldn't it? but yet, he can't find himself to hate you. you helped him, helped beel instead of hurt. all the other notes were gone, so the sole one laid upon your empty desk. he stared down on it, in a slow process, his stone face crumpled, melted into tears as it dripped onto he page. his hands clenched up as he cried. falling to his knees as he allowed himself to sob against the desk. your letter lying dead in front of him.

did he really need an alarm clock when his attendant was there to wish him a good morning?

#obey me nightbringer #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me #angst #obey me angst #obey me nightbringer spoilers #suns pencil.

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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 12.

Summary: Reuniting with Venetia was always an interesting experience. Many people - everyone else who lives at Saltburn included - wonder why you put up with the way she speaks to you, the way she treats you. You wonder how they can't see that it's so much more than that.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, implied pseudo-incest, nonsexual intimacy with Venetia but no smut

A/N: 3644 words. i know i said there's be ollie this chapter, but i needed to set up a few more things around the house; specifically venetia and what her whole deal is with the reader. i love her, she breaks my entire heart. i know i should have edited this one but oh well, here, eat up friends.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Never once has Venetia been gentle with the way she speaks to you; she is sharp lines and bitter tongues and laughs and moans that edge on jagged. Nothing about her seems capable of regarding you, or sometimes even treating you, with gentleness, yet she demands it from you in everything you do.

She picks you apart the moment she sees you again, like nails over every inch of your being she pries apart who you've become in her absence, but ends it all by telling you that you're still frustratingly attractive.

"Thought that would change."

"Do you think that every time?"

"Prepare for the worst and hope for the best," she sighs with a wry smile.

"My potential descent into unattractiveness is... hope?"

"Preparing, obviously; I'm very fond of you, I don't hope you get ugly," obviously, says her eye roll. Its a compliment, says her eye roll.

Still, you know Venetia well enough, know her bitter tongue belies a sweetness she could never speak out loud.

All you'd come down in is your bathers, and an old, large button down that Felix liked to swan around the house in. Which Venetia insists you leave on, lest you get yourself burnt, though you roll your eyes and shrug it off anyways, draping it over the parasol-protected banana lounge that Venetia had claimed with her towel. Venetia herself looks like something out of countless fantasies, and even more Summer magazine centre folds, the sequins of her silver bikini shining in the sunlight.

Venetia is a shiny, pretty thing, eye catching; large sunglasses and shiny lip gloss and a body that glows and shines with what you hope is sunscreen but know is just moisturiser and tanning oil. Untouched by anything but the sun and herself on this searing afternoon, wanting and waiting for her entertainment, for you.

Venetia's gentleness lives and dies in her desires, in the way she wants. Her needs, her demands are always met, but her wants she'll never be able to put to words. So you learned to figure her out for yourself; if she loves you for it, she'll never say it out loud.

Wading into the water, towards the floating chair she's so elegantly draped herself across, you keep your hands above the water's surface, keep them dry as you reach her. With every step her smile grows wider, and you place your hand on her ankle, hand gliding up her warm leg in casual greeting. Calf, knee, thigh, soft and warm and dry, and your hand comes to rest on her belly, your fingers splayed out, cooler than her sun-soaked skin, and she giggles. The anticipation makes her giddy. Her hand comes to rest on yours, though never to take your hand; she wants to be touched more than she wants to hold, that's why when she shifts carefully on her buoyant seat, she makes sure that it's not so drastic that you'd have to move your hand from her skin.

"You kept me waiting," already there's a hint of faux disapproval on her tongue when she greets you properly, or as properly as you were going to get from her. Instead of dignifying that with a real response, you roll your eyes, and lean in to kiss her on the cheek. Giving a huff at your non-answer, she does however take your face in her free hand before you can pull away, giving you a kiss on the cheek in response.

"Hello to you too, Ven," you half laugh, but she's still holding your face, holding you close, for longer than was necessary. Letting you go, she lifts her glasses with that same hand to finally get a proper look at you. A strange, accusatory glimmer there amongst the mirth and mischief.

"I thought you kept me waiting because you were freshening up," it almost sounds betrayed, settling the glasses on top of her head. How could she have known that kind of thing? Why would she care if you hadn't?

"Didn't think it would matter; I was getting in the pool anyways," you pointed out as nonchalantly as possible, but she just reiterated that you'd kept her waiting, like it was the end of the world. Something about her suddenly intrigued gaze had you growing flustered, wondering what it was about you that had her so incensed.

In the next instance, she's slid from her seat and into the water beside you without hesitation. There's now something determined in her eyes when she takes your face in both hands, kissing you. Venetia has always been direct, has always taken for granted that you'd bend to her whims in most instances. Like this one. Your arms wind around her as if on instinct. There's nothing sweet about it, nipping at your lips insistently, tongue in your mouth -

"Oh my god," she pulls back, eyes wide with what you're pretty sure is disbelief, like she's come to an urgent realisation.

"It's so good to be home; how have you been lately?" You ask breathlessly, deeply confused about her attitude and trying to give her a hint that even for her this is a strange greeting. But then her lips are on yours again, pulling you in, all teeth and tongues and gasping furiously into your mouth. Somewhere in all of this, you pull her close, hands beneath her thighs and letting her wrap her legs around you under the water.

"It hasn't even been an hour!" She cries this time when she pulls back from you, looking almost like she's on the verge of laughter or perhaps screaming, "wash your mouth out! What is wrong with you?" Despite the fact that she'd just given you the kind of kiss that would put Hollywood to shame. Twice.

"Not drinking chlorine for you, Ven," you tell her, amused, while still holding her secure against you. Displeased with your answer, she pushes away from your chest with both hands, and you let her go, let her splash you as she makes a face.

"Don't drink it, christ," she rolls her eyes, as if she believes you're being wilfully stupid about the whole thing.

"Then I'll just taste like chlorine," you pointed out, wading over to her. The answering smile you get is particularly mean.

"I'd rather you taste like chlorine than Felix," despite all the questions and implications her disdainful words raise, you match her energy, smiling back with a blithe confidence as you approach her once more.

"You sure you mean that, Vennie?"

Immediately, Venetia is scarlet, spluttering, playing exceptionally well at being horrified by your implications, if not for the ease with which she lets herself get wrapped up in you once more.

"You're gross, you're awfully gross, you both are. I can't believe -" she tells you, looks in your eyes like she's determined to make you believe it, "I'll wash your mouth out myself," she threatens, and you nod while not trying particularly hard to hide your amusement. With a childlike scowl she dips herself mostly underwater, still encircled loosely by your arms, scowling at you all the while. Like a little, blonde crocodile, nose and eyes making sure you're watching her every move, taking her and her threat seriously.

When she surfaces, cheeks puffed out and presumably filled with water, you have to let her go for how hard your laughing. Then the chase is on.

The first mouthful of water she loses to her own laughter, and shouting at you to stop trying to get away, while you thrash through the length of the pool. Every so often she almost catches you, but you splash her and wriggle free and she shrieks with faux offense. Until she's got you pinned to the side of the pool, water just up past your waist, and a devilish look of triumph in her eyes.

At first she taps her lips expectantly. Of course her mouth is once again full to bursting with pool water. Shaking your head adamantly, you try and lean away, still faintly laughing, but Venetia changes tact.

Instead of caging you against the side, she carefully wraps her arms around your neck, gaze turning soft and fond and amused as she leans in. You know what she's doing, but you let her have it this time.

Winding your arms around her waist, you let her shotgun a mouthful of pool water into your mouth, and try not to laugh to keep it from going down your airways or up your nose. Venetia, in triumph, the moment she knows the water is in your mouth, she pulls back and clamps her hand over your mouth, looking altogether too proud of herself.

Drenched, beautiful, and grinning from ear to ear, the look in her eyes betrays just how into you, or at the very least into this moment, she is.

"Wash your mouth out before you come anywhere near me next time," she orders in a firm whisper that's definitely doing more for you than you'd like to admit. Possibly for Venetia too, considering how she's unable to wipe the smile off of her own face, "you filthy, little doggie."

No-one, maybe not even Felix, is ever allowed to find out how quickly those words have you all but melting at her command. The fight drains from you, and God all you want is to be good, good, good. Judging by Venetia's pleased reaction, she can feel the moment you start to submit, can probably see it in your eyes. Her hand stays over your mouth until she's satisfied you've swished the water around enough, and you spit the water back out to the side, instead of at her like you'd been intending to before she'd called you out.

"Can't believe you said that to me, really, Y/N," she sighed, shaking her head. Neither of you moved; you flush against the side of the pool, and Venetia pressed flush to you.

"So you're the only one who can say things in the hopes of getting manhandled?" Giving a sheepish grin, even if you don't fully believe what you're saying, there's a semblance of self-satisfaction when Venetia gives in. She grabs your chin and pulls you in for one more rough kiss, pressing against you, trapping you in this moment. A rare instance in which she gives you what she thinks you want.

But some of your bite is coming back.

"So does the chlorine taste better?" You smirked. Immediately she splashes you with a wave of water to the face. By the time you've spluttered through a recovery, she's halfway to the stairs.

"I hate you," is not a real answer to the question, but that's okay, you weren't really looking for one as much as you had been looking to rile her up, "and you've made me all wet - shut it -" she warns, cutting off the crude joke you both knew you were about to make, as she starts up the pool stairs with determination, "and you've ruined my beautiful afternoon plans."

Waiting at the top of the stairs, she turns back to you, simply watching her with a grin, giving you an impatient gesture. Your smile widens, but still, you obligingly follow her.

Even while mad at you, Venetia was a creature of predictable desires. Very rarely did her frustration with you outweigh the benefit of your company to her, and now was no different. Drying yourselves off with her towel, the only one either of you had brought down, it seems her mood is already lightening once more, letting you know that she'd gotten her hands on the latest Harry Potter novel. When she pulls the book out from where she'd stashed it under the long lounge, she picks up Felix's shirt and tosses it to you.

You know to put it on, just like you know not to comment on it.

Without asking, nor having to be asked, you settle yourself on the lounge chair and insistently pat the space beside you; almost enough for Venetia.

"Let me read over your shoulder," an incredibly flimsy excuse that you both see through, but she still settles herself on the lounge chair too. There's not quite enough room, so you're almost on your side, arm around Venetia's shoulders, head resting against hers, pressed up against her whole side. Legs curled up together, your other hand once more comes to rest on her lower belly, casually intimate, warm, tips of your fingers just barely tucked into her bikini bottoms. You're not reading; your face pressed so close to her's is proof enough of that.

"Your eyelashes are tickling my cheek," in these moments she sounds so much younger than she is. The peel of laughter that rings out from her as you nuzzle your face further against her cheek, pointedly fluttering your eyelashes, it reminds you of the way she'd laugh at the sleepovers the two of you shared in the first few years of meeting each other.

And you settle back down, angling your face only slightly to keep your lashes from bothering her, and rub faint circles against the soft skin of her stomach with your thumb. Venetia opens her book, and finally relaxes.

It's been a long time since you'd seen Venetia fully relax around anyone who wasn't you. You wonder if anyone else has noticed, has wondered, has thought to figure out the how and why of the girl beside you. Contrary to popular belief, it's been a long time since Venetia's actually sought you out for sex. Constant lewd flirting and suggestive texts aside.

So much of Venetia's self worth was tied to being sexually attractive. Pretty and fashionable and fuckable. Needed biblically, carnally. Pick up, use, put down. There was such a thrill in being wanted that it took her too long to understand why she was hollow; don't let me go felt selfish for her to even think. But you'd learned to read through the things she leaves unsaid.

Sex she could get anywhere, but the touch-starved Venetia knew you understood the truth of what she wants. It's why she treated you like furniture, like she was entitled to your personal space.

You often find yourself wondering if Venetia only touches you in ways she wishes she could touch Felix. More casually than even now, and many still would consider their relationship too close. You are kind and loving and playful and a wonderful friend, but you are nothing of real substance to her; you are a warm body and the closest she can be to Felix half the time.

For anyone else it would be too hot for this kind of proximity, but never for Venetia. So you drown in the heat of her skin pressed against hers, and let yourself drift asleep in the peaceful afternoon.

It's a sleep so peaceful that you don't even properly wake when her soft chatter infects your hazy mind. Farleigh's voice drifts through your head and this haze -

"- no-one tells me anything," you can hear Venetia pouting without even opening your eyes. Her book must be closed because she's got a hand on your thigh, bringing your leg further over her.

"Of course they don't, you should have seen both of them earlier when I accidentally implied -"

"Careful, Farleigh," you yawned, carefully snuggling further against Venetia. The pair are quiet for a few long seconds, but your eyes remained closed.

"See what I mean?" Farleigh eventually breaks the rather tense silence with a wry, pointed comment.

"Can't believe you didn't tell me we were having a guest," Venetia sounds like she's sulking, but you just make a noncommittal hum in the back of your throat, "feeling possessive of our impending Mister Quick, are you, pet?" And you feel her fingers gentle on your cheek, taking your face in her hand and lifting you to look her in the eyes. Cracking your eyes open, you level a flat gaze at her. Also, you realise how long you must have been sleeping; it's sunset.

"Simply giving you space to form your own opinions of him, Ven," you told her, gaze sliding pointedly to Farleigh, who had splayed himself out on the opposing lounge chair. He stuck his tongue out at you.

"I'm a big girl, pet; I just want to know what you think, what I should expect."

God, the Catton siblings are phenomenal at playing innocent in a way that's completely and utterly unconvincing.

Venetia's still holding your face close, gaze sharp and demanding an answer. Maybe you should untangle yourself from her, from this conversation, but something about being around her always made you want to play along, even if out of spite.

"I think it doesn't matter what I say," you tell her softly, speaking with an honesty you don't often allow yourself around most of the Cattons, or even Farleigh, "nor do I think it matters what Farleigh says, no matter how cruel he is about Ollie," everything about your tone, your expression, the way your grip on her retracts as much as you're able, it comes as a surprise to her, and judging by your peripheries, Farleigh too, "you're going to want him, adore him; Oliver is unconventionally wonderful, and you are Venetia Catton."

"The actual fuck do you mean by that?" She pulls away, struggling to her feet with a scowl, and you relax fully into the spot she'd just abandoned. By this time you smile up at her, warm, adoring.

"I mean it is in your nature to love," it's not entirely a lie, but Venetia only sees the truth in it, the fondness. Her irritation softens, "I mean no opinion will ever matter above yours, and I know you, Ven; you're hardwired into your own brand of love at first sight." It's an incredibly, meticulously diplomatic cover for your earlier, far harsher statement. Farleigh's watching you like you're a magician before his very eyes; Venetia, thankfully, doesn't look at him.

Sitting back down gingerly on the edge of the lounge, she gives into your sweet words when you softly tell her you love her. She doesn't say it back - she never will - but she kisses you on the forehead before standing again.

"Almost thought you were being a bitch again," she tells you loftily, wrapping her towel around her waist like a skirt, cocking her hip, "and I've about had it up to here with you and your -"

"Yapping?" You supplied, playing up the canine allegations just to see the way she fails the hide the quirk of her lips, the dead give away that she's desperate to smile.

"Yapping, exactly." And she turns swiftly on her heel, trying her best to storm away. When you call out that you'll see her at dinner, she flips you off. If you look to Farleigh, you think you might be able to see the cogs turning in his mind. Slowly, his mouth opens, then there's a distinct look in his eyes that says he thinks better about whatever he was going to say, and he closes it once more.

"Spit it out."

"I actually don't think I will," at least he admits it, "I think I'm in awe of your way with words and I'm gonna keep the rest to myself," he looks out at the pool, at the grounds beyond it, tucking his hands behind his head.

"Farleigh -"

"No," he says firmer, and looks at you, but his expression isn't harsh, "I think you're right; I think we should have our own opinions, and I don't want mine to get in the way of our friendship," surprisingly, he sounds very genuinely sincere; it hits the centre of your chest, and you take a moment to consider his words. "Oliver Quick," still the barest bit of disdain, but he's clearly trying, "is someone you and my cousin clearly care about; end. Of. Sentence." It does look like it pains him to say, but you're grateful nonetheless.

For a very long time, the two of you lay in comfortable silence, side by side, as the sun turn the world gold-red-lilac-blue around you. Just as you feel like you should go and get dressed for supper, you can't help but try again.

"Come on, what were you going to say -?" You don't even finish the teasing question before Farleigh blurts out -

"Just how good was Oliver's dick for you to actually be this possessive of him before he even gets here?"

And the question makes you absolutely burst out laughing, a sound which Farleigh thankfully echoes. The cathartic release is greatly welcomed as you both stand. Wrapping your arm around Farleigh's waist as the two of you head back, but he's still waiting for the answer he knows you're not nearly too shy to give.

"I'm not possessive," you justify immediately, though Farleigh's snort gives away that he doesn't even begin to believe you, "but you can never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever tell Venetia -"

"That good?" Farleigh sounds incredibly sceptical, but you go quiet; you wonder if he can tell how smug you're being right now. Clearly, after a moment of silence, the disbelief in his voice gives him away; "seriously; that good?" You make an affirmative noise in the back of your throat, "okay," Farleigh actually sounds a little impressed, "Felix's jealousy makes a little more sense; I assume he knows?"

"Of course he knows," you shake your head dismissively, "and he's not jealous," anymore, you leave off the end.

"Am I jealous of you?" Farleigh murmurs, mostly as a joke, but knowing him there's at least part of him considering it, "who would have guessed; Oliver Quick."

For the first time when Farleigh says his name, there's only intrigue on his tongue.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #venetia catton x reader #venetia catton imagine #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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irafuwas · 5 months

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Sebek and Silver - More alike than meets the eye

I know much has been said already on how Silver and Sebek diametrically oppose each other – from their handedness to their hobbies, and from their personalities to their poses in certain cards – but something I feel we also need to focus on is the one unifying point in their story arcs. Namely, their journeys to discover just who they are.

*This post contains light spoilers for cards and story content that have not been released on the EN server yet*

Sebek is infamous for his one-track mind. He dedicates himself to his studies, his extracurricular activities, and his training, all for Malleus’s sake – partly to earn commendation from the men he so respects, and partly to bring honor to his liege’s name. His endeavors are admirable, in that he is diligent, persevering, and earnest, yet rarely does he divulge any of his genuine, private ambitions.

Consider, in fact, that the very reason he sought to enroll at NRC was only to serve as Malleus’s guard, rather than for his own academic aspirations.

Though we’ve yet to learn just why he so fervently worships Malleus, perhaps we can trace this desire for his liege’s recognition back to a broader need to be affirmed of his worth. If you recall his despair at manifesting his magic so late, and how much it bothered him - hurt him, even - when Silver departed for NRC and left him behind, the great extent to which he values magical prowess is clear to see. And if we further consider how he so longs to separate himself from his human heritage – from his magicless heritage, could it be that, even more than the glory of knighthood, he simply yearns to find a part of himself that he – and all those around him – can be proud of, can find worth in?

For what is he without his magic? He, a mere half-blood, born amongst a peoples whose bodies thrum with a power more sacred, more ancient than the air within our lungs and the ground beneath our feet? I feel Sebek is so driven, so severe in his efforts to claim the right to stand by his liege’s side, just so that he one day might finally be able look himself in the mirror and say, “here, here is at least some part of me I don’t have to be ashamed of, that I don’t have to hate.”

And Silver, that sweet boy, how unerring, how remarkable is his selflessness, how his inexhaustible compassion belies the scant 17 years he’s spent awake on this earth! But when one pours out so much of oneself for others as he has done, when all that one does is for the sake of someone else, how often one loses sight of one’s own identity. Indeed, if I were to draw for you a map of the inside of Silver’s heart of hearts, if I were to plot for you his every dream, measure and record every aspect of his being, I scarcely doubt there’d be a single point you couldn’t trace back to his desire to make his father happy.

To that end, consider how we learned in Silver’s latest birthday vignette that Lilia began training him from an incredibly young age – when he had only just become conscious of his surroundings. A child that young cannot make such a monumental decision for himself - the decision must be made for the child. And so, we do not truly know if Silver’s dreams of knighthood are the result of his own personal meditations, or if his father, in his infinite folly, thrust them upon him, burdening the young child with an aspiration that would go on to consume nearly every facet of his life.

With the both of them being so unsure in their own identities, it's why I find it so poignant - and so apropos – that Sebek is the one to rouse Silver from his moments of self-doubt, time and time again. When Silver questioned his capabilities as a leader, when he wished desperately that he could change, that he could be more like his classmates, and when he, in his darkest hour, doubted even the sanctity of his father’s love for him – each and every time it was Sebek who liberated him from his great desolation.

It has to be Sebek - for who better to accompany Silver on his journey towards self discovery than one who must walk down the same path as he? Who better than his best friend, his brother, his reflection – his veritable light in the darkness of his own heart?

#twst silver #sebek zigvolt #twst theory #twst analysis #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #txt

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mrsjellymunson · 7 months

Text

Happy Halloween, Love ❤️

Pairing: Joseph Quinn x fem!reader

Summary: Joe raids the costume department at work and conspires to make this Halloween your most memorable yet.

WC: ~4.4k

CW: 🔞MDNI!🔞, NSFW, RPF, PWP, smut, porn with a little bit of plot, established relationship, role play, dressing up, slightly dom!JQ, choking (referenced), oral (everyone’s a winner), fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex (always wrap it irl), tiny bit of mutual masturbation, squirting, maybe a touch of overstimulation, Eddie and demons are referenced, pet names (numerous, including references to reader as a pet, minion and servant), no y/n or descriptions of reader’s appearance, demon fucking (sort of). Please lemme know if I’ve missed anything, and don’t read this if you’re uncomfortable with real-person fics or any of this content.

A/N: Inspired by the anonymous comment, “It’s as close as we can get to having Joseph Quinn dress up in the Eddie wig and have demon horns”, a scenario which got stuck in my head and wouldn’t leave. This might well be the only RPF I’ll write (they still weird me out a little). I hope this doesn’t put anyone off checking out my Eddie and Steddie stuff 😬 I wrote this fairly quick and it’s not beta-d. It’s also my first time sharing smut, so (constructive) feedback is most welcome!

You knock on the bedroom door gently, having slipped into your new outfit in the bathroom. Halloween season was always fun with your boyfriend Joe, both of you loving to dress up and create spooky scenarios that would inevitably lead to sexy shenanigans. You’d thought you were the only one dressing up tonight, but you were wrong.

Unbeknownst to you, Joe had raided the prop store at the studio he was currently working at, claiming he needed something for a Halloween party, and he had plans...

“Come in, darling.”

You open the bedroom door, stepping in slowly, wanting to tease Joe with a slow reveal of the short, ivory satin robe you had on, something so innocent-looking belying what was underneath.

A deep, velvet-smooth voice greets you, slowly murmuring, “Happy Halloween, my love.”

It’s Joe. Your Joe. Your kind, generous, loving and silly Joe, but there’s something else about him tonight, something you can’t quite place just yet.

He’s surprised you - the bedroom is dark, lit only by a pair of spice-scented red candles and a small, warm lamp. It’s intimate, but also somewhat lair-like, and the ambiance goes really well with the red and black skull-patterned bed linens you’d bought especially for this time of year. You love it.

Your eyes rake over your man, drinking him in. Clothes-wise he’s wearing nothing but a pair of snug black jeans and a studded belt.

Fuck, he looks so hot.

He’s looking down at the floor, hands clasped loosely behind his back, putting his delectable torso on display for you.

In addition, he’s wearing The Wig. That wig.

You’ve role played with this before; he knows how much you love Eddie’s luscious, chestnut locks, and how when he puts on the voice it all combines to rile you up. One time you even got some fake blackwork tattoos and put them on his arms and chest. That was a very fun evening.

But this time there’s more…

Amongst the curls he’s also wearing a pair of long, spiralling, ridged, red and black horns. They’re beautifully detailed. They nestle amongst the soft kinks, and the curls hide the ends of the horns and however they’re attached, making the effect all the more realistic.

God, he looks amazing.

You can’t determine why he’s been looking at the floor since you came in. Is he being bashful? You’re confused, that doesn’t seem to fit the narrative…

Your question is answered when he slowly looks up at you, with a menacing, Kubrick-like stare.

He’s wearing contacts. Not just any contacts, but full-sclera, black contacts, completely obscuring his natural eyes.

You swallow, hard. Your fingers toy with the sides of the slinky robe you’re wearing, and you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together, trying to provide just a little friction to the area between them. Joe notices.

“Fuck Joe, I mean Eddie. You look-“

He cuts you off.

“There is no Joe here. No Eddie either. Only… your Master.”

You gasp at his voice, how it’s even deeper than usual and slightly menacing. You’ve always been impressed by the way he can control his voice, the timbre, volume, pitch, cadence. You’re momentarily distracted by how you’re not surprised he’s always been in acting work.

“Tell me you’re mine, my loyal minion.”

You’re broken abruptly from your reverie by Joe’s commanding tone, and you willingly play along, knees weakening and a pool of wetness forming surprisingly quickly in your underwear.

“Yes, Master. I’m all yours-”

You gasp as his strong hand reaches forward towards your throat, wrapping loosely around it. Not squeezing (not tonight, anyway), just demonstrating who’s in charge of this scenario.

Joe your Master smiles in that familiar way you know and love, but he keeps the sinister stare, giving everything a much darker edge.

“Well done, my precious. Now, would you like to have some fun with your Master?”

You bring one hand up from your side and gently drag the the tips of your fingernails along the inside of his forearm, a place you know is sensitive.

He breathes in quickly through his nose, trying to stifle a gasp, though you hear it. His grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly, and he tilts his chin up, narrowing his eyes and looking down his nose at you.

You surprise yourself as you reply, “Yes Master, I’m yours to command.”

Ever the consummate professional, none of Joe’s excited internal monologue shows, and he simply looks at you and murmurs, stretching out the syllables,

“Good girl...”

That’s it, you’re gone. He could do almost literally anything to you right now and you wouldn’t stop him. You let out a small whimper.

Even with the dim light and the darkness of his denim, you can see the bulge in your Master’s jeans.

Releasing your throat, he moves his hand to the back of your neck, gripping firmly but not harshly, bending towards you and pulling your face to his. He crashes his lips against yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth in a passionate, messy kiss, which you eagerly return.

Breaking the kiss, he grins at you again, before removing his hand from your neck, taking a step back and flicking the edge of your robe near your collarbone.

“Take this off.”

You obey, slowly undoing the robe and slipping it off your shoulders. As the fabric slips to the floor and pools at your feet you’re left in nothing but the new set that you bought especially for tonight.

Joe’s eyes caress your form, taking in the sheer, red, rose-patterned lace decorated with tiny bows.

But what’s really catching his eye is the fact that your bra is peek-a-boo style, and the ribbon ties are already undone, your nipples on display.

He hisses an inhale, and runs a thumb pad gently over one of your hardening buds.

“This all for me?”

“Yes, Master, only for you.”

He takes a step towards you again as he glances to your panties.

“Are these…?”

“Crotchless? Yes, Master.”

He lets out an involuntary growl and brings his other hand to your core, pushing one finger between your thighs and swiping its tip through your already-damp folds.

Feeling your wetness he can’t help but drop his head back and moan.

It gives you a perfect view of his gorgeous neck, and you want to lick it, like you have so many times before.

Seeing Joe dressed up like this and regarding you with such obvious hunger leaves your whole body tingling, and the anticipation of more of his touch makes you feel like tinder about to combust.

You need him to have fewer clothes on too.

Biting your lip, you slowly bring a hand up between you and trace your fingertips over his solid torso, tracing shapes on his skin, touching the fine, soft hair and moving down towards his happy trail, finishing at his belt line. As your fingers reach his belt buckle, you ask,

“Please, Master, may I..?”

Your Master drops his hands to his sides and, with a lascivious grin, tongue peeping out at one corner running over his teeth, he gives you a tiny nod.

You undo his belt and jeans, running your hands inside the fabric and around his abdomen until you get to his hips. He’s not wearing anything underneath, just how he knows you like it.

You push the fabric downwards, dropping to your knees as you go, just how you know he likes it.

His cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen, fully hard already, and you drool at the sight.

Stepping out of his clothing, he positions himself in front of you, abs tensed and legs slightly apart, looking down at you with those completely black eyes, a curtain of dark curls framing his face.

“What are you gonna do for me, my servant?”

“Whatever you want me to, Master.”

You stick out your tongue as far as you can and languorously lick a broad stripe from his balls up the base and shaft of his cock, past his frenulum and all the way to the tip, where you pause at his slit, swirling your tongue and collecting a bead of precum that’s collected there.

Glancing up again, you notice he’s pursed his lips and his breathing has become uneven, all signs you’ve learnt are indicative of him enjoying what you’re doing.

Lifting both hands you gently grasp his base with one, pulling his tip slightly towards you, and caress his balls with the other, as you open your mouth and slide slowly down his length. Pausing after a couple of inches you return the other way, repeating and going further each time until your lips are touching the fingers you have wrapped around him.

He’s fully panting now, lips parted and brows gently furrowed.

“Fuck, precious, you’re gonna fucking kill me one day.”

Taking this as an indication to continue, you hollow your cheeks and suck, earning you a deep moan from his chest.

You move up and down at a slightly faster pace, sucking and licking, enjoying having your face stuffed full of him, until he’s suddenly grasping your chin and pulling you up towards him. His cock leaves your mouth with a soft pop, and you’re soon standing in front of him, eyes locked. Gruffly, he mutters,

“That’s too good, sweetheart, and I’ve got plans for you. Get on the bed.”

You obey, sitting your bottom on the edge of the bed and shuffling backwards until you’re in the centre, leaning back on your elbows.

He climbs on behind you, and using his hands and his knees he roughly pushes your thighs apart, slotting himself between them.

He bends low towards your centre, inhaling deeply and pausing for a moment, humming and enjoying the scent of your arousal.

At any other time you might be embarrassed, but his behaviour fits so well with the whole demon vibe that you find yourself heating up even more at the action.

He exhales a long, hot breath, which fans over your core, tantalising you further.

Dropping his upper body between your legs, he lets out a series of low growls as he sucks wet, biting kisses up your inner thighs, pausing occasionally to suck hard on the soft flesh. You moan at the sensation, wondering if he’ll leave bruises, excited by the idea that he might.

You use the opportunity to touch the horns for the first time, feeling the details and ridges, enjoying the contrast with the soft, flowing curls.

He eventually reaches your centre, and marvels at the lingerie framing your delicate, glistening folds.

With a gruff, animalistic hum he licks a stripe from your shining hole all the way up to your begging clit. You cry out, the most sensitive part of you finally receiving the attention it’s been craving.

Wasting no more time, he sticks his tongue out as far as it will go and pushes it inside you, moving and licking and devouring you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You watch him with hooded eyes, trying to sear the image of this demon-god between your legs into your mind, before your arms give out and you flop backwards onto the bed, just about managing to vocalise,

“More, Master. I want more of you.”

He takes the hint, bringing one hand up and pushing two fingers easily inside you, and moving his mouth to lick and suckle at your clit. You moan loudly, pushing your hips down onto the bed and grinding into his hand and face. He moans at this, and the vibrations start to drive you towards your peak.

He chooses this moment to curl his fingers towards your front wall, hitting that spot inside you perfectly, and you begin to see stars. He keeps up his ministrations, your moans eventually turning to wails as he gradually increases the pressure on your clit, and you can hold off no longer. Your vision turns black, your limbs lock, and for a moment you stop breathing, a bubble of euphoria bursting within you as you come undone with a scream.

He reduces the pressure on your clit but doesn’t stop, forcing you to ride out aftershock after aftershock on his face. Eventually he removes his fingers from your swollen cunt, replacing them momentarily with another swipe of his tongue, before pulling off entirely. Looking down at you he lets out a feral growl. Licking his lips, he wipes his chin with the back of his hand and licks it clean, before muttering,

“Fuck, so fucking beautiful…”

As soon as he thinks you can manage, he’s pulling at one hip, assisting more than forcing, as he says, “Turn over, baby, stick that beautiful ass in the air for me.”

You do your best to manoeuvre onto your front, keeping your face and chest on the mattress and putting your knees on the bed, lifting your butt. He kneels behind you, parting your knees a little further, running his hands over the globes of your ass, fully exposed and framed prettily by the red lace.

He lets out another, “SO fucking beautiful”, before slapping a palm hard cross one cheek, making you whimper, immediately moving in to kiss the stinging flesh, laving it with his lips and tongue.

Rising, he notches his tip at your hole, and, remaining in character, murmurs, “I’ve gotta fucking have you, my beautiful little -uh- pet!”

On the last word he sheathes himself fully inside you, no consideration given for the usually slow and gradual way he’d enter you, animal passion taking over and both of you more than ready.

You groan loudly as he bottoms out, adoring the feeling of him filling you up and how he rearranges your insides every time he does.

He moans as he remains seated within you for a few moments, groaning gutturally and gripping your hips harshly.

You don’t have much respite, as after only a moment of acclimation he’s setting a brutal pace, pumping in and out of you with feral force and abandon, wet and breathy sounds filling the room, his cock jolting your insides with every thrust.

He starts to mutter almost unintelligible phrases in his demonic voice, but you make out,

“So fucking perfect, so fucking good for me, taking me like the cockvessel you are, my good little minion, my pet, my beautiful, beautiful pet.”

It’s all so exquisitely overwhelming, and you start wailing into the pillows.

He chooses this moment to slip one hand around to your front, immediately finding your sensitive, sopping wet bud and pressing small, form circles into it.

This brings you almost immediately to another precipice, and you cry out, “Ohgodohgodohgod!”

You can feel yourself clench down on his length, and he growls out,

“Jeezus fucking christ, squeezing me so tight, fuck!”

Euphoria washes over you again, a tingling heat beginning in your pelvis and spreading through your entire body. You go limp, but your Master holds you to him with one strong forearm, fingers continuing to circle your clit until you move and twitch, your body trying to deal with the dissonance of wanting to get away from the overstimulation but chasing the aftershocks.

As he continues to help you ride out your second orgasm he’s desperately trying to stave off his own, and eventually pulls out abruptly, your sweat mingling as he rests his forehead on your ass, breathing deeply.

You whine at the sudden emptiness and loss of contact, but are grateful for the opportunity to slump onto your side, enjoying the potential for a short rest.

He comes to lie behind you (if you’re honest, one of your favourite positions in which to get railed), but you realise something.

“No Master, not like this. There’s no point in you looking like that if I don’t get to enjoy it.”

Growling again (and seeing your logic) he deftly flips you over onto your back, slotting himself between your plush thighs, tip nudging your entrance as he stares into your face.

He moves both of your arms above your head, running his hands up the soft skin of the undersides and holding them there, hands clasping your wrists and pushing them into the mattress.

He seems to consider something for a moment.

“Hmm, I haven’t given these lovely tits nearly enough attention, my love. Especially considering you decorated them so prettily for me.”

That lascivious smirk is back, and with his free hand he opens the slit in the lace on one side and hums as he licks the flat of his wet tongue over one nipple. As he moves away he lets out a sigh through his nose, cooling the flesh delightfully and causing your already hard nipple to peak even more.

He massages each breast with his free hand, but decides that’s not enough, so commands you to, “Keep those there for me, my pet”, letting go of your wrists and starting to use both of his hands on your soft mounds. He’s enjoying pushing his fingers under the holes in the lace, pushing it to the side to expose your soft flesh, squeezing and squashing, playing with the ribbons, pinching your nipples and licking and sucking on your sensitive nubs. You arch your back and moan with delight at the sensations.

Eventually satisfied that he’s given your tits enough attention, he licks a wet stripe all the way from your sternum, up the side of your neck all the way to your jaw, making you shiver in delight and anticipation.

He hovers over you, tips of his curls tickling your forehead. He plunges his tongue inside your mouth again in another passionate kiss, and you can taste your musk and the salt from your own skin combined with the unique taste of him.

He returns his focus to getting himself seated inside of you again. He leans forward, holding your wrists with one hand, with the other lining his member up with your hole as he moves his hips forwards.

He slowly slides into you, filling you up yet again. He fucks you slow but ever so deep, the change of pace allowing you to feel every vein and ridge of him against your sensitive walls. You’re both trembling, all of your nerves alive with sensitivity.

“Like me fucking you like this, my pet? Want your Master to -mmm- make you cum again?”

Though you know without doubt that would be an absolutely delectable option, and a certainty if he was to continue, you decide you want to do something for him now.

“Yes. But I want to be good for you, Master. I want to sit on you, wanna ride you so bad.”

His eyes widen and that signature grin spreads across his face.

“Well, what my pet wants, my pet gets, doesn’t she?”

He slowly pulls out of you and releases your wrists, and in an attempt to conceal his excitement, languidly moves up the bed to lounge on a pile of collected red and black, silk and fur pillows. Abs tensed, knees spread wide and slightly bent, cock in hand and giving every appearance of being cocky and arrogant, he’s the perfect vision of a commanding demon. He’s sitting like he’s on a throne, like he deserves this. It drives you wild.

He lazily tugs at himself as he watches you crawl up the bed towards him, though he furrows his brow slightly as you pause halfway to sit on your heels, knees wide apart, displaying yourself for him.

“What’re you doing, my pet?”

You start touching yourself, parting your folds and sinking a finger easily into your dripping cunt, your free hand coming to massage one nipple.

His eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly, and you see his grip on his dick get tighter. You know he loves to watch.

You mumble, as innocently as you can,

“I couldn’t wait, Master.”

He watches for a few moments, entranced, but then remembers what’s on offer and taps his thigh, raising his voice a little, aggressively muttering,

“Get up here, minion. Obey your Master!”

His domineering tone sends tingles up your spine and to your core, and you instantly comply, clambering the rest of the way up the bed and straddling his hips.

He holds his cock steady underneath you, running it over your slit, the wet noises exciting you even more.

You place your hands onto his shoulders, stabilising yourself. You take another moment to admire his outfit and presence, holding his gaze before starting to sink down onto him.

As you seat yourself into him fully, that delicious stretch and feeling of fullness returns. You take a moment to enjoy it, before starting to move, lifting up, slowly at first and not too far, before lowering yourself back down. He’s at a fantastic angle, and feeling him so far inside you is intense. You whine out,

“Fuck, Master, you’re so deep…”

He bends his legs behind you and plants both feet on the bed, encouraging you to prop yourself against them whenever you need to. He knows you love to lean back, giving him not only a delicious new angle but also an exquisite view of your tits jiggling as you move, and it also gives him purchase to buck his hips and slam into you from below.

He’s full-on panting again, and, huffing, he breathes out,

“That’s my good little pet, fucking me so well. You gonna make us both cum, my sweet little toy?”

Wanting to do a good job, you use your thighs to bounce up and down on him, his cock hitting that spot inside you and rocketing you towards yet another high. He’s grabbing at your tits, your belly, your hips, anywhere he can reach, grumbling and growling and clearly desperate to feel every inch of you.

You need more, and you grab one of his hands and bring it to your front. He immediately begins rubbing his thumb against your clit, and you start to whimper, already close. Before you lose the power of speech he asks,

“Do you trust your Master, sweetheart? Gonna let me try something?”

You trust him implicitly and, although you have no idea what he has in mind, you nod. He moves one hand to your sacrum, stabilising you. The other thumb continues circling your clit, but he pushes the flat of that hand against your belly, like he sometimes does when he wants to feel himself inside of you, except this time there’s more pressure.

You’re rolling your hips against him now, all the different sensations combining to bring you closer to your release. You can hear him panting too, feel him tensing, and you know he’s not far off either. But there seems to be a different kind of pressure building in your abdomen.

You try to say something, but full sentences won’t come out. All you can manage is parts of words, like, “Wait-, no-, someth-, it’s diff-, oh fu-“

Unable to control anything anymore, your release washes over you in a searing wave, but there’s something else too - you feel a hot, wet gush coming from you and soaking his hand, wrist and abdomen.

Unable to process what’s just happened, you simply look at him, open-mouthed but still euphoric.

That’s it for him, he can’t hold off anymore and his release hits him, hard. He pulls your hips down onto him at the same time he slams up into you, face slack and breathing ragged, and you feel his hot, sweet release paint your insides, simultaneously letting out a long, low, broken groan.

Unable to process anything else, his eyes close and his head drops back against the headboard. You get another glimpse of that delicious neck, and run your hands over it and his collarbones as he comes down. He always looks so beautiful like this.

You both need a moment to let your heart rate and breathing come back to some semblance of normal. Evaporating sweat leaves you both with delicate goosebumps on some of your exposed skin, but the change in temperature is welcome.

You’re the first to speak as you look down at his wet belly and ask,

“Uh, Joe. What the fuck was that?”

His face turns slightly pink as, voice back to its normal pitch, he bashfully admits,

“I, um, just wanted to see if I could make you squirt, that’s all.”

He looks a little sheepish as he continues, slightly concerned,

“Was it ok? I mean, did you hate it?”

“God no, it felt… amazing! Just, y’know, maybe warn me next time?”

“Of course my sweet. Anything for my baby.”

He plants some wet kisses across your cheeks.

As if wanting to illustrate how much he enjoyed it, he brings his wet hand up to his mouth, sucks his fingers and thumb, and slowly shakes his head in delight as he adds,

“Mmm-mm, it was really fucking hot though!”

You slap his chest playfully, rolling off him to settle in the crook of his arm, your head against his chest, running a hand up and down it.

Ever the considerate lover, after a few moments he inquires,

“How was it overall, baby? Did you enjoy it?”

Full of endorphins and the love of your man, you gush,

“Fuck yes, Joe, it was incredible.” As you toy with some of the ends of the wig, you add, “Thank you so much for doing this for me. For us.”

He replies, “Oh love, it was, and I mean this quite literally, my absolute pleasure. I’m such a fucking lucky bastard.”

You both giggle a little at this. Joe delicately removes the horns and wig with his free hand, laying them reverently on your bedside table so as not to tangle or damage them, another testament to his devotion to his craft, and you snuggle into each other, continuing to murmur sweet nothings and enjoying the afterglow.

After a few minutes Joe admits, “Sorry, I’ve got to take these bloody things out babe, they’re really sodding uncomfortable.”

You both laugh again, as he rises from your shared bed and makes his way to your en suite to remove the contacts, cleaning himself off and returning with a warm washcloth for you, which you take gratefully. As you clean up he picks up the horns, examining them and twisting his fingers around what you now see is a sturdy headband.

He takes the washcloth from you, returning it to the bathroom. As he comes to sit by you on the bed once more, you spy a small smirk on his lips. You know that look, devious yet playful. He’s got some kind of plan.

“What is it, my treasure?”, you goad, using your fingertips to gently tickle his happy trail and tease at his exposed belly.

He replies,

“I was just thinking, maybe next time, you could wear the horns…?”

Thanks so much for reading!

Comments and reblogs make my world spin, please let me know what you think!

#probs my only RPF #joseph quinn #Joseph Quinn smut #RPF #Joseph Quinn fic #stranger things #Joseph Quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #role play smut #slight dom!joseph quinn #dressing up smut #halloween smut #halloween fic #demon fucking #demonfucking #mrsjellymunson gets the horn

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

Note

Well for a part two I was thinking it could happen a few years later or something like that. Daemon and reader are married, she is pregnant but she doesn't know that yet. I was thinking it would be sweet for Daemon to figure that out. Maybe Caraxes gets extremely overprotective of reader. They could have a small argument wholr caring for Caraxes and it would turn in the dragon growling at Daemon when he would rise his voice at the reader. It all becomes real when she faints one morning after getting out of bed so Daemon calls the maesters and they confirm that she's pregnant. and maybe the moment of the birth, Daemon holding his first child and getting to place a dragon egg inside the crib. Just general sweetness. I would be very pleased if you'd like to write this ! If not it's perfectly fine ! Thank you !

I love your brain! It’s filled with fascinating ideas. Also I love protective Caraxes. It’s just perfect.

Newsflash: I’m shit at writing birth scenes cuz I’ve never done it by I tried my best despite some possible inaccuracies.

Reader is female per request. Just letting ppl know beforehand before I forget.

Here’s part 1 for those who haven’t read it.

Your love for your Daemon has often left you blindsided to his darker impulses that you had soon became repulsed by your sudden faux ignorance to his crimes you’ve long kept silent about. Yet you found yourself still in love with him as the day you understood the word and shown said love in a multitude of ways that you probably shouldn’t have; so when news of Rhea Royce -Daemon’s bronze bitch of a Lady wife before you- having passed away on a hunting trip, the cause having that been of her horse being frightened by some means, crushing and as an result paralysing the poor woman. Those minor details didn’t catch your eye but what was added onto it oh most definitely did; apparently it was said that her head had been caved in and along with the apt timing of Daemon’s visitation at the Vale almost corresponded perfectly to the time of Rhea Royce’s death also too perfectly to be ignored by the public.

It fell together so seamlessly that it was no longer thought to be an outlandish accusation to assume that Daemon Targaryen, your husband, had killed Rhea Royce out of cold blood. You found yourself at a loss for words, torn between creating a false narrative to save face and protect Daemon’s ‘innocence’ and going mad within your denial of the truth presented before you as clear as day. It was obvious that to live someone was one thing but to defend their unjust cruelty towards others was another. Maegor was called ‘the cruel’ for good reason, given the how history written him to be; as it seemed history held an eternal grudge against house Targaryen and was willing to bury those who bore the name as repercussions for the wars they’ve waged and the homes, families and kingdoms that now laid to ruins because of them. It was only a matter of time before Daemon received similar treatment long after his passing, have his history written through venomous words and accounts from those who only ever spoke ill of him in life and death. It was also a matter of time before history treated you just as equally horrid as it would Daemon, Rhaenyra and Viserys.

Unfortunately you knew that many of the cousin members and even the king would already be privy to whom the most likely culprit was, given how eagerly Daemon was of disgracing Rhea’s name and insulting her beauty by claiming that the sheep of the Vale were prettier then her in front of an audience. You also knew that you’d sooner be caught in the crossfire unwillingly as a means of tarnishing your name along with his for keeping dark secrets concerning the kings brother for as long as you have in hopes of toppling you both and be done with it once and for all. No matter how much you wished to fight by Daemon’s side you have found yourself unable in your current state as of late; you know naught of how or when it came about but it is believed that it had started the first morning after you and Daemon consummated the marriage. Only then did it seem to linger longer then you had hoped days prior and have yet to speak a word of it to Daemon never less the Maesters but that could wait as there were more pressing matters to confront your beloved on firstly.

“Is it true?” Daemon’s ear picked up at your voice as he lowered himself from Caraxes back, “my spouse, you look as radiant as ev-“ “silence your silver tongue husband and answer me, is it true?” You cut him off venomously, not particularly in the mood for his honeyed words. “Why don’t you cease speaking in riddles and tell me what ales you so much to bare the vipers venom on your words.” Daemon began to hate the fact that slowly and surely enough your eyes were beginning to open and see him for whom the seven kingdoms truly saw him as. No longer were you carefree kids anymore and sooner or later uncomfortable realisations would have inevitably been made. Yet Daemon didn’t think that they’d poisoned your mind so quickly as they have and for which he would have their tongues for so they would never speak a word within your presence to doubt his character ever again; because to Daemon you were merely voicing the accusations that the kingdom have made against him, that it was the Seven kingdoms and his own brother that were forcing you into thinking him, your beloved, a villain in means of causing a rift between you too.

Daemon has fought tooth and nail to have you and he wasn’t planning on letting you slip over to their side so easily. Yet when the words flew from your lips and into his skin, Daemon could feel the prickling feeling of ice flooding his once fiery veins. “That you killed Rhea Royce as a means of selfishly securing yourself of the royalties of Runestone.” The air between you felt as though at a boiling pit and a subzero zone simultaneously as it only became increasingly difficult to breath in either conditions. Caraxes seemed to physically stiffen at your words as his eyes shifted from you to the back of Daemon’s head who’s silence didn’t help his case nor hinder; feeling as though you were in danger the Blood Wrym moved to shield you until he practically eclipsed the entrance to the cavern like stable of his. No matter how good natured his actions may have been they didn’t simmer the unease within your chest when Daemon looked at you like a stranger.

“Your believing them too now?“ he says eerily, lingering in the air to further build upon the unsettling feeling within your stomach as everything within you screamed, urged you to run from the one person who sworn to keep you safe since a young age. So when you didn’t and his hand laid upon your cheek felt as cold as ice as your breath hitched at the contact and instinctively pulled yourself away from his grasp and in the the broad front of Caraxes who towered over you silently in thought. “They’re poisoning your mind my beloved, they’ll say anything to cause conflict between use because they are jealous that what we have is real in comparison to them. We made our own choice whilst they did not in they wanted to spend their putrid lives with; they want to see us fight, the want to see us collapse so they may move in and claim whatever they want as their own. What evidence do they even hold over me to stake their claim?” Daemon’s eyes searched your tearful ones only to find that deep down you were at war with your heart. “Your visitation to the Vale is enough evidence, you snide comments is enough evidence, your eagerness to bed another whilst still in relations with her is enough evidence to be made against you Daemon. They have everything you have ever said against Rhea Royce and had it engraved in their memory for moments like this. Your carelessness has brought about your own end my beloved and in due time everyone will know. If they don’t already.”

You felt yourself fighting hard to remain able to withhold your ground during your squabble as your consciousness wavered in and out of focus as Daemon’s words only sounded muffled in your ears as though you’ve been held underwater; yet it didn’t take a fool to not notice the enraged look upon his face as he closed the distance between you two, gripping your wrist a tad too tightly for your liking and along with the anger in his eyes made you all the more fearful that in your moment of weakness, Daemon would take the life of his second victim, his sweet childhood friend, out of fear that you’d betray him like everyone else did. It scared you to think that the one person you’ve loved more then anything held the ability to kill you right then and there without any witness nearby to oversee the curfuffle nor come to your defence. Instead you closed your eyes and awaited the worst when Caraxes leaned his long next over you to shove Daemon away, causing his hand to loose grip of your wrist as he fell on his backside harshly. “Caraxes! What is your issue! You’ve been like this for awhile now!” Daemon yelled up at his dragon who merely roared in his face, silencing the Targaryen quickly.

Neither you nor Daemon were quite certain what had caused Caraxes sudden change in personality because in recent memory the dragon had always been seen more so by your side then Daemon which raised some rumours that have long since been forgotten by mostly everyone. In reality however Caraxes was merely protecting you and the unborn babe within your womb and in turn had be growing protective of you ever since he could sense the additional life next to yours. So when Daemon exuded a threatening presence towards you and in extension his kin, was Caraxes final straw. Daemon had ruined everything in his life thus far and the dragon didn’t want the only consistent in his life since he was a babe himself to face because of his human’s impulsiveness; To Caraxes you were just as much apart of him as Daemon was and to be apart from you was akin to loosing a limb, all though it maybe gone, you can still feel it’s presence episodically.

Whenever moments like the one between you and Daemon were to ever arise, Caraxes felt the need to protect you, his mother, and going against his Targaryen counter part to ensure your safety even if it means harming another to achieve it. “Caraxes.” You whispered faintly before allowing the dragon to encouragingly nudge you out of the stables, allowing you to rest your full weight against him as he escorted you back to the castle, where he’d await to see you from the windows of your chambers before clambering back to the stables to whack Daemon upside the head with his tail for good measure before forcefully shoving him out also. Still angry at him for threatening yours and your child’s safety.

The next morning became a struggle for you in particular. The mere act of getting out of bed had become a difficult task as you heaved with all your strength to push yourself in to a sitting position before trying your luck once more to push yourself to you feet when all suddenly became black and your body slumped to the floor; causing a great thud that alerted Daemon, who had long since calmed down from your argument, to quickly take to his sword and rush up to your chambers in perpetration to fight off whoever sneaked into your room whilst you were in your most vulnerable state. Only to find your body pressed uncomfortably against the cold chamber floor, unmoving, fearing the worst; Daemon threw away his sword to one side as he rushed to your aid, cradling you in his arms, his face a mere contrition of all the emotions he was feeling in that moment. Guilt over never apologising to you for his heinous actions against you, anger over his own need to protect his pride when he swore to protect and defend you just as much, sadness for how your dream life seemed to have taken for the worse then he promised you and an overwhelming feeling of being lost without you guiding him like the light he knew you were.

Daemon wasn’t the only one who heard your fall as several servants rushed not too long after the prince to check upon you but not out of your safety but only out of fear of what Daemon would do to them if they had left you in such a state. However as much as they prayed to be spared of any punishment, it seemed to have gone unheard as when they opened the door to witness Daemon hold you in his arms so crushingly tight; they were met with fierce violet eyes that pierced through them and into their souls in hopes of sparking a fire that would kill them from the inside out. “What are you idiots standing there gawking like seagulls?! Fetch the Maesters!” Daemon roared in anger, watching as they scrambled, shoved, pulled one another behind the other as they raced to get out of the room to evade Daemon’s wrath. The prince scoffed in disgust but his features quickly soften as he looked down at you with all the regret one man could ever bare upon his face; the day of your argument haunts him so but nothing haunted him more then the look of fright within your eyes at his sudden outburst, almost as though you were anticipating a repeat of his actions at the Vale.

He didn’t care what anybody thought about him, he couldn’t care less if in their eyes they see a monster but he couldn’t stand to be viewed the same in yours. As children he swore to protect you from all those who’d dare chase you harm but he didn’t know that there would come a day where he’d be the one bringing harm to your front doorstep. Now he wasn’t certain he was going to be given the time to repent for his actions as he held you close against his chest, refusing to let go even as the maesters came through the doors, tried their might to pry you from his arms only for him to tighten his hold before giving in to their pleas to check you over under the circumstances that he were to stay by your side. “My prince,” the Maester began after checking you over thoroughly before coming to a resolution, “it seems that your spouse is with child and has fainted but luckily has not sustained any injury that would cause her highness nor your child any prolonging issues.” Daemon’s eyes never left you face as the news struck him. All this time you’ve been with child and he has the nerve to place you in a stressful situation where your emotions would be tested to their limitations; He grasped your hand tightly in his, “thank you, you may leave us.” He dismissed the Maesters who bowed and left your chambers so the prince could shed his tears in peace. “We’re going to have a child.” Daemon muttered to himself, resting his head gently against your stomach, “we’re going to have a child. Oh gods bless this day and the many more to come until their arrival. I promise to better myself not only for you my love but for myself, Caraxes and our unborn child.” He promised.

The day of your child birth came swift and soon though not without excruciating pain. Though it was all the more rewarding when you got to hold your child within your arms with Daemon by your side. “Healthy as a horse your highness.” The midwife claimed before handing you the child that clutched to your fingers, cooing. You looked to Daemon who only stared down at the child with love, reaching a finger out to stroke his cheek and smiling when the child’s smaller fingers grasped onto his longer nimble one like a life line. “Have any thoughts on what we should name them my love.” You asked softly as to not disrupt the baby form their slumber. “I believe it is in your right to name the child as only one of us had bled to give them life my beloved.” Daemon said, kissing your slightly sweaty forehead gingerly, never breaking his gaze from the babe bundled in the blooded cloth. “Rhaenar.” You concluded post haste, smiling when the child cooed at the chosen name, giving their incoherent approval. “Rhaenar it shall be.” Daemon replied, holding you tightly against him as you both looked at your child, taking in the features they inherited from the both of you from Daemon’s facial features to your eyes and so forth. The silence lingered for as long as you allowed until Daemon removed himself from your side to elsewhere in the room, leaving you albeit confused until you saw him return with a pitch black dragon egg within his hands. You were aware of the Targaryen customs for when a new child under their house is born, they are gifted an dragon egg that will hatch into their bonded dragon; So to bare witness to it for your own child left a warmth within your chest knowing that for good or for bad, you were a Targaryen as much as your child was.

“I handpicked this myself,” Daemon explained as he placed the dragon egg into the crib with care, “may I?” He asked, gesturing to the child. “Of course they are your child as well Daemon.” You chuckled as you handed Rhaenar over to him, watching with love and adoration in your eyes as he cradled the child to his chest, smiling brightly when the child reached for his face to which he leaned down for the child to poke and pull lightly at his platinum locks. “I shall protect you and your mother from all harm but that also means that when you get older you must uphold that same promise also.” Dameon spoke softly to the child before angling them so they were facing you on the bed, “your mother is the most beautiful in all the seven kingdoms, even if she does bite my head off from time to time.” You scoffed playfully, “I do no such thing Rhaenar, don’t listen to your fool of a father. He tripped over his one feet when I said yes to being his.” Daemon covered the child’s ears as he glared at you playfully, “don’t want you ruining my reputation in front of our child now or else he’ll think I’m soft.” “You are soft though Daemon, hate to break it to you.” He chuckled in response as he placed the baby down in the crib though not before pressing a kiss to their forehead and a quick ‘I love you’ to join you in bed. “Such a tragic fate to befall a man to unconditionally love his child and lady.” He joked, stealing a kiss from your lips. “Yes how unfortunate indeed.” You joined in, snuggling against his side as you both watched over your child protectively.

Bonus:

Caraxes strained his long neck to the window of your chambers to get a look at the child, cooing softly as he watched the two newly made parents snuggle up in bed whilst watching over their child. The babe would grow into someone extraordinary under you and Daemon’s parentage the dragon concluded. Though he’d soon smack Daemon once more for claiming that he chose the dragon egg when in actual fact it was Caraxes who had chosen the egg. Daemon was going to gift an ugly mishmash of a brownish-red egg before his dragon pointed him to a more suitable egg. If one squinted however not only would you be able to see that while it was an entirely pitch black egg there was hints of fiery red here and there. Caraxes was happy to see his family grow slightly larger, though more so he was happy that his Targaryen decided to grow up for the sake of you and the family. He couldn’t be more prouder…now how was he going to explain that he practically demolished some architectural structures just to bare witness to the childbirth…

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Seventy-Three

The war council room in Harrenhall exuded an atmosphere of gravity and urgency, illuminated by streaks of daylight filtering through the narrow windows carved into the ancient stone walls. At the center of the dimly lit chamber stood a large wooden table, its surface cluttered with meticulously drawn maps depicting the shifting tides of battle between the Blacks and the Greens. Figures representing the forces of each faction were arranged strategically across the maps, their positions and movements subject to intense scrutiny and debate.

Around the table, half a dozen men of varying ranks and stations gathered, their faces etched with determination and resolve. Some were adorned in the regal garb befitting their noble status, while others wore the practical attire of seasoned warriors, their armor bearing the insignias of their respective Houses. Among them were representatives from influential families such as Peake, Vance, Butterwell, and Tarbeck, each bringing their own perspectives and strategies to the discussion.

As the murmurs of conversation filled the room, the councilors delved deep into the intricacies of military tactics and diplomatic maneuvers, their voices rising and falling in heated debates and calculated deliberations. All sound stopped when Maera entered the room, the men rising from their seats, heads bowed as a sign of respect of her station as Princess.

Her graceful stride carried her confidently into the chamber, her gaze fixed upon the figure standing at the head of the table—her husband. Even Maera, with her resolve and determination, couldn't help but feel a stirring of excitement at the sight of Aemond commanding the room with his authoritative presence. His tall, imposing figure exuded an aura of power and strength that demanded attention and respect from all those in his midst.

Turning her attention to Aemond’s left, Maera’s eyes alighted upon Alys, standing by his side with a finger tracing a path on the map spread out before them. A fleeting pang of resentment flickered within Maera as she beheld the woman who had inserted herself into their lives, her features composed but her presence a constant reminder of the complexities of their situation.

Undeterred, Maera continued her movements across the room. Her attire, a masterful blend of regal elegance and practicality, featured layers of supple leather adorned with intricate golden dragon motifs. The loose black cotton skirts accommodated her growing belly with grace, cinched at the waist by a gleaming golden belt that accentuated her noble bearing. Compared to Alys’s simple attire, Maera’s ensemble exuded an undeniable majesty, a visual embodiment of her status as a princess of House Targaryen.

With a forced smile, Maera addressed the room, her tone polite but tinged with an underlying edge. "I was not aware there was a meeting scheduled for this morning," she remarked, her eyes meeting Aemond's briefly before turning to address the others.

Aemond replied smoothly, his expression betraying nothing of the tension between them from the day before. "I did not wish to disturb your rest," he said, his tone casual.

As Maera reached Aemond’s side, she maintained her regal composure, the graceful tilt of her head belying the underlying assertion of her presence. The other counsellors may have interpreted her interactions as nothing more than the love a wife held for her husband, yet that was far from the truth. It was a silent challenge, a reminder of their discord from the previous night. “Always so considerate of my well-being, husband,” she chirped, a gentle smile on his face.

With practiced poise, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek, a seemingly tender gesture that carried a subtle undertone of ownership, a silent reminder of her place by his side. "But alas," she continued, "the war does not sleep when I do." Her comment elicited chuckles from the other lords as they took their seats around the table. Maera's gaze flickered past Aemond to Alys, who stood beside him.

The witch shifted uncomfortably, her hand instinctively moving to cradle her swollen belly, a protective gesture that seemed almost instinctual. After a moment of reluctance, Alys curtsied to Maera, a gesture that did little to mask the tension between them.

“I am sure your counsel has been valuable thus far, Alys,” Maera remarked with a forced politeness. “But if you could take a seat beside one of the other attendees, we can commence the discussion.”

Alys’s face contorted into a fleeting scowl before quickly smoothing into a mask of forced civility as she gently protested, “I was just in the midst of exploring army movements in the Westerlands, Princess.” There was a subtle defiance in her gaze as she faced Maera head on, causing Aemond to clear his throat against the backdrop of awkward silence.

Though her outward demeanor remained composed, there was a steely determination in Maera’s eyes, a silent promise of the consequences that would befall any who dared to challenge her authority. Beneath the surface calm, a simmering resolve burned, fueling her determination to assert her dominance and put Alys firmly in her place. "I am eager to hear of these developments as well," she replied evenly, "but I'm sure you can do so from the other end of the table.” Alys held Maera’s gaze for a moment and did not move, but the princess didn’t waver. Maera asserted herself once more, “It seems more fitting that the Princess should be situated beside the Prince, as opposed to a… seer.”

A tense silence hung in the air as Alys held Maera's gaze for a moment before relenting with a respectful nod. She made her way to the other end of the table and took her seat, her expression unreadable. Maera settled herself on the right side of her husband, her presence a silent declaration of her authority and position. “Now then, could someone explain to me what has been discussed so far?”

Ser Adrian rose respectfully, nodding at Maera before addressing her. “Princess, the Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, or Targaryen as he is now styling himself, has returned to Dragonstone after securing an alliance with the North.” He gestured to a black dragon figure now situated on the island on the map. Maera acknowledged his report with a nod, prompting him to continue. “The North has contributed eighteen thousand men to support Rhaenyra’s cause, along with an additional two thousand known as the Winter Wolves.”

Another Lord, bearing the sigil of House Peake, spoke up. “This indicates an imminent invasion of King’s Landing from the North. Something that can be prevented so long as we hold Harrenhall.” Maera nodded in agreement, offering the lord a small smile in appreciation for his contribution. Despite feeling her husband's intense gaze on her, she remained focused on the discussion.

Ser Adrian moved across the table, positioning himself between two other lords as he shifted a Hightower beacon figure across the map. “Lord Ormund Hightower commands an army of nine thousand strong, preventing any invasion from the Black allies of the Reach,” he explained. As Maera scanned the map, Ser Adrian continued speaking. “However, even with our supporters in the Crownlands, Reach, and Stormlands, in terms of preventing an invasion…”

“It won’t be enough,” Maera interjected, finishing his sentence with a grim determination.

Ser Adrian gestured towards the Westerlands. “Before you entered, the Lady Alys suggested—oh no, wait, forgive me, not Lady. I—uhm,” he stumbled over his words, causing Maera to sigh with a small smile, the subtle twitch at the corner of her lips betraying her amusement.

However, as she pondered the implications of Alys being referred to as “Lady,” a deeper thought crossed her mind, prompting a fleeting furrow of her brow. The realization that Alys wielded significant influence in Harrenhall and held sway over Aemond, coupled with her pregnancy, suggested that perhaps she was indeed regarded as a Lady by some members of the council. Despite this realization, Maera masked her contemplation with a chuckle, and a raise her hand as a signal for the knight to stop.

“No offense caused, good brother. Given everything that has occurred, I can understand how these things can get confusing,” Maera laughed, offering a reassuring nod to Ser Adrian. She glanced briefly at her husband, noting the tension in his jaw at Maera’s jibe directed at him, before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. “I’m sure Alys is honored to be mistaken for a Lady. Now, Alys, what were you saying before I entered the room?”

Alys’s reaction to Maera’s laughter was swift, a fleeting tense of her features before she composed herself. Without missing a beat, she rose from her seat and approached the map, pointing to the Westerlands.

“As a good number of the King’s Army is currently indisposed through executing the traitors of the Crownlands, we need greater support from the West,” Alys began, her voice carrying a hint of urgency, her hand lingering on her swollen belly in a gesture that seemed almost pointed, as if to emphasize her status and authority. She picked up a green figure shaped like a lion and placed it in the Riverlands on the map. “The Lannister army can support us here at Harrenhall and defend King’s Landing from an attack from the Northerners.”

Maera studied the map with a furrowed brow, her gaze tracing the movements of the figurines representing the Blacks and Greens across the Riverlands. The disparity in numbers, with Harrenhall seemingly surrounded by enemies, did not escape her notice, prompting a deepening of the crease between her brows as she pondered their strategy. “We have more enemies than allies in the Riverlands. And those closest to the Westerlands in the Reach are Blacks. Are we so sure these armies will not be ambushed?”

“That is what I said, Princess!” exclaimed the Peake Lord from earlier, echoing Maera’s concerns. With his support, Maera’s expression softened slightly with a glimmer of hope. She recognized the significance of finding support in the midst of adversity, and the possibility of forging alliances provided a ray of optimism amidst the gloom of her precarious situation.

Alys interjected confidently, “There will be no attack from the Rivermen or traitors in the Reach. I have seen the lion swim through the river and make it onto dry land unharmed.”

Maera huffed in frustration at Alys’s supposed prophecy, her annoyance evident in the way she rubbed her temples and sighed heavily. Despite the logic behind their strategic analysis, Alys’s insistence on invoking prophecy introduced an element of uncertainty and doubt, complicating their plans and undermining Maera’s efforts to navigate the complexities of their situation with pragmatism and reason.

“What are your thoughts, my Prince?” inquired a knight with the sigil of House Butterwell adorned on his chest plate, addressing Aemond.

The Prince’s one-eyed gaze swept across the room, absorbing the opinions of the council with a thoughtful expression. With a quiet hum, he rose from his seat and strode purposefully across the room, his movements deliberate and confident. His tall and lean form exuded an aura of authority, clad in black leather garments that accentuated his imposing presence.

As Aemond stood before the map, his eye lingered intently on the marked regions, his mind calculating the strategic implications of their next move. With decisive gestures, he shifted a black dragon figure from Harrenhall to the border of the Riverlands and the North, signaling a shift in their tactical positioning. “If I patrol here daily, where an attack is most likely, we will be able to identify it sooner,” he concluded, his voice firm and decisive, earning nods of agreement from the attending lords.

Maera's eyes followed her husband's movements, her expression thoughtful as she studied the map. Despite the complexities of their situation, she couldn't help but admire Aemond's adeptness at command and his astute grasp of battle tactics. Rising from her seat, she stepped beside him, her form brushing against his as she pointed toward the Westerlands, offering her own insights and suggestions in unity with her husband's strategic vision.

“Half the Rivermen are sworn to Rhaenyra. What is stopping them from invading Harrenhall or preventing the Westerlands forces from reaching us?”As Maera spoke, Aemond’s gaze drifted down to her, a twinkle of admiration shimmering in his violet eye, his stare carrying a depth that momentarily left her breathless. A subtle blush tinted her cheeks, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips, buoyed by the pride of earning her husband’s respect.

Their shared moment was abruptly interrupted by the grating voice of Alys, clearly disgruntled. “That will not happen, as I have already said.”

Maera chose to ignore the interruption and with deliberate movements, she maneuvered black figurines across the map, mapping out their strategic maneuvers. She then fixed her gaze back to her husband, her tone firm. “You patrol the North. Daeron patrols the South, stopping traitors in the Reach from invading Kings Landing. Yet here,” she gestured to the West, “we are vulnerable.”

Aemond nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing in contemplation, echoed by murmurs of agreement from the other lords. Before he could respond, Alys interjected again, confidently, “I have seen that the Westerlands are safe from attack.”

“And I have seen with my two eyes that I command a dragon almost as large as Vhagar. It would be foolish not to use him,” Maera retorted, her voice laced with disdain as she turned her attention back to her husband. “I suggest I patrol this border, as a cautionary measure.”

Aemond met her gaze, his expression thoughtful as he considered her proposal. “Are you sure?” Aemond asked Maera, concern evident in his tone as he glanced at his wife. Maera replied with a determined nod, her eyes reflecting her resolve, before Aemond turned his attention to the room. “Are we all in agreement?” With nods and murmurs filling the room, indicating their consensus, the decision was made.

A rush of validation surged through her, her insights held weight in his decision-making process. In that moment, she felt empowered and respected, her contributions valued by the one person whose opinion mattered most to her. It bolstered her confidence and reaffirmed her belief in their partnership, igniting a sense of purpose within her.

However, Alys who was clearly unhappy with this stood from her seat as if to protest, her defiance radiated from her posture. Her cat-like green eyes bore into Maera, filled with resentment and challenge, while strands of her dark brown hair fell forward as she stood.

Maera, taken aback by Alys’s insolence, quickly intervened with words that appeared polite on the surface but carried an undercurrent of authority and command. “You look tired, Alys. Perhaps you should rest,” Maera said with a sly grin. “I have spoken with Maester Cain; he is awaiting you in his chambers for an examination.”

Alys clenched her jaw, her gaze briefly shifting to Aemond, hoping for support. However, Aemond’s reaction was not what she had hoped for. Instead of backing her up, he responded with a distasteful expression, merely raising an eyebrow in a reproachful manner, signaling his disapproval of her outburst to his wife. The witch huffed in frustration, her agitation palpable in the air, she reluctantly offered a small curtsy to the Prince and Princess, her movements stiff with indignation. The swish of her simple green dress as she turned to storm out of the room echoed her inner turmoil.

Maera's reaction was one of restrained triumph, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her features as she watched Alys depart. She knew that while this victory may have tilted the scales in her favor for the moment, the conflict between them was far from resolved.

“Have we received an update from Cole?” The Prince addressed the room once more as he returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table, his long, straight silver hair cascaded down his back, framing his sharp features. His posture exuded confidence and authority as he resumed his position, his violet eye scanning the room with a keen gaze.

Maera followed him, her eyes briefly capturing the elegance of his movements as he pulled out the chair for her. She couldn’t help but appreciate his gesture of care, a small warmth blossoming within her. As she sat down, Aemond pushed in her chair before taking his own seat, his presence beside her reassuring in the midst of the council’s deliberations.

“Yes, Prince Aemond,” an elderly Lord from House Vance began, unfurling a scroll for reference. “The Lord Commander has executed Lord Darklyn. Unfortunately, there has been quite an uproar in Duskendale.”

Maera furrowed her brow before strange sensation fluttered in her lower stomach, like a gentle fluttering of wings. Instinctively, she placed her hand over her abdomen, attributing the sensation to nerves regarding the topic of discussion. She listened intently as the Lord continued. “His guards and the common folk have protested, causing our forces to attempt to restore order.”

“Why do they not simply leave?” Maera inquired, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern. She did not want to appear ignorant, but surely if the execution was done then the host of soldiers could return to the task at hand? Thankfully, Maera’s brother-in-law was able to explain the reasoning behind it.

“It is a port, Princess,” Ser Adrian replied, offering clarification. “It may affect trade if balance is not restored.”

The Peake Lord elaborated, “And given the state of the Gullet at present, we need every port we can get to maintain trade.”

Of course, Maera thought. It was still difficult to get food, livestock, and weapons into the Crownlands due to the Velaryon fleet blocking access. Maera’s inherited fleet from Morne was providing security for trade ships but the loss in products meant the arrangement could not last forever. By turning Duskendale green, it would allow trade to arrive easily into Kings Landing.

“Has any headway been made with Essos? Perhaps they could assist with moving the Velaryon naval forces?” inquired the Butterwell knight.

“No, the Essossi are even more stubborn than the Dornish. They only protect their own, and since we have no relationships with the magisters, the chances are slim,” replied the old Lord Vance.

Essos had previously ignored pleas for aid made by the previous Hand of the King, Lord Otto, citing they did not wish to involve themselves in a war that did not concern them. However with the East trading so much with the West, the events that of the Dance of the Dragons was bound to affect them sooner or later.

A thought occurred in the Princess’s mind; she received updates every few months from a link who had travelled across the continent of Essos, one who had said they would offer support however they could, if she asked for it.

Maera interjected swiftly, “My brother Dermot is currently staying with a magister in Myr.” Her words commanded the room's attention, including that of her husband. “I could ask my brother to implore the magister on behalf of our cause.”

Ser Adrian was the first to respond, “That just might work, Princess.” The other Lords nodded in agreement, including Aemond, who displayed a faint smile.

A few hours had passed with the discussion of battle strategies within the council, yet even though Maera attempted to immerse herself, she found herself in awe of her husband’s ability to command the room. Her irritation from the night before seemed distant, and she couldn't help but be impressed. He listened to his advisors but was also able to assert himself using logic and the unique knowledge of riding on dragonback whilst jotting down notes of points that had been mentioned.

Aemond wanted to win this war, that was plain to see. She was unsure of his reasons, but supposed they could be many; an attempt to prove himself to his family as the more adept Prince, through duty of upholding is brother’s rightful claim to the throne, or to make the world a safer place for his House and its descendants. The Prince also divulged plans to the Lords for the royal children to be sent to ward in distant lands. One of the Lords even disclosed that Rhaenyra had similar intentions for her youngest children.

The old Lord Vance rolled his eyes. “I do not see why we don’t just kill her little bastards already. We should not risk bastard blood on the Iron Throne.” Maera's reaction was unexpected as she slammed her fists onto the table and rose from her seat in anger, surprising both herself and the other attendees, her green eyes flashing with intensity. As she stood, she felt that odd sensation in her lower stomach once more.

Closing her eyes briefly, Maera couldn't shake the haunting image of young Jaehaerys's blood staining the stone floor, his headless body cradled in Helaena's arms. A tear welled in her eye, a silent testament to the grief and horror that still gripped her heart.

Suddenly, Maera's eyes snapped open, her senses sharpening as she realized where she was. She couldn't afford to show emotion, especially not to these Lords who viewed such displays as weakness. Her actions needed to be driven by logic and principle, not by the haunting memories of a lost child or the fear for her own unborn child's safety. “The Blacks murdered the King's first-born son. If we do the same, how does that make us any better? What would the Realm think?”

Maera felt a reassuring hand on her lower back, a gentle pressure that grounded her as tension radiated through the room. Glancing up, she met her husband’s concerned gaze, finding solace in the silent understanding that passed between them. With a subtle nod, she relaxed her furrowed brow, silently acknowledging that her outburst was fueled by deep-seated emotions.

“Let us be done for today,” Aemond declared, swiftly ending the meeting. The other lords and knights rose from their seats and filed out of the room, leaving only the prince and princess in the heavy silence that followed. With a shared glance, Aemond and Maera wordlessly acknowledged the weight of the meeting and the unspoken understanding between them.

However, Maera was not quite ready to face her husband after the tumultuous events of the day before and the emotions it stirred within her. Without a word, she turned abruptly and made her way out of the chamber despite Aemond calling after her, retreating to the solitude of her chambers to gather her thoughts in private.

That evening in their shared chambers, the atmosphere was markedly different from their quarters in the Red Keep. The room was spacious but dimly lit, with heavy drapes covering the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden furnishings. The air held a chill, seeping in from the ancient stone walls of the fortress.

Upon the table between them lay a modest spread of food, far less extravagant than what they were accustomed to in King's Landing. There were simple dishes of roasted meats, bread, and vegetables, accompanied by a jug of wine and a few goblets. The fare lacked the refinement of royal feasts, reflecting the more austere conditions of their current surroundings.

As Maera and Aemond sat opposite each other, the atmosphere was palpably tense. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, casting a heavy weight over the room. Despite the flickering candlelight and the warmth of the hearth, an undeniable chill lingered in the air, a reflection of the strained relationship between husband and wife.

Throughout the day, Aemond and Maera had been occupied with their respective duties and interests, scarcely crossing paths since the morning council meeting. Aemond had attended to his princely responsibilities, while Maera had wandered the grounds of Harrenhall before immersing herself in the depths of the castle's library.

As they finally reunited at the dinner table, the couple sat in a subdued silence, each absorbed in their own activities. Their plates were filled with food, though neither seemed particularly focused on eating. Aemond diligently worked on his ledger, his attention devoted to the meticulous task at hand. Meanwhile, Maera delved into the pages of a book chronicling the history of Aegon's Conquest, the familiar tale offering her a convenient refuge from conversation with her husband.

Engrossed in her reading, Maera was startled when she heard the distinct sound of Aemond setting down his fork. Raising her gaze from the pages, she found herself meeting the Prince's eye, a subtle tension lingering between them as unspoken thoughts hung heavy in the air.

“I must commend you, wife,” he began, his voice carefully measured. “Your contributions to the council meeting were impressive.”

Maera scoffed softly, her gaze never leaving the pages of her book as she turned them with deliberate precision. “At least my ideas are grounded in logic, unlike some who prefer to chase after fantastical prophecies,” she retorted, her tone laced with subtle disdain.

Aemond paused, his jaw tightening imperceptibly as he tore his gaze away, a fleeting shadow crossing his features at the mention of Alys. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “I will speak with her regarding her conduct,” he stated, his eye meeting Maera’s briefly before darting away.

Maera absorbed his words in silence, a myriad of emotions swirling within her despite the veneer of composure she maintained. Despite the betrayal that still lingered between them, she couldn’t deny a glimmer of gratitude towards Aemond for attempting to mend the rift, as well as his support for her ideas in the meeting. With a nod of acknowledgment, she murmured a quiet "Thank you," before returning her focus to her book, her appetite waning as she picked at her food.

An odd sensation stirred in Maera's lower stomach once more, drawing a frown to her features as she contemplated its source. A memory from her childhood flashed before her eyes, her mother's gentle voice and the sensation of laying her head on her stomach. Suddenly, the pieces fell into place, and Maera placed a hand on her abdomen, feeling the subtle movements beneath her skin.

Aemond's brows furrowed in concern as he noticed Maera's expression, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "Is everything alright?" he inquired, his voice tinged with worry.

Maera's lips curved into a faint smile as she glanced up at him, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. "The baby's kicking," she replied softly, a mixture of awe and wonder dancing in her eyes.

Aemond rose from his seat with a sense of urgency, his ledger forgotten as he closed the distance between himself and Maera. His steps were swift yet deliberate, each movement betraying his eagerness to be by her side. "When did it start?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and excitement as he approached her.

Maera's laughter bubbled forth like a melody as she glanced up at him, her eyes alight with mirth. "Just this morning," she replied, her tone filled with amusement. "It's not quite what I expected it to feel like."

Kneeling beside her, Aemond's gaze drifted down to her delicate bump, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air before pulling back, unsure if Maera would welcome his touch. A soft sigh escaped Maera's lips, her resolve softening despite the lingering anger between them. She reached out, gently guiding his hand to her lower stomach, her own hand covering his as she pressed it against the curve of her bump.

In that moment, as the tiny babe stirred beneath her touch, Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he marveled at the movement. "How big is the babe now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eye never leaving the swell of Maera's abdomen.

"About the size of a potato, if I recall correctly," Maera replied, her voice soft and tender as she met Aemond's gaze with a fond smile.

Aemond’s brows furrowed slightly as he contemplated her words, his gaze lingering on her with a mix of concern and curiosity. “Does it hurt?” he asked tentatively, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Maera’s laughter echoed softly in the intimate space between them as she shook her head, her hand tightening gently around his. “No, it’s actually quite nice,” she admitted, a hint of fondness coloring her tone. “Knowing that our little one is here.”

As the silence enveloped them like a warm embrace, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows across the room, Aemond's gaze lifted to meet Maera's, his hand still resting against her stomach. "Do you think all will be well? In our marriage?" he asked, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Maera's expression softened as she considered his question, her gaze searching his for a moment before she replied, her tone gentle yet uncertain. "Time will tell," she said softly, her fingers intertwining with his as they shared a fleeting moment of connection amidst the uncertainty of their future.

Notes: Bitchy plus fluffy equals this chapter 🤣 also next chapter I’m thinking of posting an Aemond POV just to break it up. I’ve got about 6 so far and I just know these are going to increase. So imma just litter them about and stick them in another section on the contents page

Tags: @0eessirk8 @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena

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secret-smut-sideblog · 5 months

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(sooo thought I should probably masterlist these so here you go, have fuuun) nsfw in red, pg-13 in ourple

Oneshots

Devourer - (astarion x f! reader) Your beloved vampire has gotten very comfortable with you. But you wonder of he's been holding back some of his more supernatural tendencies...

Bloodlust - (astarion x f! tav) Tav invites her bloodthirsty friend out for some late night reconnaissance, both of their cravings being fed...

Lay on Hands - (astarion x f! tav) In the early hours of the morning someone cant keep their hands to themselves...

Pulling Strings - (astarion x f! tav) Tav has caught on that her favorite vampire doesn't enjoy touching or being touched by others. But she has a suggestion to possibly help that piques his interest...

Satiated - (astarion x f! dark urge) With Astarion starving in the Underdark his bloodthirsty friend sees his hunger, knows it quite well. And with a promised death in their future, seeks to help him sate himself...

Cold Comfort - (astarion x f! dark urge) Finally reaching Moonrise Towers, she finds her urge overtaking her, taking an innocent life. Astarion seeks to keep her company through the long night...

Heavy Metal Lover - (karlach x f! tav) With her touch newly returned, Karlach is hungry for contact. Seeking out Tav for a little hand to hand combat that quickly turns heated...

Nose to the Grindstone - (gale x f! tav, named) Aurum and Gale fucking in the dirt. They were left alone at camp, it's not their fault. Smh.

Night Wandering - (gale x f! tav) After Tav's little magic lesson from her favorite wizard and the heat momentarily shared between them, she's feeling pent up. If only his tent wasn't directly next to hers...

Black Out Days - (gale x f! tav) Tav's pain rising to an unbearable level, she indulges in some found herbs to find relief. But her sanctuary is laced with some heated side effects...

Warm Company (halsin x f! tav) With her crush on the vampire tearing her heart, a large kind druid seeks to make her feel wanted...

You Know Me Too Well (gortash x f! dark urge) After the coronation, she can't get the familiarity he showed her out of her mind. She needs answers, and the Archduke is more than happy to indulge her...

Eyes on Fire (gortash x f! dark urge) The visage of the Archduke won't leave her, and itching for blood, his favorite assassin is about to pay the Lord a very welcome visit...

North Star (kar'niss x f! tav) Finding a drider in the darkness, Tav offers for him to join her party. The safety and clarity he receives in her presence and her surprising admiration spurn his many legs to move much nearer...

Miniseries

Pillow Talk (1/2) Tav innocently offered to help Astarion with his morning routine. But things get very close, and Astarion is shocked how her sweet face belies the sinful mouth she has...

Lover, Please Stay (2/2) Tav keeping him at arms length, Astarion makes a plan to woo her back into his good graces. But his hunger, for her and her blood, proves distracting...

Warm Water (gale x f! tav) 1/3 With one of Tav's love languages being physical affection, Gale tries to keep his touch hungry skin from her. The sirens call of her arms could overwhelm him, but he's far from the only one heeding her soft song...

Warm Honey (gale / halsin x f! tav) 2/3 Both druid and wizard seeking out her warmth, Gale makes a plan to win her affections. Yet both scent and sound could conspire to be his undoing...

Warm Blood (gale / astarion x f! tav) 3/3 With a sanguine competitor now circling with the large druid, Gale can no longer put off his advances...

Girl Talk Series

(astarion x f! tav, short and sweet smut, completed)

Girl Talk - One late night Astarion turned their conversation to a more sensual topic and was delighted to discover Tav lacked experience with men. Naturally he was more than happy to lend a hand...

It Will Come Back - Their shared night has been tormenting him, after staking his claim he found himself needing to be near her. And after a night of drinking, seeing her with someone else, he had to have her again...

Heat Signature - (karlach x tav) After nearly freezing to death Tav needs Karlach near. Very near, it seems...

Unpunishable - After Karlach spent the night with Tav, Astarion is feeling very normal about it. So normal that he needs her in his tent all night. Just to feed, he swears...

The Tav in question... (for reference)

Child Of Dawn series

(gale x f! tav, slow burn, ongoing)

Nightcall

Non Believer

Dream Girl Evil

Let Me Follow

To Build A Home

Bedroom Hymns

Listen Before I Go

Many Hands

Faith Consuming Hope

the girlypop... (aurum, my tav)

A Hole In the Earth

Keep the Rain

AA Break Up Series

(ascended astarion x f! tav, drama and smut, completed)

We The Drowned

Take Me Back To Eden (shadowheart × f! tav)

Like Real People Do (halsin x f! tav)

I Should Hate You

Chokehold

What Kind Of Man (gale x f! tav)

Seven Devils

All I Wanted

The Moon Will Sing

Strawberry Wine (gale x f! tav)

As It Was

Astarion x Dark Urge

(astarion x f! durge, tenderness and smut, completed)

Dark Signs

Bite The Hand

Prey Drive

A Dangerous Thing

My Love Is A Dagger

Bloodcall

Little Miss Murder herself (my durge)

Distance

(astarion x f! plus fized tav, tenderness and smut, completed)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

First Light (Prologue)

The Drow (indulgent prologue chapter)

My Portrait of Tav (I do be drawing..)

Tav Headcanons (being indulgent)

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604to647 · 1 month

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Mi Galleta (Part 3 - Salted Caramel)

4.5K / Modern AU Grumpy Bouncer!Pero Tovar x Sunshine-Rich Girl!reader

Summary: Dating Pero feels like a dream, until you overhear something that makes you question everything.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please), dating Biker!Pero needs a warning (check out the ✨vibes✨), allusions to smut (reference to oral, unprotected PiV, aftercare, fingering, semi-public sex), dirty thoughts, the bike helmet stays on 🤷🏻‍♀️, pet names (Cookie, princesa, hermosa, etc.), misogynistic, classist and degrading language used to talk about women (not by Pero, but... you'll see).

A/N: A friend of mine once told me that the restaurant business can be super misogynistic and I was actually shocked to hear some of her stories 😣 For our story, Lin isn't one of those types of establishments, but sometimes, bad eggs make their way into a good carton.

Series Masterlist

You wake up the next morning naked and snuggled into Pero’s side, your arm draped over his broad chest. Trying not to wake him as you carefully climb out of bed, you look back and admire Pero’s peaceful face, much soften with sleep and framed by hair messy and tossed from the previous night’s activities. Gosh, he’s so handsome. Even the scar over his left eye is becoming one of your favourite features; a fearsome token of some past violence that belies the softness of the gentle giant who bears it. You wonder if he’ll ever tell you where it’s from. Throwing on a camisole sleep set and robe, you pad out to the kitchen and leave your snoring Adonis to his rest.

Grinning to yourself lazily as you make coffee, your mind drifts back to events of last night. Of the multiple orgasms Pero pulled from you with his skilled mouth, hands, and cock. Of the heaviness of his balls on your tongue and how sweet and salty he tasted as you worked his length down your throat. God the things that man said in bed: calling you a goddess one minute, then his dirty fuck doll the next, all while you bounced cock drunk on his lap. His eyes, however, never expressed anything but devotion and wonder, grounding you even as he made you shudder and convulse in pleasure. Humming contently while cooking eggs, you’re pulled from your daydream state only when a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and patchy scruff tickles into your neck where Pero whispers, “Good morning, Cookie.”

Turning in his arms, you immediately lose yourself to the searing kiss Pero lays on you. He had missed you the moment he woke up and found himself alone.

After Pero accepts your invitation stay for breakfast, he sips on his coffee and takes in your apartment; you’ve decorated for a clean and classic aesthetic, it’s not overly opulent but there are obvious touches of luxury and understated elegance that trim the furniture and personal items that litter the grand space. You catch him admiring the breathtaking panoramic view of the city through the window wall running down the length of your apartment, “Really nice place you have here.” He doesn’t miss your slight wince at his compliment; blink-and-you-miss-it, but he catches it before you smile, almost apologetically, “Thanks. It used to be an investment property of my parents’. They gifted it to me when I started work in the city to help me out. Or to claim the tax deduction.” You make the joke, not sure why you think you should feel embarrassed? Because normally, you’re not. You love your place and you’re so grateful to your parents, but you don’t want Pero to think you’re some type of… freeloader? You're not even sure where you head is at with this.

Sensing your discomfort, Pero sweeps you into his arms; kissing you gently, he explains, “I just meant, this place is beautiful and I can tell you’ve poured yourself into making it a home. It’s calm. And welcoming. I see you everywhere here.”

Your chest swells with emotion and a little embarrassment at how quickly you had gone on the defensive; Pero’s been nothing but kind and sweet. Face still buried in his shoulder, you nuzzle in even closer to envelope yourself in his warmth and whisper, “Thank you. It’s my favourite place in the world.”

Over a delicious breakfast, Pero asks you what your plans are for the day and you tell him all about the famers’ market you like to visit on the weekends. When asked if he wants to join you, Pero looks thoughtful, “I’d love to, Cookie. But I have to work at 3:00 today… and I had planned on making you come a few more times before that.”

Giggling at his shit-eating grin, you cross to the other side of the table where Pero is sitting and climb into his lap, “How do you plan on doing that?”

“Over you, under you. On every surface of this gorgeous apartment, Cookie. Gonna give you a couple more reasons for it to be your favourite place,” nudging your nose with his a few times, Pero urges you to open your mouth and let him in. His kisses are unhurried, long and sweet; sated with good food and the promise of unfettered access to your body, Pero feels no reason to rush. Fingers finding the knot of your robe, he works it loose with his nimble fingers and opens the garment to reveal the soft satin number underneath, “My my, what do we have here, princesa?” Pero licks his lips and his eyes darken as he takes in the way you shiver and your nipples perk up and tent the delicate fabric when he slides the robe off your shoulders.

You never make it to the farmer’s market.

Dating Pero is like something out of a movie. Most nights you enjoy decadent, late dinners with Pero after he gets off work; he takes you to some of the city’s most celebrated and exclusive restaurants, always entering through some hidden staff entrance and eating in private rooms or employee access only areas. Whenever you ask about paying, Pero waves you off and say there’s a restaurant staff quid-pro-quo arrangement with Lin. You’ve never heard of any type of restaurant industry secret community, but you suppose it’s possible. Either way, the food is always impeccable and the company is dreamy.

Being a biker’s backpack is one of the most unexpected, yet fun things you’ve ever experienced; you love riding with Pero. Some nights, he’ll take you for casual, aimless rides in the city, just weaving through the busy streets; the city lights always seem to be brighter and even beautiful when whipping by in streaks. Other times Pero will pick a farther destination under the guise of trying a bakery or some local delicacy, taking you out on the open road for longer rides. You think you like these rides more; when you’re alone on a highway or side road, you’ll egg Pero to go faster and he will just to amuse you, loving when you squeal from excitement and hug him tighter.

Pero loves taking you out on his bike, too; he loves the weight of you against his back and the feel of your hands wrapped around him and the way they press up against his stomach, and, if he plays his cards right, grip and rub his thigh. When he lowers his speed, he’ll hold one of your hands in his glove, loving the way your slender fingers intertwine with the leather. He should buy you gloves, he thinks. He does buy you a helmet.

Surprising you one day after work, Pero, looking like a dreamboat, turns heads in his sleek dress clothes topped with his motorcycle jacket as he leans against his parked bike. Crying out in delight when you see him curbside in front of your office building, you practically leap in his arms before slotting your lips over his in a hungry kiss. Not caring if your co-workers see, you open your mouth to Pero’s and let him lick into your mouth slowly and sensually; he cradles your head in one of his big hands, the other pressing you flushed to his broad frame. Pero on the other hand wants your co-workers to see (and maybe even hear) as he worships your soft, supple lips with his own, his hands working their way lower on your body until they’re both full of the plush globes of your ass. Mine, he brags, as he massages and gropes, turning you into putty under his touch.

“What are you doing here, Pero?” you exclaim happily, thrilled by the surprise.

“Took the day off today, Cookie. Thought I’d come grab ya, surprise you with a present.”

“A curbside pick-up and a present? What did I do to deserve this?” You’re still learning not to be surprised by Pero’s thoughtfulness. Turns out you didn’t have a clue just how thoughtful he could be because you’re positively floored when he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a helmet smaller than the one he wears, and holds it out to you with both hands.

“For me?” A question more rhetorical than anything, you’re astonished as you reach out to accept.

Pero is pleased by your reaction, “For you, princesa. Gotta protect that pretty head of yours.”

“Should I feel special? Or is this the helmet you keep on hand for all the girls you let ride… your bike?” your eyes crinkle mischievously, leaving no doubt of the double meaning to your words.

But Pero isn’t about to let this romantic moment get away; he turns the helmet in your hands so that you’re looking at the back before he leans in to plant a soft peck to the upturned corner of your mouth, “Brand new just for you, Cookie.”

You look down and see that on at the very back, near the base of the shiny black helmet, is a small silver etched cartoon of Hello Kitty baking cookies. You love it! It’s so cute. So you. Pulling the helmet over your head, it smells brand new and you feel the baby pink lining personally picked for you fit snug against the sides of your head; definitely not a shared helmet. Internally, you swoon.

“I love it!” you call out loudly so Pero can hear you through the thick plastic. Grinning big back at you, Pero helps adjust your chin straps before playfully flipping down your visor, “Looking good, hermosa. Ready to ride.” He winks at you before helping you up onto the back of the bike and putting on his own helmet. You’re overcome; it’s more than the fact that Pero cares for your safety. Your heart flutters at the idea that Pero is planning for future bike rides with you, frequent enough that it warrants you getting your own gear. When he takes off, you hold on to him tighter than necessary.

---

That night, he fucks you on all fours, naked except the helmet. The protective headgear muffles your pornographic screams of ecstasy, while the sensory deprivation amplifies every orgasm he pulls from your overwrought cunt. After he paints your insides white, Pero runs you a bath to help soothe your strung-out body; cradling you in his arms under the steamy water, he asks if you might like to do that again, but where he keeps the helmet on as well. Sleepily, you tell him the truth, “Anything for you, Pero.”

The next morning you come twice while riding him just from watching the way your tits bounce in the shiny reflection of his helmet visor.

Sleepy Sunday mornings with you are Pero’s favourite. The two of you still naked from the previous night’s lascivious activities, bodies tangled in your crisp bed sheets, just talking; he’ll press soft kisses to your hair while you draw endless designs on his chest with your perfectly manicured nails. It’s as close to domestic bliss as Pero’s ever felt.

“Cookie, don’t take this the wrong way…”

You tilt your head up to see Pero smiling indulgently and raise your eyebrows to play along.

“Why aren’t you married to some rich investment banker, living in a mansion and being treated like the princesa you are?”

You can tell it’s a genuine question, not meant in any way to be insulting; you think you also read unspoken questions in Pero’s eyes: Is that the life you want? What are you doing with me, then? Something to get out of your system before you settle down?

You lay your head on Pero’s chest, chin resting on your hands as you try to be thoughtful about your response.

“I probably could be, if that was what I wanted? I’ve dated those guys before, I grew up with a lot of them, and they can be nice enough. Although, I suppose some of them aren’t.” Pero’s eyes darken at this but lets you continue. “It’s just that with everything they do, they… I guess, maybe a way to describe it is, they lead with money. Having money, making more money, showing off what money they have – it’s what drives all their decisions. It’s core to who they are or who they want to be.”

You take a deep breath, “And that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and it doesn’t mean they are bad people. But, I don’t know? My measure of value and success has never been wealth. I just… never want money to define me like that. I wouldn’t want to feel like it’s my identity.”

Pero seems quiet, giving you a chance to add, “I know that that’s a very privileged thing for me to say. Money is important, and I’m very lucky to not have to worry about it. I’d just want to live a life and be someone, be with someone, that contributes beyond that.”

You sigh. It sounds silly even to your ears; first world problems, indeed. But Pero pets your head lovingly, lightly massaging your temples with his thumb and reassures you, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Cookie. I’ve seen the way you care for your friends, and the love you hold for your family. Life has treated you well and you don’t take it for granted. You carry yourself with gentleness and pour kindness into everything you do. Everyone you meet or is lucky enough to know you is made better having had a chance to bask in your sunshine. Including me. Especially me.”

Pero’s sweet words have you tearing up. You’ve suspected it for a while, but now you’re sure that of the two of you, he’s the kinder one; he of the tender heart. You remain convinced that it must be some sort of cosmic prank that one of the most deeply feeling men you’ve ever known makes his living being intimidating and scaring people on purpose. You think you’re falling in love with him.

“You’re so different than people think you are,” you whisper, contemplatively.

“Oh, how’s that, hermosa?” he gives you a deep scowl, not unlike the one he wore when you first met, but you’re not fooled. You don’t think that scowl will fool you ever again. You crawl up his body, and break up your words with soft kisses all over Pero’s neck, jaw, face, lips, “So you’re a little grumpy. But grumpy is a mood, not who you are. You’re fiercely loyal; maybe you don’t have a million friends but the people you decide to let in, you treasure. You’re a friend for life. You’re hardworking and you love what you do; and even though you’re supposed to be intimidating for your job, I’ve never seen you treat anyone disrespectfully. More often than not, you lead with kindness. And you’re so generous! Both with your time and your good humour. And thoughtful. The most thoughtful man. You’re always so considerate of my heart and feelings – don’t think I don’t notice when you do things just because you think they might make me happy. I’m so lucky, Pero. Maybe I’m not living in a mansion, but I’m already being treated like a princess.”

“You deserve it, princesa. And more,” Pero wraps his arms around you and rolls you gently so you lie beneath him, caged in by his strong arms and his heavy gaze, “I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” you whisper, before closing your eyes and letting Pero show you how deeply your words have affected him.

Once, you asked Pero what he loved the most about riding a bike, and he told you it was probably the sense of freedom and also calm that the open road brings him; then throwing you a wink, told you that having a pretty backpack to show off was getting up there.

Your favourite part of rides with Pero is ironically when you’re not riding at all, but when you’re stopped by the side of the road for a breather, to take in a pretty view, or if you just can’t wait to get home to sample the food you rode all that way for. You’ll sit on the backseat and Pero will sit with his back against the fuel box facing you, the shared food placed in between. As you savour the trip’s procured delicacy, Pero will pull your legs off the back peg and massage the back of your calves lovingly, melting away the tension built up from the long ride. Inevitably, he’ll start to inch his hands higher and higher; how far you let him go really depends on how horny you are that day. Most of the time, you're wet with want for Pero by this point of the ride, powerless against how adept he is at turning you on – once, while you were parked in a rest area right next to the highway, he had walked his hand up your skirt to stroke you over your soaked panties so expertly, you had been one shudder away from just letting him finger fuck you to completion while unsuspecting traffic zoomed by. You don’t tell Pero, but lately you’ve had an increasingly vivid fantasy of sinking down on his cock and riding him on his bike out in the open, public decency be damned, until you both come, moans drowned out by passing commuters who get the show of a lifetime.

As it is, sex with Pero leaves you breathless and more than fulfilled. He worships your body and reaches parts of you that you didn’t even know existed, setting you on fire with his every touch. His particular brand of filthy dirty talk combined with gruff praise, gets you shockingly wet every time; just the memory of his low baritone growling ‘good girl’ in your ear can have you distracted and fantasizing about his dick at the most inconvenient of times. More than once, you’ve had to turn off your camera during a work video call, afraid that your colleagues would be able to read your far off, cock drunk expression for what it is.

You’re definitely falling in love with him.

“Do you think it’s weird that I’ve never been to Pero’s place?” you wonder out loud. You’re not sure it bothers you, but it’s something you realized only recently.

“No? Not weird… but I didn’t know you hadn’t,” says Eloise, surprised.

Dorothy doesn’t even look up from her magazine, “No, it’s not weird at all, babe. I mean, I’m sure your place is way nicer than his.”

“Maybe. Well, I don’t know really, I guess,” you crinkle your nose.

“No, babe, it’s definitely nicer. Maybe he thinks his place isn’t good enough for you. Or maybe he’s too scared to find out if you don’t think his place is good enough for you,” Dorothy says with certainty.

You can’t imagine Pero being scared of anything, “That kind of thing doesn’t matter to me.”

“We know it doesn’t!” sympathizes Eloise, “But if you’re thinking about it, why don’t you just talk to him about it?”

You nod; you think the next time you see Pero, you will.

The next day, you make your now typical lunch time trip to visit Pero; when you walk into Lin’s lobby, it’s empty but that’s not unusual. Walking over to the reception desk where Pero works, you see that his computer is on so you decide to just wait until he comes back, unpacking a small container of snickerdoodles you brought for him in the meantime. As you put the container on the desk, you’re surprised to hear voices coming from the small alcove for the staff elevator hidden in the corner of the lobby.

“Heard you got yourself a designer pussy, Tovar.”

“Best part of working in restaurants like this is getting a shot at all these rich sluts who wouldn’t normally look twice at you on the street, but now they want to slum it with the kitchen staff.”

“Hey, come now…” That’s William’s voice, you realize; the other two you don’t recognize.

“Oh you’re a married old fart, but I’m sure you’ve got some of these wannabe trophy wives throwing themselves at you. You can’t expect us to believe you’ve never had a taste!”

“Yeah, how you can look at that piece that Tovar is tapping and not want a slice for yourself?”

“Or do you guys share her? She into that?”

“Fuck, if she’s into that, then please, please call me the next time she wants to go to Paris. Better yet, bet she’d pay for an actual trip to Paris. Chick probably has more money than she knows what to do with. Let her pay for that good dicking, yeah?”

“A couple of us have a little competition on who can bag the hottest, most desperate sugar mama from the restaurant. You want in, Tovar? There’s a prize for who can keep it running the longest too. You’ve been banging her for a few months now, so you’re a shoo in for that. So fucking easy. All you gotta do is give these dumb rich bitches a little bit of attention and they’re opening up their legs… and cheque books like that.” You hear a finger snap, followed by loud, spine-chilling cackling.

You think you’re going to be sick. You’ve never heard such misogynistic, classist, and honestly vile talk in your life; you’re about to march over to the alcove where these assholes think they’re so cleverly hidden and given them a piece of your mind when you hear Dorothy’s name.

“Your girl got that friend, Dorothy? Oh fuckkkkkkkkkk, wanna tap that snobby, entitled pussy so fucking bad. She’s always strutting around the restaurant like she owns the place; want to put her in her place… on my cock.”

“Introduce me, Tovar. Or you saving her for yourself? This skirt you’re fucking now is just a stepping stone to a bigger, richer fish? Hey! Kudos to you man, but do me a favour – when you’ve moved on and up, send that pretty thing over my way for some comforting. I’ll make sure she’s fucked so good she doesn’t even remember your name.”

You haven’t heard Pero’s voice at all during this stomach-churning exchange; you keep waiting for him to speak up and shut down this type of talk, when you hear the cruelest sound you’ve ever heard.

Pero’s laugh. He’s laughing. Then you hear William join in, and soon all four men are laughing uproariously. At you. At your friends. At women. Women who have the means to dine at this restaurant which apparently means they’re stupid, desperate, and not worth any respect or even the decency of being treated like human beings with feelings. All of this is what Pero thinks of you. Every cadence of his ongoing laugh is sharp like cruelty itself, piecing and shattering your heart. You didn’t even know there were men out there that debased and demeaned women this way; how could you have let one into your life, your bed. Your heart. They laugh for what feels like forever; you can’t stand to listen to it anymore and you flee.

---

Pero can’t help but laugh at what fucking idiots this busboy and dishwasher are. They were spewing such despicable garbage and they fucking dared to talk about you in any such derogatory way, and did so with big smug grins – did they seriously think there wouldn’t be repercussions? No fucking way anyone could be that dumb, he laughs. William joins in on the same wavelength as Pero. The laughter crescendos for a while before William catches his breath and manages to choke out, “You guys don’t even know...” Still laughing, one of the idiots manages to ask, “Know what?” And that’s when Pero goes silent, grabs the asshole by the neck and shoves him up against the wall, “You don’t even know how much shit you’re in, talking about my girl like that.”

“Hey dude, we were just kidd-,“ the busboy doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Pero reaches out and William shoves him into Pero’s outstretch hand.

“Shut up. I talk now.”

Though gritted teeth, Pero growls menacingly, inches away from the dishwasher’s face, “You piece of shit. You don’t deserve to think about her. Talk about her. Or share the same air as her. If you ever go near her, you’ll be eating through a tube.”

He slams the busboy up against the wall next to his friend, “This is what is going to happen, William’s going to take you upstairs, and you’re going to thank him, because it was me, you’d both be losing blood before the elevator doors even closed. You will get your things, and you will never fucking set foot in this restaurant again. You’re fired. Your last cheques will be mailed to you. Never come back.”

He punctuates his point by pulling back and shoving both frightened men into the wall again, harder than before, hands firm on their throats, “…I’m this fucking close, just give me a reason to squeeze.”

“Pero.” William’s voice is barely audible through the thick cloud of rage fogging up Pero’s brain. He felt physically disgusted at the way these two morons had talked about you and that they had even thought about you in the manner they were describing. His sweet Cookie - the kindest and gentlest creature he had ever known. That these assholes had contemplated laying a finger on you made him see red. Never mind they trying to taint your friend, or any woman at all, with their gut-less filth. They had said there were others like them, he seethed; he would root them all out and deal with it today. If he could find it within himself to let go of their necks, that is.

“Pero.” William’s second attempt to bring Pero back down to earth finally ringing through. He lets go, and the two pathetic excuses for men slide down the wall they had been pinned against, gasping for air.

“Every restaurant worth working at will know what kind of shit you pull with their female patrons, don’t ever bother trying to apply for another restaurant job ever again. Get the fuck out of my face now.”

William roughly hauls the two idiots into the staff elevator and out of Pero’s sight as quickly as possible, lest Pero failed to contain his rage any longer.

Taking some deep breaths, willing himself to calm down and for his breathing to even, Pero walks back to the front desk hoping there aren’t any patrons waiting in the lobby. When he gets to his seat, his heart plummets. There, on his desk, is a container of cookies. From you. You had been here. What had you heard? It couldn’t have been anything good because you had left without making your presence known. He’s desperate to see you, comfort you. Pero frantically rushes out the front doors and looks up and down the busy sidewalk, but you’re long gone.

Fuck.

#pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fic #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au #modern!pero tovar #no y/n

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thecoolblackwaves · 3 months

Text

Family Of Nerds: Feanorian Modern AU

(I’m sorry this is somewhat Americanized I just don’t have enough knowledge about anywhere else to make those allusions) (Also please reblog with your own headcanons or other thoughts!)

Feanor

Philologist; studies language history

Often assists at various museums, colleges, archeological sites, etc

Has published several books and given many lectures

Creates his own languages like Tengwar for fun, also is a hobby blacksmith

Teaches his children many archaic languages no one else speaks and takes his family on "educational" vacations

Also attends every convention known to man, even ones that have seemingly nothing to do with his own interests, dressed to the nines and spends his time there signing books and debating other people

Loves his wife just as madly as the day he met her and is ecstatic he married his high school sweetheart

Idolizes his father. Would have done great following his political career if he hadn't "ruined" his public image by becoming a teen parent, ultimately feels he's made the right decisions for his life though and is happy with his work

Rivalry with Fingolfin over who can host the best dinner party (and you best believe he wears smart-ass punny aprons while cooking a six course meal for his guests)

Nerdanel

Professional sculptor and multimedia artist

Teaches classes at an arts college

Is known to eat the fruit out of the bowls her students are sketching when no one is looking

Cannot cook to save her life

Enthusiastically attends every possible event in her family’s calendar no matter the weather or lack of skill at a toddler dance recital

Dresses in a fabulously bohemian eccentric artist way; stole the show when she attended the Grammys with Makalaure and has been featured in several fashion magazines

Carries all sorts of art supplies and seemingly random tools in her purse at all times, including a chisel, googly eyes, edible glitter, a bajillion hair ties, DW40, and peanut M&Ms

Has a calm, wise disposition that belies her truly chaotic nature

Often looked to for advice from her students and children and will only pull your leg when she thinks you’re being stupid

Does give genuinely good advice though, mostly because she is uncanny in her ability to read people and observe subtle hints

Maitimo

Studied communications, currently working as his father’s apprentice but hopes to find a position as a public relations specialist

Uses his intimidating stature and loud, deep voice to his advantage as needed

Was born while his parents were teenagers and still living with their families, he remembers watching cartoons with Grandpa Finwe and being babysat by his uncles

Also attended his mother’s graduation from art school as a small child and clapped until his little hands hurt

Is painfully aware of how all his younger brothers look up to him - literally - and sometimes struggles with the pressures of setting a good example, though he does much better than he realizes

Drinks his coffee from a mug that reads “don’t make this ginger snap” (Nerdanel has a matching one)

The gayest gay to ever gay, informs everyone of this via cheesy tee shirts gifted from his brothers and cousins

Drives a minivan, claims he chose it because it was the only car that would fit his legs and not because he can haul his brothers around in it

Frequently complains about missing the technology of his childhood but resents being called a millennial

Makalaure

Grammy award winning artist and composer

Created the score for a recent movie that bloomed his popularity and brought him to the limelight

Has a Youtube channel with several music videos he definitely didn’t blackmail his family into filming with him

Also performed on Broadway once and will not let you forget it

Used to skip school to busk in the train station and once caught his math teacher also skipping school

Extremely popular with interviewers, camera crew, and other industry specialists for his kindness and crazy stories about his family

Donates large amounts of his royalties to children’s hospitals and other charities

Used to hog the bathroom in the mornings to put on makeup and style his hair

Practices Beyonce dance routines in the mirror, has convinced Curufin to do them with him before

Spent a semester studying in Sydney, Australia and fainted after encountering a large spider in his dorm room

Tyelkormo

Forest ranger at a National Park

Works at outdoor summer camps every year, all the children love him and his giant fluffy dog

Also volunteers at animal shelters and the wildlife rehabilitation center at the National Park

Creatine for breakfast, lunch, and dinner; drinks so much milk Nerdanel used to tell him it was why his hair was white

Wakes up at 5 in the morning to exercise (disgusting)

Got a long bow for Christmas one year (the note said Santa but he knows it was his mom) and practices in the backyard by shooting at Amrod’s pumpkins

Metalhead, particularly likes viking metal and Nordic black metal

Made Huan his own battle vest complete with dog-themed patches such as “Bad to the Bone” and “No Leashes No Masters”

Tells the most terrible jokes you’ve ever heard then laughs like a seagull vomiting up a stolen bag of Doritos

Extremely loyal to his family, sometimes to a fault

Carnistar

Professional business accountant

Also does taxes as a side hustle because “it’s so easy”

Is obsessed with Oreos but will not admit it because of his brother's teasing about "Moryo's Oreos"

Obligatory family goth and not ashamed of it

Started mending his hand-me-down clothes as a necessity and got into sewing, now makes fantastic garments for his family and friends to wear

Halloween is the only valid holiday, he spends the entire year making his costume (it’s usually a vampire or some fandom character)

Stays up until 3am gaming on a PC he and Feanor built together one summer, favorite game is currently Balder’s Gate

Had to take speech therapy as a child and later some anger management classes.... because he got too good at expressing himself

Curufin

Silversmith and jewelry maker

Specializes in accessories for ballet dancers and other performers

Ballet dancer since he was young, never succeeded with a professional career but still practices daily and chose his specialty to remain part of the scene

Holds a serious grudge against certain critics that failed his entry to ballet academy (will not sell his products to them or their schools)

Always looking for new business opportunities, not always in the most honest of ways

Struggles with self esteem issues

Has several cats and claims they betray him when they snuggle with Huan but secretly finds it adorable

Frequently collaborates with Caranthir to make elaborate costumes just for the fun of it

Made a tiara for his favorite cat, Princess Paws

Would sleep until four in the afternoon if you let him (or if Princess Paws didn’t wake him up screaming for food)

Amrod

Gardening Club President at his school

Started a trade and barter farmers market after school to reduce waste and share the bounty of his and fellow club member’s gardens

Frequently tries to convince his parents to turn their property into a “self sufficient homestead”, leaves pamphlets and pictures of adorable baby animals lying around the house

Enlisted the help of his twin and Maitimo to build a chicken coop, forgot to ask Feanor’s permission first

Demands payment in the form of fresh caught fish or deer jerky for the use of his gourds in Tyelko’s target practice

Has definitely switched places with Amros to escape trouble or science tests

Often neglects his homework for pursuits he feels are more important, will only do it without complaint when Carnistar tells him to

Had eyes for the cool-looking red glow on the stove as a child and was banned from the kitchen for most of his adolescence

Is generally a persistent and stubborn person (wonder where he got it from)

Amros

Amateur photographer with an instagram following nearing one million

Account consists of 95% nature photography and 5% “The Adventures of Huan and Princess Paws” as he follows them around the back yard

Takes all of Makalaure’s headshots and creates his album covers, also photographs Curufin’s jewelry to upload to his retail website

“Borrows” Carnistar’s prized PC to upload and edit his photos

Conspired with Amrod to convince their elementary school classmates they were secretly Fred and George Weasley disguised as Muggles, ultimately failed because someone thought their accents “just sounded like they were copying Peppa Pig”

Still pulls out his British accent on occasion when someone needs cheering up

Inherited Nerdanel’s keen observation skills, mostly uses them to blackmail his brothers into doing his chores

But also gives the most amazing presents because he knows exactly what everyone truly wants

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oatmilkslytherin · 2 years

Text

homebody (e.munson)

description: tensions rise as eddie pursues his dreams of fame and fortune with corroded coffin. when he has to choose between the rockstar life and his loving homebody girlfriend, who knows what he will decide.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual content, angst, cheating

requested: no

it was hard to believe that eddie munson ever graduated from hawkins high. you nearly laughed in his face at the beginning of the school year as he claimed that "1986 was going to be his year".

that was when you two were just friends. when the two of you teased and taunted each other like it was a full-time job. back when you tagged along to every dnd tournament and stared cluelessly at the others while you watched them curse and strategize.

that was before that fateful night. what was supposed to be an intoxicated horror movie marathon night turned into a screaming match between the two of you. after you had accidentally let it slip that you slept with steve harrington in a drunken stupor, you saw a deep scarlet red settle in eddie's eyes.

he tried to play it off, claiming that he was only looking out for his best friend, and by no means did he believe that steve harrington was worthy of your presence. he blamed it on his overprotective nature, writing off his jealousy as if it didn't exist.

after an exchange of arguments and agitations, you somehow ended up pressed against the vinyl countertop of eddie's kitchen, his hands roaming your body as his lips moved feverishly against yours. it was mutually decided that the two of you had denied your feelings for so long that you didn't even realize they were there until you were under him, legs wrapped around his waist and begging him to come closer.

a couple of awkward conversations later, the two of you landed yourselves in a shared one-bedroom apartment. you attended a local college and worked for a large publishing firm outside of hawkins. eddie damned the american education system, settling on a construction position and pursuing his career with corroded coffin.

you were proud of him. he found his niche, and damn, was he good at what he did. you tagged along to every band practice and tried to go to every local show they played. even the bandmates called you their number one fan.

things became harder as the band rose in popularity. they went from playing pubs on wednesday nights to selling out small stadiums in the greater parts of indiana.

the distance between you and eddie became familiar. you knew you had your own career-driven obligations and regularly scheduled classes. as hard as you tried to attend every show, it wasn't fiscally possible.

still, you were always there when eddie came home. welcoming him with open arms, his favorite meal, and even sometimes a warm bath and a massage after one of their longer tours. he always praised your attentiveness, relishing in your kindness. on paper and in person, you were the perfect girlfriend. everyone saw it, even those you have never uttered a word to.

that's why it was so hard to believe in his infidelity.

you denied it entirely at first. how could you possibly believe your loving boyfriend of 3 years could ever cheat on you? your sex life was frequent and fantastic, you hardly ever fought, you went on dates at least once a week, and you giggled like children with one another. the spark was very much still there, so how could you believe he needed something... someone else?

the second time you caught word of it, your heart began to sink. you didn't want to believe it was true, but the growing physical distance between you two fed into your emotions. you questioned him when he came home from that leg of the tour, unable to suppress the flowing tears that spilled from your eyes.

"baby, please don't listen to them. they're jealous! they envy the love we have; they want to take it away. please don't believe it. you are the only one for me. you always will be."

with the way he spoke, how could you not believe him? he was here with you, wiping your tears and pressing soft kisses to your forehead. he held you while you allowed the last of your tears to leave your eyes, apologized he ever made you feel this way.

he spent the rest of the night holding you, only creeping away a handful of times to make you cookies, put on your favorite movie, and grab a blanket as he watched you start to doze off in his arms. everything he did was so sincere; how could you believe it was all a lie?

a mere week later, you heard it a third time. this time, you felt the alarms going off in your head. your stomach churned at the thought of it, wondering if this all really was out of jealousy, as eddie claimed, or if you were stuck playing the homebody fool.

you decided you must see for yourself. if it was a lie, then at least you could see your boyfriend at a show for the first time in months. you didn't want to think about the latter.

you pulled up to the venue. it was one of their smaller shows, a club-like venue that could maybe a hundred or so people. you entered the building, hearing their music alongside the roar of the crowd. you decided to stay in the back, avoiding the light and simply observing.

you couldn't deny how contagious his energy was. just by looking at him, you wanted to ignore everything you were told, the very reason why you were here. you just wanted to cheer with the crowd, fall into his arms after their closer and go home hand-in-hand.

the nagging ring in the back of your head reminded you why you couldn't.

the band's finale sent the crowd into a frenzy. girls crowded the front of the stage, reaching their hands toward anything and everything. you watched in anticipation, wondering how this night was really going to end. the majority of them exited the stage, eddie lingering up on his pedestal for a while longer, eyeing down someone in the front row.

you followed his eyes, being met with a girl you believed was much prettier than you were. her long blonde hair cascaded in perfect waves around her, her slim waist held together by a torn-up tank top and low-rise jeans.

he flicked his head towards the "crew only" door, inviting her to follow. you watched as she slipped through the dispersing crowd, grabbing his hand before following him blindly.

you followed in suit, keeping your head down to avoid attention as you moved swiftly towards the same door. you peered around you, making sure there were no wandering eyes on your frame before slipping through the door.

the hallway was dark, lit by dim red bulbs. your heart raced, tears pooling in your waterline as you took your first step towards the dressing room door. you had already seen enough, just their mild interaction on stage was enough to send you into a fit of rage. but you had to see for yourself; you had to know you weren't crazy.

you felt the pit in your stomach, your hands shaking and chest pulsing with every step you took. you reached a quivering hand towards the doorknob, taking a deep breath before quietly twisting.

nothing was going to be the same after. you knew that in your heart. you shut your eyes, tears dripping down to your shoes as you thought about every memory you've ever had with eddie. before the fame, before his deceit, before everything. back when it was just you and him.

it would never be the same.

you busted through the door, your hand still gripping the brass door knob. your eyes immediately welled in more tears at the sight.

eddie leaning back against a velvet couch. the girl from the crowd straddling him, gripping at his leather jacket while she moaned against his lips.

it took everything in you not to scream, not to throw her off of him, not to react. you simply stood, waiting, observing.

he didn't notice your entrance until the girl dipped her head down, her lips diving into the flesh of his neck. his eyes fluttered open, immediately landing on your unearthly calm stance in the door frame. you stared at him blankly, emotionlessly, blinking slowly with tears threatening to spill at any second.

he immediately shoved the girl off of him, but it was too late. by the time he looked back to the door, you were gone.

you practically ran out of the venue, wanting to avoid confrontation in its entirety. you got to your car in one piece, tearing out of the parking lot and down the street. you didn't even bother looking back. you couldn't. not now, not ever.

•••

you slammed the door of your apartment, deadbolt locking it before collapsing to the ground. you let yourself cry, sobs wracking through your body as you shook and screamed to the point of numbness.

your lips and teeth vibrated incessantly, your fingertips gripping onto the hardwood floors as you tried to breathe.

how could he? how could he throw away something that was so beautiful and right and loving? what did those girls have that you didn't? what did they offer that you couldn't?

your breathing stabilized ever so slightly, and you suddenly became hyper-aware of the silence that resided around you. the silence didn't last long, however, as the sound of the key in the keyhole made your head snap towards the front door.

it wouldn't budge. you thanked yourself for deadbolting the door. pounding ensued.

"y/n! please, y/n, baby, please let me in. y/n!" eddie yelled through the door. his fist pounded at the door, his pleading turning into soft cries as his knuckles bled and knees gave way.

you stayed silent. tears poured from your eyes as you listened to eddie's cries, but you wouldn't dare to let him in.

you pushed yourself off the floor, retreating with weak knees towards the bedroom. throwing open the closet and shoving anything and everything you could into bags and suitcases.

it was numbing. packing up everything in a home you once called yours and eddie's. taking the necessities, leaving the memories. all the while, you couldn't help but think back to when eddie still loved you. when he would choose a night at home with you instead of drinking his life away at some bar. when he would do anything to make sure you knew how loved you were. when he would do everything to keep you safe.

what happens when your safe haven is the reason you crumble? when your love drives you to hate?

you yanked your bags off the bed, throwing one last look to the bedroom before turning off the light. this was no longer home. nowhere that included eddie was.

eddie's consistent pounding turned into soft thuds against the door. you could still hear his soft cries and pleas as you stared blankly at the door.

you had to leave. you had no choice now.

pulling open the front door, you felt eddie collapse to his knees in front of you. he shook as he held you, his hands gripping at the fabric of your jeans as he buried his head against you.

you didn't console him. you didn't even look at him. you stared emotionlessly at the darkness of the cul-de-sac through the open door, your body tense and your hands gripping at your bags.

at the sight of the bags, eddie began to panic. he stood up, his hands caressing your face as he begged you to look at him. you couldn't. you wouldn't.

"no, no, no. please. please don't do this. y/n, my love, please. please don't leave me," eddie begged through sobs, tears falling freely down his cheeks. his hands were wet with tears as his thumb stroked your cheek. you had no words. you only stared at him blankly.

you stepped away from him, moving around and attempting to leave without another word from either of you. eddie grasped at your wrist desperately, his touch firm but still gentle. he whipped you around, attempting to pull you into his arms.

you reacted fast. pushing yourself against his chest and his arms dropping to his sides. the two of you stood facing each other, your chest rising and falling with every pained breath you took. tears continued to slip from eddie's eyes, his lips quivering and his breaths shaking.

"please, y/n. i can fix this, please don't leave. i...i need you. i fucking need you," eddie bargained, his voice pleading. if you didn't know any better, you would've thought he sounded genuine. you learned your lesson from the last time.

"well, don't. you clearly didn't need me when you had your little groupie on your lap. save your tears for someone who cares, munson," you bit harshly. you knew you were saying something you didn't mean, but you didn't care. at this very moment, you didn't care about his pleas and his tears. you didn't care about how broken the love of your life looked standing in front of you. maybe, deep down, you did, but you cared about yourself more.

"please. please, y/n. i can fix this. please just let me fix this," eddie sobbed. you picked up your bag from the floor once more, inhaling deeply as fresh tears poured down your cheeks.

"goodbye, eddie." your voice was barely above a whisper. you didn't give him a chance to fight or respond, you turned and walked out the door without another word.

half of you expected him to chase after you. the other half of you prayed he didn't. you couldn't possibly go back after all he has done, all that was broken.

you loaded the trunk of your car with your belongings, allowing soft cries to escape from you as you slammed the trunk. you had no idea where you were going or what came next. you could never bring yourself to think about the "what if" if you and eddie ever broke up. and now, here you were, thinking about everything and nothing all at once.

you turned the car on, your trembling hands holding the steering wheel as you stared out onto the dark, nearly empty street. your breathing evened out gradually, and you managed to steal one last look at the home before leaving.

eddie stood in the doorway, still, watching your every move. he was far from you, but not far enough to where you couldn't see his tear-stained cheeks in the dim light. you swallowed the lump in your throat, putting the car in drive without another thought.

your mother once told you that there's no life without love. you wanted to believe her, you wanted to believe that life was still worth living after your heart had been ripped out of your chest and thrown into lover's lake.

but you couldn't possibly fathom how or when or why. it was presumptuous to believe, but you knew deep down that you would never love anyone as much as you loved eddie munson.

a/n: part two?

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson st4 #eddie munson angst

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