#like sorry it’s been one of the worst weeks of your life king

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken I (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, some pushing and hitting

Author's Note: It's finally here! Sorry y'all, this month a) I found out my dog has terminal cancer, b) I got covid, and c) my laptop randomly went kaput in the middle of an episode of the West Wing. But it's finally here! As it says on the taglist, this will be a three-part series.

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.

There was not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the stars were bright and twinkling. The waters of Blackwater Bay were calm and reflected the full moon as clearly as a freshly polished mirror. Even the wind seemed in a pleasant mood, carrying the sweet scent of spring on its back as it drifted lazily through the windows of the Red Keep.

Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.

The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.

If the night had been so, she would not have seen it when, only a few moments ago, a massive winged form landed in the fields just outside the city with a lowing wail, the last person she wanted to see strapped to its back. Thankfully, Aemond was far enough away that she could not make him out against the mass of his mount.

The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his eldest sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.

Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.

With the Rogue Prince gone, the war was swiftly over. Rhaenyra was killed, her last remaining son taken as King Aegon’s ward, and the royal host returned to King’s Landing victorious. Even Cregan Stark had agreed to halt his advance South, redirecting to Harrenhal for peace talks.

Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.

Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.

A letter detailing exactly what had occurred within those melted stone halls during the war, written by the late Prince Daemon himself, sat on her vanity. A final act of retribution against his soon-to-be killer.

She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.

My dear Princess, Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…

A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.

A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…

There was a pounding from within her, soft thumps and kicks as the life inside her own womb became unsettled by its mother’s roiling emotions. She laid a hand over her belly, whispering soothing words she did not believe to try and calm it – and herself.

Once, she would never have believed Daemon’s stories. But then word came that, after the final battle, Aemond returned to Harrenhal for less than an hour before he again mounted Vhagar and flew for King’s Landing. It was not like Aemond to make such swift decisions. Nor did it strike her as the action of an innocent man.

When she called for Ser Willis Fell, her heart had been filled with hope that the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would dispel her worries. That she had only allowed herself to consider the possibility of Aemond’s infidelity because her mind was addled by her delicate condition.

“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”

She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.

All she could remember was how Aemond kissed her on the day he left for Harrenhal. Deeply and passionately. Until she could feel his love for her as clearly as her own heartbeat. Then he knelt before her and placed a single, tender kiss to her belly, to where they had only just learned that their babe grew.

Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.

Now he was returning home – in haste.

He knew, then. That Daemon had let slip his secret. Perhaps it had even been the Rogue Prince’s last words. Spat in Aemond’s face in the seconds before his body tumbled into the lake below. Had she not been caught in the crossfire, she might have admired it for the masterful manipulation it was.

But in seeking to destroy Aemond, Daemon had destroyed her as well.

She was broken from her thoughts by the distant sound of people cheering. Aemond was making his way through the city more quickly than she thought. The streets weren’t as crowded as she hoped they would be this late at night.

It was late. Far later than she had become accustomed to. These days, she was often in bed and asleep not long after the sun had set, hoping that she would somehow find a full night’s sleep. Never to any avail.

For a moment, she thought of slipping beneath the blankets and pretending to be asleep so she would not have to speak to Aemond until the morning. But he would only crawl into bed with her, and then he would see when she inevitably woke…

That was not a conversation she wanted to have today. Really, there was no conversation she wanted to have with Aemond, only that which must be had.

She was resolved that Aemond would not find her weeping or stewing in heartbreak. No, she would not let him think he held such power over her, even if he did. He always had, even when they were young children.

So, she resumed her nightly routine as though nothing was wrong, as if she was entirely unaffected by his betrayal. Sitting at her vanity, she began to unbraid her hair. Her maids usually did it for her, but she had dismissed them the moment she read Daemon’s letter, not wanting to see their pitying faces for longer than she had to.

Since learning she was with child, everyone – including her maids – fussed over her constantly. It was not without reason, she knew. There was indeed very good reason why everyone was so concerned about her. But after six months, she was tired of it.

Just the simple act of taking her braids out and brushing through her loose hair by herself brought a welcome feeling of independence that she had not felt in some time. Perhaps ever.

That feeling slowly faded away as the cheering and celebration from the city came closer and closer, until she could hear gauntleted hands clapping in the castle courtyard below.

Aemond was here.

Her hand fell to cradle her stomach and was immediately met by three quick thumps against her palm. She knew the child did not understand what was happening and was only responding to the touch itself, much in the same way a cat arches its back when petted.

Still, it comforted her. It made her feel like she was not alone.

“Kirimvossi, rūhossas,” she whispered with a smile before resuming brushing her hair.

Her smile did not last.

Sooner than she had hoped, she heard the clanking of armor as the guards outside her door straightened, bowed, then retreated.

A shiver went through her, stealing the air from her chest while cold gathered in her heart and began sinking to her stomach. Dragging her brush through her hair suddenly took great effort, as did every breath.

Yet it was surprisingly easy to banish the tears forming in her eyes and school her face into tired neutrality. To glance only once at the figure now lingering in the doorway before turning away without acknowledging him.

She did not know if it was strength or cowardice.

He called her name, his voice rasping and low – desperate. “We must speak.”

She did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.

Aemond sighed, calling her name again. “Please, my love. Look at me.”

Still, she did not move.

“Ābrazȳrītsos,” he said, a hint of command slipping into his plea. Little wife.

He had always loved calling her little. According to their mother, the first thing Aemond did when he saw her as a babe was exclaim, “She’s so little!”

Ever since, he’d been calling her little.

First, she was simply hāedus. Little sister.

Whenever she tried to follow Aemond when he went somewhere she wasn’t allowed or did something she wasn’t allowed to do, he would gently scold her, “Haedus, you’re too little.” Inevitably, she would cry. About half the time, her crying was enough to sway him.

Then, she became zaldrīzītsos. Little dragon.

“You’re my zaldrīzītsos,” he would say when she hugged him tightly after Aegon or one of the Strong boys mocked him for not having a dragon. She didn’t have one either, but she never felt she needed one, for she had Aemond.

For a time, she was maegītsos. Little witch.

Aemond had dubbed her so when she came to visit him in the Maester’s tower while he recovered from the loss of his eye. The Maester would give her some “special leaves” so she could brew a “magic potion” to help Aemond get better. In truth, the potion was simply tea. But Aemond always pretended that the potion had indeed worked miracles, just to make her happy.

Once he was healed, she was again zaldrīzītsos.

Since he finally had a true dragon, she worried that he would not want her anymore. When she came to him in tears one day as he was leaving the Keep to see Vhagar, he hugged her tightly and told her, “You will always be my zaldrīzītsos.” Then he brought her with him to ride Vhagar. It was the best day of her life.

Or it was, until the day they were officially betrothed, and she became raqiarzītsos. Little darling.

It was what he would call her every morning when he greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. How he would summon her to his side at court events. What he moaned when they kissed unchastely each evening before saying goodnight.  

She had been so excited when she became his ‘ābrazȳrītsos.’ The first time he had whispered it in her ear at the wedding feast, she’d blushed so brightly that their grandsire inquired about her health. The next time he said it, Aemond made sure they were alone.

Little sister. Little dragon. Little witch. Little darling. Little wife.

Always little.

Once, the names had made her heart flutter with delight. Now, they only prompted another wave of nausea.

Aemond was everything to her – he always had been. She thought he felt the same way, but it seemed she was wrong. To him, she was just “little.”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, of that word. How he spoke to her like she was some frightened animal poised to lash out.

Yet at the same time, her heart melted to hear the voice she loved so dearly after so long an absence. Merely the sight of him in the mirror sent a feeling of warmth and belonging flooding through her.

She hated him.

She loved him.

She was angrier at him than she had ever been in her life.

She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

She could do nothing but continue to brush her hair and stare into her reflection.

Aemond sighed, finally stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You won’t even look at me, ābrazȳrītsos?”

She gave no answer.

He whispered her name again, “Abrazȳrītsos, please,” Aemond’s voice turned quiet as he reached her and set a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her around by force, but she wrenched herself out of his grip, staring down at the floor. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the misery on his face. “Please look at me.”

“If I look at you, I fear I will be sick,” she explained weakly. “I don’t want to harm the babe.”

His irritation began to surge, she knew it even without seeing him. His breathing quickened slightly, and she could hear the creaking of leather as he rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists – he had been so hurried he had not yet taken off his riding gloves.

“You are my wife,” he huffed. She could hear him attempt to contain the sharp edge of barely contained anger in his soft voice. At least he was considerate enough to hide it. “You are my sister – my blood. You love me as I love you, and you carry my child within you. Yet you cannot even look at me?”

Fury roared to life like a surging flame within her. How dare he be angry with her when he is the one who ruined everything?

“Why did you come back?” she spat back, quietly yet viciously.

His stare continued to weigh on her through the mirror. “I promised you the day I left that I would return to you when the war was done,” he said, half-smiling at the memory. “The war is over, so here I am.”

She shook her head. “The war is not over.”

“Of course, it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra are dead, and – ”

“The fighting is over,” she corrected. “But the war is not finished. Peace must still be brokered. As Prince Regent, that is your responsibility. Yet you are here rather than with the rest of the soldiers and politicians at Harrenhal. Why?”

She wanted him to be the one to say it.

Aemond sighed, raising a hand to touch her, then pulling away. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you and simply couldn’t stand to stay away a moment longer?”

She was moving before she could process what she was doing, standing from the vanity and turning to face Aemond, her hand raised and ready to strike.

But he caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her moments before her palm could impact his cheek – his scarred cheek. His eye was wide, filled with sadness and shock in equal measure. He turned to look at her hand as if it was some kind of curiosity he had never seen before, like he couldn’t understand how it could ever be raised against him.

Tears were spilling down her cheeks when he turned back to her, and his expression gave over entirely to despair. Aemond opened his mouth, but words failed him.

He lowered her hand gently, bowing his head slightly to the right to give her an easier target.

It broke something within her.

She dove toward him, wrapping her arms around him as she cried into his chest, clinging to him as if he were her the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

But the moment Aemond moved to return the embrace, she shoved him away. It only moved him a step back, still within her reach. He did not move closer, and when she began to pound her fists furiously against his chest, he didn’t try to stop her.

“Why did you come back?” she demanded as she pushed him once more. “Why did you not just stay in Harrenhal with your whore and leave us alone?”

Aemond did not respond. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. He could do nothing but stare at her, his eye flitting between her belly, where his child had grown –so much he could hardly believe it – in his absence, to her eyes.

Those eyes. A warm, rich brown that shone with gold in the firelight. It was Aemond’s favorite color. For whenever he saw it, in her eyes or their mother’s, he knew he was home.

But now those eyes he loved so dearly were filled with tears of his own making. He wanted nothing more than to see them dry and sparkling with love once more.

“Abrazȳrītsos, you must know I will always return to you,” he begged, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on her belly. Almost immediately, he felt a stirring within her, and a weak pushing against him.

His child.

Was it reaching for him, or pushing him away?

Before he could truly ponder either answer, his wife pulled away from him, her arms curling protectively around her abdomen.

He had to say something. Something to take her pain away, to make everything well again so he would have the chance to hold her and the babe. Even if it was a lie, he would say it if it made her forgive him.

“Raqiarzītsos,” he started, only for her to take another step away and scowl at him. He sighed as the realization of how deeply had hurt her truly sunk in. He softly called her name, “My love, it was one mistake. One moment of weakness, I swear –”

“Liar!” Her voice had grown rough with her fury, and Aemond flinched at the sound. He had never heard her shout like that, not even when she was a babe herself.

She saw his discomfort and reveled in it. Seeing him suffer a fraction of what she felt gave her a sinful spark of joy, one that she felt no need to beg forgiveness from the Seven for. She turned away from him and retrieved the letter from Daemon, panting as she looked over the words once more.

“A mistress now lies in your husband’s bed. She was a wetnurse at Harrenhal, some Strong bastard. She must be something truly special, for she is the only Strong – trueborn or bastard – to have survived Aemond’s rather thorough purging of the bloodline. I suppose it is now clear why. I have not been able to learn much about her. She is called Alys, my spies tell me.”

With smoldering eyes, she turned to Aemond and began to read aloud. “She reports to your husband’s chambers every night without fail, as she has done from the very first week he arrived at that cursed place. One of my spies even reported that he calls her to him after each battle or razing of some poor Riverlanders, as well as anytime he feels frustrated. It is no surprise, then, that there is another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb. Your brothers do have a fondness for seeding unsuitable women, don’t they?”

When she looked up from the letter, she found Aemond’s face set in anger, his fingers curled as though they were aching to grip his sword and run someone through. His eye flew from the letter to her face, the rage burning there only softening for a moment.

The left corner of Aemond’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily, and he jerked his head to the side to try and hide it. “You would believe Daemon’s word over mine, abrazȳrītsos? After all he has done?”

She let the letter drift back to the table. “If all I had was his word, I would not have believed it,” she explained. “But it is not only his word.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, looking away from her. Incensed as he was, he would not make her the target of his ire. Never her.  “Will you tell me who else?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. There was a dark glint in his eye that promised violent retribution upon whoever she would name. No one deserved torture, or perhaps even death, for telling the truth.

With a nod, Aemond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He would not press her further, though she knew he would likely still try to find out who it was by other means. But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.

She was so tired.

She had anticipated a long fight, and thought she was ready for it. In the hours she waited for Aemond’s return, she had carefully tended the spark of her anger so it would burn only when she commanded. But the moment she saw him, it escaped her grasp and became a wildfire in a dry grassland. It was fierce, quick, and lethal. In an instant, it had consumed every bit of her strength, leaving only the barest smoldering remains in its wake.

After a few more silent moments, Aemond again opened his eyes and looked down at his wife.

“I will not insult your intelligence by trying to deny it any further,” he said, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, “and I know there is nothing I can say to excuse what I have done. But my love, I truly am sorry. For what I did, and for the hurt I have caused you.”

She stared at him, trying to detect and hint of insincerity. She found none.

“I love you. I know I have given you ample reason to doubt that but…” he swallowed thickly. “I do love you, abrazȳrītsos. I always have and I always will. I know in my heart that the gods made us for each other. And if they had fated us to others, I swear I would have defied their will and ripped them from the heavens so that I could love you.”

He licked his lips and removed his gloves before offering her his shaking hand.

Perhaps it was the result of the weariness pervading her entire being. Perhaps it was the tug of an unborn babe reaching out, somehow knowing its father was near. Perhaps it was the sliver of her soul that had always belonged to Aemond beckoning her to rejoin him and become whole again.

Whatever the reason, despite the protestations of her aching heart and her rational mind, she put her hand in his.

It did not fit as well as it used to.

If Aemond noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss before resuming his plea. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will understand if you do not give it, but for the sake of my heart and the love we share, I must ask it. Abrazȳrītsos, can you ever forgive me?”

The world fell silent, and so did she.

If she focused, she could hear her heartbeat, along with two others, thumping out three different rhythms. It was discordant, yet somehow comforting. She listened to it for a moment, trying to hear a melody within it. But there was nothing.

She turned her attention to her hand in Aemond’s grasp. There was a welcome heat where his skin touched hers, but also a tingling numbness. A slight discomfort, akin to wearing new gloves before they had softened and molded to her hands.  

Then, she looked at Aemond. At the face that was more familiar to her than her own. It had changed in the last six months – more so than she would have expected. The color of his skin had deepened from so many days spent in the sun, and there were new blemishes that had not been there before. The shadows under his eyes, the roughness where it once was smooth, and the new smudge of a scar above the corner of his right brow.

All of it was strange. Known, yet unknown. Question, but no answer.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“What…” Aemond’s lip quirked again as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I don’t understand, what don’t you know, my love?”

She winced slightly at the foreign sensation of his hand against her skin. He had callouses now he didn’t have before. “I don’t know how to forgive you, or if I even want to. I just feel… tired.”

Aemond nodded, bowing his head once more to hide the disappointment he could not keep from his face, and looked at her belly. “Of course, you are tired,” he said, “I am sorry, I did not consider how late it was.”

She caught his eye flicking towards the bed – their bed, or at least, it used to be. A cold coil of panic began to wrap itself around her heart. He could not sleep here. He could not see…

“I would prefer if you slept elsewhere,” she said hastily before he could ask otherwise. “For tonight, I would like to be alone.”

Tears shone in Aemond’s eye for a moment, but he did not let them fall. He gave her a tight smile and again kissed her hand. “If that is what you wish, I will obey, but may I ask one thing?”

It would be foolish to say yes. Foolish to give him the opportunity to persuade her at all when she knew how easily he had always been able to sway her with his sweet words. Foolish to do anything but send him away immediately.

And yet…

“What would you ask?” she whispered, betrayed by the foolish little part of her heart and soul that was still and would always be his ‘hāedus.’

“I ask only for a few moments, and then I will leave, as you wish. But it has been half a year, abrazȳrītsos, since I have seen you, or heard your voice, or held you in my arms.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to his face, open and earnest and pleading. “So for only a few moments, please, allow me to hold you again.”

His softly spoken words were like a siren’s song, and she began to feel faint as she struggled to resist falling under its spell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, begging her mind to calm and think clearly.

“I promise, I will do nothing more than hold you,” he said, running his hand delicately over her cheek. “I just want to hold my wife.”

He did not deserve it, she knew. Nor did he deserve to be touching her as he did now, though she did not push him away. He did not even deserve her consideration of his request.

But it had been half a year for her, too.

Half a year with no one to kiss her good morning or good night. No one to carry her to bed when her legs and back ached. No one to hold her hair and whisper soothing words when she was sick.

She’d had her mother, her sister, and her maids. Even a Maester, at one very low point. But that was not the same. It was not the touch of a beloved husband.

Despite her anger, she was aching to be held by him.

“Just for a few moments,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Then you must leave.”

She did not have time to regret her decision before Aemond pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead as he thanked her. And before she could pull away, he was turning her slowly, so her back was pressed flush against his chest.

“It’s alright,” he assured her when she made a soft noise of confusion. “Trust me, abrazȳrītsos.”

His hands skated down her arms, his touch featherlight and yet searing. She gasped as he began to cradle her belly, her head lolling back into his shoulder. If given one more breath, she would have pushed him away, but then…

He laced his fingers together and took the weight of her belly into his own arms.

It was a rapturous feeling, to have the burden of it lifted from her and her eternally aching spine, even for a moment. She sighed in relief and leaned back further into her husband. Gratitude flooded through her, and her hands flew to rest over his.

“Oh, Aemond,” she breathed into his neck.

Gods, she had missed him so much. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d been here to hold her like this. He had always known been able to help her, she should have known that even with their first child, he would somehow know what to do…

Her eyes snapped open, and her blood ran cold.

This was their first child, but it was not Aemond’s only child.

He had another, far away, within a different mother. A mother whom he had been there for as she grew, Who, thanks to her role as a wetnurse, would be able to teach him exactly how to help.

“Did you hold Alys like this?”

Aemond stiffened behind her, and his grip tightened. “Abrazȳrītsos…”

“Don’t lie to me, Aemond. Not anymore.”

Silence, then…

“Yes, I did.”

She seized his hands and ripped them apart, tearing herself out of his grasp as quickly as she could, heedless of him reaching for her. Stumbling, she crossed the room before turning back to him, eyes blazing through new tears.

“Do not ever touch me like you touched her,” she spat. Her rage had reignited, the barren grassland now an endless field of flame.

Aemond’s mouth hung open as he looked to her in despair, his arms held helplessly in front of him. His voice broke as he said her name – a plea. “I just wanted to hold you. To help you.”

“And you did. For a few moments, just as you asked. Now leave, as you promised.”

He was looking at her like she was a wild beast, primed to lash out should he make one wrong move. But she didn’t mind, for that was exactly what she felt like. He had made her feel that way, and she hated him for it.

Aemond just stood there, and she could see his mind working desperately to figure out what to say to placate her. She would not give him the chance.

“Leave!” she screamed, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, burning as it went. She could not help but wonder if that was what dragons felt when they breathed fire.

Lowering his arms, Aemond nodded. “I will leave, abrazȳrītsos. Just as I promised. I am sorry.”

“I don’t care.” She meant it. His apology meant absolutely nothing to her raging, broken heart.

She watched him carefully as he turned and walked through the door, ready to rage at him again if she needed to. Perhaps she would actually breathe fire the next time.

Aemond did not try anything to soothe her or convince her to change her mind. The warrior prince knew when a battle was lost. But she knew he had not yet ceded the war.

That much was clear when he paused in the doorway, looking back at her in determination. “I love you, abrazȳrītsos, and nothing will ever change that.”

Then he closed the door, and was gone.

But she could not stop crying, for she knew he would return.

Worse, she knew that as angry as she was, she loved him, too. And nothing would ever change that, either.

-

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[sunfyresrider]

The King's Wife

Aegon II Targaryen X Fem!Reader

Summary: After the miscarriage of the king’s first born child you must go through your grief alone. That is until he summons a dinner where all truths are revealed. Tags: child loss, semi toxic relationship, fluffy ending. Author’s Note: Hi anon! This is for your lovely self<3 I rewrote this like ten times I'm sorry

You loved your husband more dearly than anything in this world and he loved you all the same. It is rare that a person enjoys their betrothed let alone loves them. It was a perfect match, created by complete accident. The Hightowers needed allies, an army, and for their king to have heirs. You needed a husband, a home and a family to replace your own. Truly, it seemed impossible everything worked out so beautifully.

Until it didn’t. The old king died after your marriage, the one he did not attend. Within a week your entire world had been uprooted and torn apart. You had yet to produce an heir, but it had only been a handful of months. The Hightowers either waited too late or the king died too soon, you didn’t know which. One moment you were lying in bed peacefully with your husband, the next you were standing in the dragonpit adorned with a crown. 

The coronation was masterfully crafted to be an affair of the ages. To be remembered by all the small folk and Lords who attended, to prove Aegon was the one and only rightful heir to the throne. And you were his beloved queen. You never expected Aegon to wholly embrace his new duties, to faithfully serve the realm. In the several years you had been married he never once showed care for any of it. Obviously, there was a side of him you hadn’t yet seen.

For every hour in the past weeks since a crown was placed atop his head, he had been busy. He would scheme in the council room meticulously making plans to destroy the Blacks. He worked tirelessly to ensure the small folk’s love, to coerce lords to join his cause and dispose of those who did not. 

Needless to say, your husband had become a complete stranger. You saw him at night when he dragged himself into bed with a large sigh. You attempted to comfort him, to love him, but were. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just so exhausted I can’t bear to move.’ An excuse, you thought to yourself. You took to sleeping on the edge of the bed, facing the wall instead of the man you were supposed to be. You tried to remind yourself this was not intentional, he was a new king in the midst of the war, it wasn’t your fault he could not be bothered. 

Mayhaps you should have been more understanding, maybe you should have forced him to give you the same attention as he used to but there were now other more important things. As the days flew by you became increasingly ill with something you could not name. You rarely left the bed now, too fatigued to fathom moving. 

In fear that you may be contagious, you have started sleeping in separate chambers. If your mind wasn’t so dazed by whatever plagued you, you would be far angrier. The vomiting began on the third day and seemed to not stop. Every food or medicine placed in front of you made you gag. It was impossible to keep anything inside when it all wanted to come out. 

The fourth day was when you realized something was horribly amiss, though you told no one. It started in the morning, the worst cramps you had felt in your entire life. You panicked at the sight of the blood but forced yourself to bite your lip. You couldn’t risk bothering everyone during such a time filled with turmoil. It lasted three hours, the pain, the blood, and the tears mixing into your sweat. A babe no larger than your foot was born, deceased. 

You couldn’t put into words the feelings that were boiling inside you. The signs of pregnancy were barely there, this couldn’t be happening. It didn’t feel real, watching your single trusted handmaiden wrap the babe in cloth and take it away. It didn’t make sense; you hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary to cause this. 

There were no signs of pregnancy in the past months. No growing belly or swelling feet to accompany all of the other king list of ailments that came with being with child. This was cryptic and it needed to remain that way, no matter how much pain you were in. 

There were far too many things to take into account. You failed to birth a child, the one thing women are praised for in this realm, and you couldn’t do it. If the council discovered the truth, they may have your marriage annulled and you discarded. What is a queen’s worth if she cannot produce heirs? What is a wife’s worth if she cannot produce a family for her husband? In this world you would be seen as no better than a whore. 

Thus, you distanced yourself from him entirely. You would mourn alone, sleep alone and heal alone. If you told him only worse could come from it and you simply couldn’t handle it. The hours turned into days, days into weeks and weeks into one month since you laid with your husband… It was past time you ventured outside of your chambers. 

____________________________________

When you had first met, Aegon believed your love was one that could withstand any dissension. However, it was becoming increasingly clear he was wrong. Very few people in this world loved the king, a surprising fact considering he was THE king. You were the first to show him true love and probably the last… Slowly but surely his insecurities were becoming all consuming. The feeling of his heart being gutted out increasing by the hour. 

What had he done to scorn you so? Ever since you wed, he had changed his behavior, became a better son, a more dutiful king and adoring husband. Mayhaps he should have reached out to you more but how could he when you were so determined to be alone? Aegon had his downfalls but surely it wasn’t so bad you stopped loving him. Was it?  

He forced you to attend supper, alone… You sat at the far-left end of the table, as far from your husband as you could. The table was set with luxurious food from across the realm, none of which interested you, all of which made you nauseous. It was eerily silent; the only sound being made was Aegon’s silverware hitting the plate. 

He was detached from this dinner, his mind was elsewhere, somewhere, anywhere but here. His eyes remained fixated on his food attempting to ignore the tension between him and you. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed the growing distance, the refusal to share a bed with him, the constant look of apathy plastered on your face at all times. You were growing to hate him, and it became increasingly clear every day… 

It was a miserable affair. Occasionally he glanced up from his plate and your eyes would meet. He gave a small smile and nod, which would be met with a faux smile on your part. Your plate remained empty; you remained almost completely still as if completely disassociated from the world around you. It was harrowing, watching his wife lose all interest in him. It didn’t matter what he did, you remained in constant dismay. 

“Is something bothering you?” He sighed, dropping his fork on his plate and gazing into you. “Nothing is bothering me, your grace. Is something bothering you?” He raised his eyebrows, sinking back into his chair. You’ve never referred to him as your grace let alone any formal titles. “You’re deflecting.”

“If I was deflecting, I would have changed the conversation.” You spoke in an irritated tone, avoiding all eye contact. Perhaps you truly did not love him anymore, he thought to himself. 

Aegon's eyes hardened, his lips thinned. He stared at you for a few moments, before he slammed his hand down on the table, making dishes clatter together.

"Yes, something is troubling me!" He shouted. This was the first time he ever raised his voice to you in your entire marriage. "For the past few weeks, you've barely spoken a word to me. I have tried to start countless conversations with you, but they all go nowhere. You refuse to share a bed with me, you refuse to accompany me to meetings…” 

You stood up from your seat, tears beginning to form at the corner of your eyes. “I? For weeks I tried to lay with you, to comfort you, but you refused my affection at all times and swat me away like a fly,” you shouted. Aegon's nostrils flared, and he clenched his fists on the table. ”Oh? And what sort of 'affection' do you expect me to give you when you're laying here like a corpse! Sulking about the entire keep like a ghost!" His throat caught, and he took a few seconds to breathe to hold it in, but his eyes were red, rimmed with tears. 

“You don’t care at all do you?” You yelled, fingers shakily gripping the edge of the table to keep your balance. "No, I don't care!” A deafening silence fell across the room. You stopped crying, regained your composure. “I believe it is time for me to go to bed. Goodnight, your grace.” You walked out of the room calmly, ignoring the hurricane of emotions in your heart. 

Shit

“Wait!” Aegon made chase, but you picked up your speed. “Leave me alone!” You lifted your dress so you would not trip as you made a dash to your chambers. “No!” The sounds of your voices carried through the keep as he chased you down. The guards and select nobles watched the chase in shock, disapproval and embarrassment for you both. 

Your feet scurried across the floor, tears freely flowing from your face. You ripped the door to your chambers open, flinging yourself inside to try to escape him. As you tried to will the door shut his body slammed against it, throwing you back. Aegon forced himself inside, slamming and locking it behind him. You stared at him, too heartbroken and angry to speak. He panted, “no more. No more running. We’re going to have this out.” 

You turned to walk away, further into your chambers. Aegon grabbed you by the wrist, surprisingly gently. "Please, stop hiding," he spoke between breaths. "Every day I have not had a moment's peace since you’ve gone away. Every night I have not slept because you are not there. I- I’m sorry I raised my voice, I’m sorry I did not pay you enough attention. I’m sorry for whatever sin I have committed to drive you away.” 

You turned to face him, tears streaming down his face, cherub cheeks painted a soft hue of red. “I can’t go on like this. I can’t live not knowing if you still love me.” His words broke you, reopened the wound your lost child left. You loved him, you loved him more than anyone in this realm. "I had a miscarriage," you whispered. "I didn't know how to tell you.” 

“W-what?” Aegon was confused, ceasing all of his movements the second you uttered the words. You began to sniffle, guilt eating away at your heart. “I- I didn’t know I was with child. It happened so suddenly and I- I” You couldn’t finish your sentence between the sobs. He pulled you close, burying your face in his chest, “i-i’m sorry. I’m sorry” you wailed like a newborn babe. 

“Shhh, don’t say sorry.” He pushed down his feelings of regret to comfort you. “I should have been there. You should have never gone through that alone.” Aegon held you tightly as you cried, tears streaming down his own face. He murmured soothing words in your ear and stroked your hair until your sobs subsided. Finally, you lifted your head and looked into his eyes. They were filled with love, concern, and a hint of fear. "I still love you," you said softly. "More than anything."

Relief flooded his face, and he pulled you into a deep kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of the past, present, and future. It was a kiss full of forgiveness, love, and hope. When the kiss ended, Aegon brushed a strand of hair from your face and smiled. "We can make another babe if you’d like." His poorly timed inappropriate jests normally fell flat but to his surprise and enjoyment, you laughed. it was a happy, pure laugh, the kind that he hadn't heard in a long time.

#aegon targaryen #aegon fic #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon angst #aegon fluff #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon ii angst #aegon ii fluff #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic

[sailing-through-hawkins]

i got a much bigger response to my Harrington Charms Hellfire post than i expected so i wrote a little something that was along the lines of what i was thinking!

Part 1 ✧ Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧ Part 4 ✧ AO3

Sometimes Eddie thinks the real Upside-Down is his life after they close up the gates and pulverize Vecna ("they" in this situation being superhero Jane Hopper and the rest of her merry band of warriors), because past-Eddie would probably have a breakdown over...well, everything.

For one thing, Eddie is currently in the passenger seat of none other than Steve Harrington's Beemer, at the man's very request himself.

"Wait, I'll drop you off."

"'Preciate the thought, Steve but -"

"Munson. It's been like two weeks since you even started walking by yourself, sorry if I'm kinda worried about letting you go across town without me."

"Uh...just you?"

"Any of us, but me specifically since I'm clearly everyone's chauffeur. Might as well play the role, right?"

It's been like a month and every time Eddie wants to go anywhere in the slowly rebuilding town, Steve's right there with him. It'd be infuriating if it wasn't so obvious he liked doing it. If Steve wasn't so intent on just making sure Eddie's alright and yeah the mother-henning should have gotten old by now but if Eddie even thinks about telling him to stop, all he sees is sad eyes and hunched shoulders hiding under a complacent smile and wave bye-bye. God those eyes are fucking weapons.

They're heading over to Gareth's garage for a light-hearted band session. It's funny because Dustin was the one who convinced Eddie to "get your head out of your ass and talk to your friends, dick" and actually reach out to the rest of Hellfire about the whole 'not a murderer OR dead' thing. After some apologizing (ugh) and grovelling (double ugh), the rest of his sheep were willing to forgive him for ignoring their calls and visits while he was in recovery. Provided, of course, that he continue to check in with them on a bi-weekly basis at minimum. It's unfortunate that Steve, for all his head trauma, makes sure that Eddie actually sticks to that basis.

The things he does for love.

Or no, not love, definitely not love, it is way too fucking soon to call this teensy little infatuation anything as huge as love. No. Not love at all.

They're about to reach Gareth's place, that's important. By the time Steve rolls to a stop outside the garage, Eddie's panic (not panic, just a strong argument, this is not love) has simmered down. He has to take his time getting out of the car today, thank whatever deity is out there for quick-feet Steve, who runs around the front to help Eddie out onto his two feet. It's been a rough week but he had way worse back in that first month at the hospital, not to mention needing a little Steve-assistance isn't the worst thing in the world.

"Hey!"

Eddie blinks as Steve helps him lean against the car, the spots in his vision fading away to reveal Gareth right up in his space with a murderous gaze directed right at Steve.

Eddie worries that he's gonna start a fight even though it's been months since he's introduced Steve as his live-in-nurse (nobody takes Eddie's hints at a sexy nurse uniform to heart thankfully, he doesn't know what he'd do if Steve caught on that he's only half-joking) and Steve's been doing the best he can to make amends with Hellfire.

At least the guys aren't walking on eggshells around him anymore, judging by how Gareth barely took a glance to assess Eddie's wellbeing before going back to glaring at Steve with eyes ready to kill. Well fuck you too Gareth.

He crosses his arms, eyes burning with resentment as he continues go stare down a pretty nonchalant Steve who is very much in Eddie's space as he also leans against the car, fuck he's so close. When Eddie glances at him to scope out what the fuck is happening, he sees that gaze again. The gaze that reminds Eddie of Steve's days as King, looking over his reigning population with a boredom teetering on malicious negligence. That gaze used to send Eddie's mind into hysterics, painting images of crowding into the King's space just to see those big brown eyes waver. But that's not how it is anymore, Steve's eyes are usually brimming with concern, irritation or a spark of contentment as he watches his little nuggets run around screaming about Eddie's latest one-shot campaign.

Right now, there's no screaming teenagers. It's just silence for a few moments, a tension building in Eddie's bones until he thinks this must be what it's like to watch a sports match, head running back-and-forth between the two teams and waiting with baited breath.

"So?" Gareth spits out, squinting at Steve, just tilts his head in response and lets a few strands of perfect fall into his eyes, damn that bastard. Gareth grits his teeth and takes a breath, "What did you think?"

Steve watches Gareth, as if assessing his line delivery, shifting so he fully faces him but is still totally in Eddie's space with a hand on the car roof behind Eddie and the other crooked up on Steve's hip. The motion lets Eddie smell his aftershave and fuck, Steve still runs so warm. Whatever he finds in Gareth has to be what he wants because he gives them both a half-lidded smirk and shrugs his shoulders. "Eh, wasn't that into it."

Gareth sputters, face turning crimson and Eddie is like super confused because what the fuck is going on right now? 

Steve is the one to fully break his brain with a laugh that throws his head back, his neck stretching out so the light hits his jawline perfectly, that bastard. He looks back at Gareth's flushed face with a sunny grin that sets fire to Eddie's veins. "You totally liked it, didn't you?"

Eddie snaps his head to Gareth, who squirms before dropping his shoulders. His little mutter of, "Yeah, I did," sounds so defeated that Eddie feels a second-hand guilt, but over what? He has no fucking clue.

That small pit of guilt quickly dissolves into even more confusion when Steve laughs again, kicking himself off his car to land a hand on Gareth's shoulder and fucking wink at Eddie. "The miracle of Grease, huh Munson?"

Record-scratch. Sorry, what?

"Sorry, what?" Eddie snaps his eyes from the grinning god that is Steve and the sulking fluster that is a member of his club, one of his friends, one of his very overprotective sheep who has hated Steve's guts for a long time and is now letting the guy give him a fucking noogie in broad daylight with empty complaints.

"Looks like I've been corrupting your crew, Eds, if Gary being a Greaser -"

"I am NOT a Greaser, I just -"

Gary? Steve calls Gareth the Great...Gary? And he doesn't even comment on it? Last time Jeff tried that, Gareth threatened to hide a spider in his guitar case. But Steve Harrington, someone Gareth has had no qualms about verbally tearing apart, does it and it's fine?

"Eds? Hey, Eddie." And now Steve's looking at him with that concern-rotten gaze, eyes flitting over every inch of Eddie's face as if to pinpoint what's wrong and fix it with a smile and a soft you're okay now, I've got you. "Back with me?"

Swallowing down an incessant I'm always with you, sweetheart, Eddie nods. In his peripheral, Gareth is watching him with his hands out as if to catch Eddie from falling. Which is stupid because Eddie hasn't fallen from light-headedness in like two days (Eddie shuts up the part of his brain that reminds him Gareth wouldn't know that with a part that says Dustin probably gives the whole club daily medical chart updates) and wait fuck is that Steve's hand on his neck right now?

"So!" Eddie claps his hands, eye twitching as Steve's hand slowly trails to his shoulder, lingering for a moment before he takes it off entirely. Stupid jock bastard with his touchy-ness and his smile and - "What's this I hear about Grease, Gary?"

Oh yeah, there's that livid face of watch out for the tarantula bitch, Eddie's missed that. Well, Gareth still does it everyday but not at Eddie for a while there, probably because of the whole intensive injury recovery shit. Oh well. "None of your -"

"Gareth and I made a bet," Steve clamps his hand back onto Gareth to shove them closer together, pointedly ignoring Gareth glare of betrayal. The space on the back of Eddie's neck still burns with the ghost of Steve's touch, something ugly in his chest snarling at how that touch is now on Gareth's arm. He wonders if the bats left him with more than bites sometimes. "About some movies we recommended each other. And since I won, that means -"

"No way, I'm not -"

"Uh yeah you are, I won so -"

"Fuck you, Harrington -"

"Not on the first date, hotshot," Steve laughs as Gareth tries wrangling out of his hold, holding onto him by his shoulders with one gloriously bulging forearm. Eddie's starting to think the light-headedness might be a symptom of something other than his brush with the bats. Oh don't think about the bats, bad move, bad move. "Didn't know you raised a cheater, Eddie."

Steve's eyes are glowing with mirth, his grin wide as Gareth threatens to bite him with a smile of his own. And that's. Huh?

"And I didn't know you two were so close," Eddie manages to cough out, snapping his gaze to Gareth with a raised eyebrow. He squirms again, ducking out of Steve's grasp (Eddie can't imagine why anyone would want to) and dusting off his shirt. "Holding out on me, Harrington?"

Steve shrugs, his eyes fixating right next to Eddie's eyes. He steps closer, a firm and warm presence right in Eddie's space, right in front of him, and raises a hand to caress Eddie's hair, that fucker. Eddie stifles his gasp because he knows Steve's just getting something out of his hair, like he does every goddamn time he sees a leaf or dust or fucking anything in Eddie's mass of curls. "Just being friendly. Now giddy up, you two've got a session to do."

"Not sticking around?" Gareth looks back at the garage, the forced nonchalance in his tone nothing compared to the shadow of King Steve's gaze. "Frank wanted to ask you about those threads from last week."

"Shit," Steve slapped his forehead, looking into the garage at Frankie who - fucking waves at them?! Mr. "Do what you want but I'm never falling for that Harrington charm bullshit" is waving at Steve. Who, incidentally, waves back with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Frankie, I can't make it today, got a shift with the supply run! Rain check on the wardrobe?"

And Frank the Unwavering, notorious for sticking to his guns with a grip tight enough to choke a man, gives Steve a thumbs up before going back to strumming with Jeff. What the fuck.

"Wardrobe?" Eddie chokes.

"Don't worry about it," Steve waves a hand in the air and gently pulls Eddie off the car, settling his arm around Gareth, who takes Eddie's weight with ease. "I'll tell you later. You'll be good to take him, or should I?"

Gareth scoffs but his eyebrows aren't scrunched with any irritation or anger. "I think I can handle it, Harrington. Go handle your hero shit."

And here's the thing. Steve has a thing about that word. Eddie's noticed because, well, he's always watching Steve and he has a rocky relationship with the word "hero." Sometimes his whole body glows with the praise, smile so wide and eyes so sparkly it makes Eddie want to scream. Other times, Steve shrinks just a little, barely noticeable, and his smile dims and his eyes are shadowed with something Eddie doesn't understand. Or can't understand. He's not sure.

This time, Steve seems to be on the glowing side of things but it's so subtle compared to usual that Eddie just has to blink and all that golden haze is gone already. He blinks again and Steve's waving bye to him, blinks and Steve's in his car, blinks and he's driving back on the road to wherever people need him to be.

Gareth snorts, tugging Eddie out of his daze and shuffling them both toward the sofa at the back of the garage, the brown beauty it is. "Wipe the drool, man, you're getting it all over my hair."

"Oh like you're one to talk," Eddie waits until Gareth settles him on the sofa and fully stands up before fluttering his eyelashes up at him. "Gary."

"Shut up!" Gareth flushes, stomping over to his (barely holding together, but Eddie likes to think they're made of the same stuff Steve is, to keep going after a fucking averted apocalypse) drums. Jeff laughs when he fumbles with his sticks and Eddie grins when Gareth's attempt at throwing them lands the fuckers right at Frank and that sets them all off.

Yeah, maybe some stuff has turned on its head, Steve and the town and Eddie's general worldview, but he's still got his inner circle and that's good enough for him.

#i may write more if people are interested? depends on this one's reception #sailor✧writes #steddie #eddie munson #writing #ficlet #corroded coffin #i don't wanna tag hellfire because the focus in this is the band but idk if it matters much for people #also AHA unnamed freak now has a name and i say he's into fashion because fuck yeah giving the band hobbies outside music and dnd #au content #sailing✧harrington charms hellfire #if this is all over the place with the whole town rebuilding process and timeline then whoopsie #but again it's in that nebulous au so i wanted some details vague for folks to assume their own ideas while still maintaining my own #idk if it worked but i tried so yay

[turtletaubwrites]

Slipping Away ~ Part 27

This is part 27 of the poly series 'We've All Got Needs,' linked below:

Pairings: Zoro x Fem!Reader, Sanji x Fem!Reader x Robin

Word Count: 4261

We've All Got Needs Masterlist

Ao3 Link (Ch. 17 of We've All Got Needs cont.)

!!SPOILER WARNING!! Spoilers for the anime for the Water 7/Enies Lobby arc (through episode 307).

Summary: More dangers block your path as the Straw Hats keep pushing to free Robin. Help arrives in unexpected ways.

Rating/Warnings: AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Polyamory, Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Injuries, (Including Reader), Pet Names, Cigarettes (they're gross, don't smoke), Swearing, Angst, Fear, Heights, Nausea, Throwing Up (just heaving, nothing comes out), Drowning, Reader is not doing great, Dizziness, Explosions, Fear of Death, Hurt/Comfort

A/N: Hi y'all, I'm so sorry about the wait! These chapters following the arc have been taking me longer, and I got distracted with other stories/requests. But I'm here now! The next update will be out within a week, as well as an extra scene. Thank you so much for being patient with me 🙏🏼🖤

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

Blood splattered on the ground as Usopp dragged himself to all fours, his wrecked body stiff, yet shaking.

“I’m sorry, Sanji,” he coughed, more blood spreading around him. “I tried, but I couldn’t…”

A silent sob left your throat as Nami struggled to guide your pathetic, limp body. Your limbs were dead after clinging for your life for so long, and you hated that you couldn’t help Usopp off the ground.

“You’re alive, that’s what matters,” Sanji declared, his voice rough with emotion. Water dripped from his blonde hair as his eyes flicked to you for a moment, before comforting your friend. “Everyone has things that they can do and things that they can’t.”

The lump in your throat did not help to reduce your frustration at your uselessness. 

“Yeah, but,” Usopp mumbled, the wobble in his voice like a punch to the gut.

“Look outside,” Sanji commanded, Pointing through the gaping hole in the stone wall. The sight of those massive gates fell like a weight on your heart. A weight that stole your breath as it started to open, the huge metal slabs moving slowly, but not slowly enough.

“Robin,” Nami whispered, saying the name that you couldn’t with your dry throat.

“If those gates open up, and Robin goes through them,” Sanji warned, “we won’t have any way to follow her. She’ll cross waters infested with sea kings, then there’s the undersea prison, or the navy headquarters. Everywhere on the other side of those gates is beyond our reach. We’ll lose her forever.”

Sanji came to you, taking you from Nami’s arms to hold you against him for a moment. Your feet were getting a bit steadier, but his warmth was too much. You wanted to push him away as he kissed your temple, the tenderness shoving you closer to that edge of falling to pieces. 

“This is the worst situation, but in every situation, even one as bad as this, there’s always a chance,” he comforted, his eyes on Usopp as he helped you step toward Nami. 

She handed you her Clima-Tact, giving up her weapon for you to use as a makeshift cane before she pulled Usopp to his feet. His blood stained her clothes as she supported some of his weight with his bandaged arm around her shoulders. 

Sanji leaned in close to the sniper, reaching to touch his shoulder, but let his hand fall before gripping the wounded flesh.

“I'm gonna stay here, and do what you can’t do. We’ll get those keys. You need to do what I can’t do.”

“Huh,” Usopp questioned, head tilting toward the cook. 

“Think carefully, read the situation,” Sanji commanded, his rough voice giving you chills as the wolf man stalked ever closer. “As long as we have you there’s still a chance we can save Robin. You hear me, Usopp?”

Your bloodied friend started shaking, his question interrupted by a howl. 

You heard the metal slash of blades as Zoro battled the giraffe man, and in an instant the wolf was on Sanji, your lover yelling for you to leave as he blocked the attack.

“Come on, we gotta go,” Nami ordered with a grunt, fighting Usopp’s struggle to call for Sanji.

“Ow, Nami,” he complained as she yanked at him, “I’m still injured.”

“Well, staying here and getting killed will hurt more,” she scolded, their stumbling forms moving past you. 

Your boys. Teetering with the Clima-Tact, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from their fights. Battling agents of CP9, devil fruit users.

Blood, and broken stone, and hits that made you cringe.

Robin.

They can win. We need to save her. 

Your movements were agonizingly slow, the makeshift cane slipping in your hands. Wiping your blood and dust stained palms on your shirt, you gritted your teeth, following Nami and Usopp out into the center stairway of the tower as fast as you could manage. 

The trek down the stairs had barely started when Usopp pulled away from Nami. He was limping, but practically buzzing with a manic gleam in his eyes.

“I get it!”

“Get what,” you called as he started rushing back up the stairs. 

“We can save Robin. As long as I’m here we can save her, damnit,” he declared with more true confidence than you’d ever heard from him before. Chills ran along your skin as the wounded sniper turned to face you, issuing a command that you had to follow. 

“Let’s go!”

Nami took her weapon back, offering you her shoulder as Usopp’s burst of energy sent him scampering away faster than you could have gone on your own.

“Fuck, I’m slowing you down,” you hissed, fighting for your body to move, your head still reeling from that antler ride you’d like to forget.

“Didn’t you hear Sanji’s speech,” Nami scolded, supporting your sluggish steps. “We’re a crew, Y/N. Helping each other is what we do, stupid.”

Her comforting words pulled a small smile from your lips that was quashed almost immediately as you struggled up the endless stairs. Usopp’s cheerful yells pushed you forward, and your legs were slowly feeling steadier. It seemed your headache was the biggest issue, dizziness staying with you as your limbs relearned how to function. 

Stepping into the sun was brutal. The light gray stone of the tower almost glowed beneath your feet, and you pulled away from Nami to cover your eyes from the glare. She wrapped your hand around her weapon again, moving ahead of you to watch Usopp at the edge.

You couldn’t get too close as your new fear of heights started closing your throat, so you stayed back. The bridge cut across the water in the distance, leading toward that now open gate, those massive metal doors like a gate to hell.

A hell that Robin was being dragged toward. 

“I see her,” Usopp cried out, prepping his new weapon. With Kabuto held in front of him, and his broken mask still showing rays around his face, Usopp's shadow really did look like some mythical warrior.

Nami took your free hand, inching you closer, but you had to take it back. Holding it above your eyes to cut the glare, you stared at the bridge, desperate to see her.

You saw people. Very small people. Marines in white moving across the bridge.

“Watch this,” Usopp commanded, humming his silly Sniper King song as he lined up his shot.

An urge to stop him tore through you. It was too far away, how could he see her, let alone aim to ensure she wouldn’t be hit?

But he was your friend, even if he wasn’t part of your crew anymore. You trusted him, but still held your breath.

Then you saw her. 

Two of those figures weren’t in white. One charged across the stone in a billowing, dark cloak. The other was in gleaming black, being dragged along the ground by the first.

This pathetic fucking man child. This scumbag that already didn’t deserve to open his stupid mouth again.

Spandam was dragging Robin behind him like she was trash. You wanted to rip his mask off, and smash his stupid mouth into the stone until he choked on his teeth. 

“Get him,” you growled.

“On it.”

The terror of waiting was replaced with pride and sick pleasure at the sight of that small, cloaked figure being blown away from Robin. You hoped that the smoke erupting around his head was enough to strangle the air from his lungs. 

Usopp hit him again, Spandam’s body flying down the steps of the bridge. And the sniper didn’t stop, sending blast after blast as those marines in white scattered, their shouts carrying across the water. 

Without meaning to, your voice joined Nami’s, cheering for Usopp as he wreaked havoc on your enemies. The praise seemed to set him on fire, his shots flying faster, laughter on his lips, singing his song while he blew them away. 

“Look,” Nami yelled, pointing toward that figure in black. 

Robin had broken away from the chaos, and was stumbling as she ran away from that gate. Toward you.

“Usopp!”

You cried out, ice filling your veins while the marines stood in a line as they faced her. It was hard to see clearly, especially with your head still pounding, but you knew what those movements meant. 

They were going to shoot her down.

Usopp kept shooting, but there were too many. There was no way he could take them all down in time. 

The three of you screamed for her as she fell to her knees.

You couldn’t look. You couldn’t look away. You could only scream her name, and hope that she heard you. That she knew she wasn't alone. 

The moment before the shots were fired lasted a century. A century in which you were trapped in stone, forced to watch and wait, helpless again. 

Your eyes almost shut when the sound of death exploded from that line of guns. But if they had, you wouldn’t have seen it. The moment that filled you with more forgiveness and gratitude than you’d ever felt before. 

Franky. 

The man whose family had stolen from your crew, who’d hurt Usopp. The pervy cyborg whose family was now fighting at your side. 

This strange man that you barely knew was standing in front of Robin, shielding her from the marines. He held his arms out, and took every single bullet that was meant for your love. For Robin.

“Hey! Sniper King? Needy?”

Zoro’s voice called up from what sounded like not too far down, but you couldn’t stick your head over the ledge to find out. 

“We’ve got the rest of the keys. Catch, and send them to Franky,” Sanji commanded as your eyes returned to the bridge. Franky was still standing, still protecting her.

“Can you do that, Sniper King,” Sanji questioned, his voice filled with his belief in your former crewmate. 

“Of course! Just throw the–”

“Catch,” Zoro yelled before a tied up bit of cloth came flying in front of Usopp.

Usopp caught it easily, tossing it in his hand.

“There’s more than keys in this.”

Usopp made you even dizzier as he leaned over to question the boys. 

“We stole a snail off an agent,” Sanji’s voice carried up “You still have one right?”

“Yes,” you choked out, confirming that it had survived the monster ride with you.

“Fucking shoot it already,” Zoro yelled.

Nami untied the bundle in Usopp’s hand, adding the remaining keys before securing it, nodding at the sniper.

Everyone was silent as he aimed. This shot would mean her freedom.

“Franky! Robin!”

You were shouting in the poor snail’s face, until Franky turned to pick up that tied up cloth.

“Robin!”

“Y/N?”

“Oh gods, Robin,” you sighed through your tears. 

Nami took the snail from your shaky fingers as she smoothed her hand along your back. 

“All the keys are in the bundle. Franky, please unlock her!”

“Got it, but how did y’all–”

“Thank you, long-nose,” Robin interrupted. There was joy in her voice. Joy.  “That was wonderful.”

“It was the least I could do,” Usopp declared in that silly, pompous voice. If he wasn’t so close to the edge of the building, you would have hugged him. “The true heroes are those who fought to retrieve those keys from the enemy. The Straw Hats will be proud to have you back. Hold your head up high, and meet them with a smile when all of this has ended.” 

“Right,” Robin agreed, and even from a distance, you could see when she was freed. She stretched her arms above her head before pulling them down in front of her, and you knew exactly what was coming next.

“Seis Fleur.”

That powerful voice echoed through the transponder snail, just as a cloaked figure made its way to the front of the marines. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time to do this,” Robin purred, arms sprouting from his dark clothes as she smacked the shit out of Spandam.

“Fuck yeah,” you cheered, hearing the cacophony of slaps, and the whimpering cries of that sniveling piece of shit. 

The remaining marines scattered, rightfully fleeing in terror from her power. 

“Alright, let’s move,” Franky ordered with a laugh. “Get your asses over here. I’ll get everything ready for ya. We’re gonna bail.”

“Got it,” Nami agreed, storing the snail while Usopp called down.

“Did you guys hear that? Robin’s free, Franky says–”

“Get down here already, Sniper King,” Sanji yelled. 

You were squeezing the sides of your head, trying to relieve some of the pressure. The relief poured through your body, but almost made you feel more off balance. 

“Ha, everything went according to my plan,” Usopp hummed as he limped toward the stairs. He stopped abruptly, making Nami grumble as she almost ran into him. 

“What’s that,” he wondered, almost under his breath. “I swear I heard something.”

“Come on, we’ve gotta–”

Nami’s demand was cut short, all of you hunching and covering your ears as an explosion went off. It was easy to spot, a huge plume of black smoke rising from the metal fence surrounding the island. A marine ship firing on it’s own base. 

“These psychos are really going to destroy their own fucking island, and kill all their own people because some dumbass pushed a button,” you seethed, hearing the boys calling for you. 

Nausea rose as you neared that ledge again. 

“Things have gotten serious, Needy,” Zoro urged, making you bravely peek down at him on the balcony below while Nami held your hand. “Hurry up, and jump down from there. We need to go now.”

“Jump,” you choked, glad that Usopp cut in to be cowardly for you.

“Is that supposed to be a joke? I don’t have the same kind of freakish superhuman strength that you guys have, alright. And my bravery is not the life risking kind. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a normal super hero not a super super hero–”

“Don’t be babies,” Nami teased. “We’re almost home.”

Nami called down before leaping off the edge. 

“I’m fine,” she shouted as you looked over to see Sanji setting her down on her feet. “Come on, it was fu–”

At first you thought your body was fucking with you, all the looking down bringing that terror up. The crushing sound, the slipping of your unsteady feet, until there was nothing. Nothing holding you, nothing touching you, just you hanging onto the Clima-Tact as you spun. 

The rough scrape of broken stone flying across your legs tore your eyes open, but you closed them immediately. 

All that clinging, all that hell you went through to keep yourself from falling, and now you were falling to your death.

At least you got to hear your boys one last time, your name screamed from their lips.

It wasn’t stone.

The dreaded moment of impact came, along with the deep groan of whoever had caught you. 

“Needy, are you–”

“putmedownputmedown.”

The Clima-Tact clattered to the stone of the balcony, and the top of the tower finished crashing to the ground while you fought to crawl away. Zoro’s warm hands were just another sensation too many. 

But those hands held your hair back while you tried to throw up, soft voices floating around you as your head fought to split open. You whimpered as nothing came out, just spinning nausea, and your memory failing you as you tried to recall the last time you ate. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” he soothed, pulling you against his chest after your empty retches had turned into frantic breaths. “We have to go now, Needy.”

As he pulled you to your feet, Nami was there, rubbing your arm as she checked on you. She offered you her weapon, but Zoro shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Needy, but we need to go faster than you can walk. Do you want me to carry you in my arms, or do you wanna ride on my back?”

Nausea rolled in at the thought, but you bit the inside of your cheek, motioning for his back. You saw Sanji and Usopp having the same debate, Usopp wincing as he moved. 

“If you hadn’t torn my bandages–”

“If I hadn’t caught you, we would have had sniper crepes for lunch. Just get on,” Sanji demanded, until the five of you moved on three sets of feet. 

Down those endless stairs, the sky burned through the roof that was no longer there. The rhythmic bouncing of Zoro’s body had you clenching your teeth, closing your eyes to fight the spinning.

I’m going to be dizzy for the rest of my life.

If we survive.

You only knew that you had made it to the bottom as the downward falling motion of Zoro’s steps on the stairs shifted to a steady up and down that was still just as bad.

“Please don’t ever pick me up after this, you groaned against Zoro’s shoulder. “I don’t want to be carried anymore. Ever.”

His chuckle was cut short as a familiar voice called out. 

“This way, kiddies,” Kokoro ordered, and you opened your eyes just a bit to see her pointing down a dark corridor. Chopper was back in his normal, small form, his mouth hanging open in sleep as she had him strapped to her hip like some living purse.

“This leads to the bridge, come on!”

There was no time to argue or question. Just heavy steps echoing down the stone hallway that seemed to get colder with every step the swordsman took. 

“Try to pick up the pace, we’re in a hurry here,” Usopp rushed over Sanji’s shoulder.

“I could probably run faster if you were unconscious,” your cook threatened, and you were shocked to feel a weak smile on your lips. 

“How could you talk to your hero that way? Especially when I've been so seriously injured in the line of duty. All six of my ribs are broken!”

“You have more ribs than that,” Zoro huffed, pulling up beside them, “but if you don’t shut up, we’ll break the rest, and make you run. Got it?”

You smiled at Usopp from your carried positions as he kept complaining. Slowly, the feeling of a hammer hitting your brain was starting to lessen.

Not distant enough explosions had you tightening your body around Zoro’s back. 

“We’re almost out.”

His whispered comfort almost sunk in.

“What’s that?”

“I hear something weird down the tunnel.”

Usopp and Nami had spoken at once. The group stared down that cold corridor as you kept heading toward freedom. 

“We don’t have time to go worrying about weird sounds. We’ve gotta make those government jerks pay,” Kokoro said with a cough, still sounding drunk as if she’d been at the bar while you all fought for your lives. 

“Is that–”

“It’s water,” Usopp cried out, cutting Nami off. “Don’t you hear it? We need to run!”

No one stopped. You couldn’t hear anything over the rhythmic slap of feet against stone, and Zoro’s heavy breaths as you rested your head against him.

“We have to turn–”

“We’ve got nowhere else to go,” Sanji huffed, “we need to keep moving no matter–”

“Holy shit,” Nami cursed beside you, her voice breathy as everyone stopped running.

“Hang on, Needy.”

You cracked your eyes open, the horrifying sight matching the sound you could finally hear.

Water. 

Zoro slashed at the stone wall, but even his swords couldn’t break through. 

“We’re underwater, dumbass,” Sanji spat as the group started running the other way.

Running for your lives. 

The stone walls made that rushing sound echo, surrounding you even before the cold death touched your skin.

“I’ve got you,” Zoro promised through gritted teeth while he sprinted ahead.

As he passed your friends, you saw the terror burning through them, sweat dripping from their faces. 

Your mind went hazy, just a little outside of your body as yet another chaotic force threatened those you loved. 

Zoro flipped around as the sound roared too close, gripping your knees against his waist as he took the brunt of that liquid force.

You wished you had stayed dissociated, stayed out of your freezing body. Zoro’s rapid turn had shaken you enough that you took a deep breath, but it took every scrap of energy in you to keep your mouth closed, to not scream into that watery void.

Slipping, slipping away. The spinning torture through the rapid water had you reaching for your aching head, releasing your hold around his shoulders.

Zoro never let go. His hold started to slip, but he clamped down on your legs until they ached.

At least we’ll die together.

Your tears never had a chance, they just mixed with the wave that would drown you all. 

“It’s alright. Just hang in there. I’m not going to let you die.”

A soothing voice washed over you, clear and calm through the flood. All you could do was fight to keep your mouth closed, letting yourself drift to wherever you might end up. 

But something pulled at you, interrupting that chaotic drift. Your eyes opened, but the water burned, the world nothing more than a painful blur. Something had snared you, tugging you closer to Zoro, and you could feel another wriggling body against your side. 

At least we’re all together. 

“I’m swimming as fast as this tail will let me! None of you are gonna die on my watch!”

Kokoro’s voice carried through the water, and you almost cried out, managing to clamp your hands over your lips as the bodies around you seemed to writhe against the shock. 

What the fuck?

But it was too long. You couldn’t hold it. 

The choking pain tore through your chest, the struggle to stay finally fading. 

Just cold.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

Too many hands rolled you onto your side as scorching water tore through your throat. 

Your stinging eyes watched the water that left your lungs as it spread across wood, staining the black clothes of the person holding your hair back.

The person whose many hands held your body, whose voice cracked as she repeated your name. 

“Robin?”

She let out a cry of relief, pulling your body gently as she held you against her chest. 

“Is this real,” you breathed, managing to move your arms to wrap around her.

“It’s real. You saved me.”

You felt the warmth of her cheek against your temple, and if you’d had the energy, you would have wept.

“I didn’t do–” 

“You came for me, Y/N. And you saved me,” Robin countered before you could finish your thought. Many arms held you up so that she could look at you, and tears managed to fall from your tired eyes at the sight of her beautiful face. Stunning, even marred with dirt and blood. 

“I love you too,” she confessed, a wave of fear filling those eyes before she cried it away, laughing before she kissed your cold lips.

It didn’t matter where you were, or how much danger you were still in. Robin was holding you, kissing you. The two of you laughed and sobbed as voices moved around you, orbiting your perfect world. 

“Sweethearts, are you okay?”

Sanji’s rough voice moved closer, and you finally looked around to find yourself on a ship. An empty marine ship, whose deck was covered with your crew, and all the water they’d ripped from their lungs. 

Your cook crawled over, seeming hesitant to get too close. 

Robin reached out, and you smiled at that sweet look of awe on Sanji’s face as he gazed at her. 

“I–”

“I love you, Robin,” Sanji cut her off, racing to touch both of you, a gentle hand on your cheeks. 

“I love you too, Sanji,” she said with a laugh, and your heart melted as they shared their own salty kiss. 

Cannon fire and shouting were distant as the three of you held each other, laughter and tears like a shield from the danger that remained. 

But it wasn’t complete. 

A shiver ran up your neck, a warm vibration pulling your eyes away from Robin and Sanji. 

Zoro sat with his back against the railing, giving you a small smile as you caught him staring. He shook his head when you held out your hand. 

A frown pulled at your smiling lips as he mouthed, ‘it’s okay,’ nodding his head toward your other lovers.

“Please,” you whispered, hoping he could see how much you wanted him too. 

How much you needed him. 

He coughed, wiping more water from his brow before he crawled across the deck.

You and Robin clung to each other, laughter and tears still spilling from you. Sanji poured out streams of praise and words of love as he hugged you both from behind Robin’s back.  

Your swordsman came to you, and his soaked body warmed yours as he wrapped his arms around you. He joined the group embrace without flinching away, pressing a wet kiss against your shoulder.

It was all worth it. You’d go through all of that again, just to have this perfect moment. 

All of your lovers holding you close. Safe, if only for the moment. 

All of your crew on this stolen ship, ready to escape this hell.

All of your…

Zoro’s body went rigid, leaving you cold again as he leapt to his feet. 

His words cut through it all. No more laughter or tears could be freed until his question had an answer.

“Where’s Luffy?”

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

a/n: I love them all so much 😭😭😭

Tag List: @vinsmokesangio | @ferns-fics | @heilee | @iamn1ya | @ghostfacefricker6969 | @onlybassoon01 | @apothicgloom | @slyhersophia | @cyberaestheticals | @nothing-but-brass | @egos-r-life | @shewrites02

Part 28

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

#nico robin x fem!reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x robin #angst #f/f fanfic #reader insert #fem!reader #nico robin x reader #poly fanfic #nico robin fanfic #sanji fanfic #one piece fanfic #zoro fanfic #x reader #turtletaub fics #one piece x reader #use of y/n

[veala2]

ʟᴜꜰꜰʏ’ꜱ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀʙᴇᴛ.

One Piece Fluff Alphabet: LUFFY.

CW - Luffy being Luffy and a little goofy, nothing serious or demeaning!

A/N - It’s spring break for me! I love spending time with family and friends so I might just be more inactive than I already am. Don’t worry though, Zoro’s is coming soon.

ʟ - ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇꜱ: ʜᴏᴡ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ?

Let’s be honest here: Luffy is a child himself. His childlike sense of wonder and massive amount of pure energy already leaving him seem much younger than he actually is.

We’ve already seen how Luffy is around children on different occasions. Whether he’s kind and gentle, loving and reassuring, or his same rambunctious self he can relate to a child pretty easily. The young emperor of the sea won’t treat a child like their some whining creature. Rather, he views everybody the same and won’t discriminate no matter who you are.

All in all, he’s fun and friendly with children! And if their his own in the near future, he’ll do everything in his power to support and protect his children.

ᴜ - ᴜɢʟʏ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʙᴀᴅ ʜᴀʙɪᴛꜱ?

We all know some of Luffy’s little habits. He tends to get loud at times where it’s no good. He eats whatever he wants, whenever he wants. But, his worst habit is more like a flaw.

Luffy is a selfish person. Ever since the day he proclaimed to his brothers that he was going to be king of the pirates. He’s been taking what he wanted since the beginning of his journey. Yes, it’s safe to say Monkey D. Luffy is a selfish person. But, he’s not a selfish person for selfish reasons.

He does what he wants, but still helps other people. Kingdoms, countries, islands. It doesn’t matter who it is he will help them. Selfishly. And that’s what makes Luffy so great.

Is it a habit? Honestly, I thought this was better than saying he only takes 1 bath per week.

ꜰ - ꜰɪᴀɴᴄE: ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ?

How do they feel about commitment?

Luffy is a go with the flow kind of person. He doesn’t do plans all that well, and can barely keep himself from straying off to the other pay. So, having a ring on his finger that’s meant to stay there until the day he dies is not too appealing to him.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves you like crazy! He’d never even consider cheating on you. But being in a relationship, “tied down” he’d say, is something he would have to get used to.

But- in the end- he’d grow to love the simple ring that’s snug on your fingers. A symbol of the love between you two, and the adventure of life you’ll share together.

ꜰ - ꜰɪɢʜᴛ: ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʙᴇ ᴇᴀꜱʏ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇ?

Luffy is Luffy. He wouldn’t change who he was for a second, even if he was going to die. His emotions are his and he will be who he is without any hesitation.

However… Luffy tends to say and do things when he’s angry that he wouldn’t mean. Remember Water 7? That fight between him and Usopp was powerful. The emotions set free and eventually drove Usopp away.

It might take a while to forgive Luffy. But he really does care about you and regrets what he said in the moment. After he explains himself and proves that he's sorry, I think it’d be pretty to forgive him.

ʏ - ʏᴜᴄᴋ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴏʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ?

What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in their partner?

In general, I believe that Luffy wouldn’t like someone who’s afraid and cowardly. Maybe just cowardly, seeing as you can be afraid and still be courageous. Thinking back to multiple examples of him saying he doesn’t like people who act like scaredy cats.

In a partner, I think he wouldn’t like- or would either deter them from him in general- would be not pursuing a dream. Luffy takes pride in his dream that he’s been working towards since he was a boy. And he respects those who have a dream that they’re going for, too. So if his partner won’t follow their heart, he would simply feel disappointed and discouraged with them.

Luffy’s goals are very precious. To both him and his crew. He’s willing to sacrifice everything for your dreams, so why not follow them and achieve what you’ve always wanted?

#one piece x reader #op x reader #one piece x you #one piece headcanons #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #luffy headcanons #luffy x y/n #monkey d. luffy

[strayed-quokka]

sex is overrated || ji changmin

» summary: you knew what you liked in the bedroom but men never seemed to take a hint. maybe it was your fault. or maybe they were just really fucking vanilla. nevertheless, your best friend is determined to prove to you that he knows exactly how to make a girl come, and you're no exception.

» pairing: ji changmin x female reader

» rating: NC-17 minors please do not interact with this work

» genre: best friends to lovers, ruin the friendship, smut, porn with some plot, a little fluff

» warnings: where to begin... dom changmin, sub reader, changmin is massive, fingering, oral (f & m), rough sex, face sitting, deep throating, squirting, spanking, spitting, unprotected sex, chocking, restraints (pink handcuffs hello whisper), face fucking, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia if you squint (?), degradation, a nude photo, marking, biting, scratching, mild bruising, creampie, changmin is an aftercare king though... i think i got it all but will double check.

» words: 5,051

» a/n: whisper. that’s it. also probably the filthiest thing i've ever written so i'm going to pour some holy water now and pg-13 my eyes a little... feedback and comments are greatly appreciated x

Sex was always exaggerated pleasure. 

At least sex was never any good. Not good enough to justify laying naked in a stranger's bed before leaving early in the morning to go home. You weren’t sure if maybe there was something wrong with you, but they just all seemed to be so pathetically vanilla. 

“You look fucking miserable, jesus christ,” your best friend since a particularly terrible high school party a few years ago, Changmin, scowls at you, his hair unbrushed on his head and his eyes still tired. It’s surprising that he’s even awake. 

“I am miserable, Minnie,” he grimaces, grabbing another mug from the endless ones you both have (it may have something to do with your need to buy a disney themed one every time you see one), pouring you an extra large cup of black coffee. 

“I’m sorry angel,” he pouts, and you gratefully take the scolding beverage from him before adding some milk.

“Why are men so shit in bed? Why is sex so overrated?” the platinum blond young man seems unfazed at first, given that you’ve probably asked him this at least once every two weeks for the past year. He was used to it, and every time he could only offer the same few solutions. Tell them what they want, and trial and error it. It was never a one size fits all.

You knew that, but you were also impatient and in your sexual prime, and no one was satisfying you. You couldn’t remember when you’d last had an orgasm that you didn’t bring on yourself. Anyway, here you sit against the kitchen island with disappointment pulling all your features down, and your best friend sighs, “go shower. We can talk about it after.”

You listen to him. Changmin was probably the only man on this entire planet that you rarely if ever argued with. He just understood you, sometimes it made you even wonder if he read your journal, because how the hell did he just get it?

“Minnie, can I ask you a question?” you ask, brushing through your wet hair as the man looks at you when you come back into the room refreshed. You’re wearing his shirt again, legs bare, and he wishes he wasn’t so perfectly willing to give them all to you as if they belonged in your wardrobe more than in his. 

“Sure,” you put the brush down, thinking the question over in your mind before deciding to ask it anyway.

“Do you think you’re good in bed?”

It was probably the worst moment in time for Changmin to take a sip of his coffee, for now he was left choking and coughing horrifically while you reached around to pat his back. He was trying to remember in his mind if you’d ever asked him a question quite like this, but quickly determined that this may’ve been the boldest thing he’d ever been asked by you. 

It’s not that Changmin necessarily kept his sex life a secret from you, nor did you keep yours hidden, but you’d never directly asked him if he actually thought he was any good. 

“Are you asking me in hopes I say yes so you don’t entirely give up on your sexcapades?” 

You huff, crossing your arms as you lean against the counter across from him, “at least tell me you know how to make a girl come. That’s enough for me.”

He doesn’t know if the temperature in the room has risen or if he’s just warmer, but the vulgarity in which you ask makes him feel weaker. That being said, he liked to believe that he could confidently tell you that he could, and that it wouldn’t be a lie, “Are you telling me you’ve never once heard me had sex?”

Now it’s your turn to blush, turning your head away from him to stare at the wall ahead, “I mean… I wasn’t going to say it and embarrass you.” 

He likes this push and pull, the teasing nature that your question brought, and there’s something about you becoming more shy that makes him more confident, “you tell me then.”

He got you there. Not only had you heard some of the girls he’d been with, but they’d been more than vocal. Honestly, you couldn’t imagine ever being that loud, but then again, no one ever did anything that made you feel the need to scream.

“I have another question,” you start, and he nods as his lips turn upward into a grin, his deep dimples on full display for you. He’s nothing short of charming and sweet.

“You’re full of those today, aren’t you?”

“You sure they never faked it?”

Changmin can remember the few times he’s been rendered speechless, but none even came close to the way he falters now. He guesses there wasn’t ever a way of truly knowing, but it had been a long time since he felt like a girl wasn’t genuine with him. Honestly, the last time was probably back when he was still incredibly inexperienced. 

“Want to find out for yourself?” it’s an invitation that he doesn’t quite realise he’s given before it’s already too late, but he’s grateful that his voice always holds a hint of teasing so that if you completely turned away in disgust, he could somehow get away with it being a joke.

Both of you stand there silently, and Changmin is close to apologising for maybe crossing a line with you, but you cut him off first. 

“Okay,” he thinks he’s going crazy, like he’s hallucinating and losing his mind, but you don’t seem to back down, “but we should lay some ground rules first.”

Changmin didn’t know what he’d done in his life that resulted in him sat across from you at the dinner table with a notebook in front of him and a blue pen in hand writing down a list of what the two of you should be in agreement with before you’d have sex.

It sounded ridiculous, but he guessed this is how most friendships fell apart. There was always a risk involved. 

“Alright, let me see it,” he turns the notebook around towards you, and you read it all outloud one by one, pausing in-between to see if he has any objections or anything to add.

“If one of us feels uncomfortable we stop, no questions asked. If one of us catches feelings, we stop with no ill will and we won’t talk about it unless the person is okay with it. Traffic light system if ever necessary with tapping system if…” you pause, swallowing, “if traffic system can’t be used.”

Honestly, it makes you wonder what the hell you two may get up to, and it definitely makes you wonder if you should really be doing this. Changmin seems to see it too, the way you hesitate, “we don’t have to-”

“I know,” but you want to, “Minnie?”

“Hmm?”

“You remember what I like, right?”

“I mean… I know what you complain about when you come home unsatisfied, if that’s what you’re on about,” you nod, looking at the way his face illuminates with the dimmed light in the room. He’s beautiful. You've always thought it, but never had it been more than surface level admiration.

“Alright so…” this doesn’t feel natural. Maybe you need alcohol, but you also don’t want it to intoxicate your mind and hinder coherent thoughts. You just don’t know how to go about this. 

Changmin stands up, his chair dragging along the wooden floor when he does, “I mean… you’re free now, right?” 

It makes you laugh, getting up to briefly put your long empty mug in the sink before you jump up on the counter. His shirt rises with your movements and he moves closer to you instantly, already asking the next question, “can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” he waits an agonisingly long time before his eyes flutter closed and his lips fall onto yours, but it’s enough to make you wonder why the hell you both took so long to do this. He’s good at kissing you, quick with changing pace so that you don’t get bored and rough with his hands on your body. It’s exactly what you’d want, and you wonder if maybe Changmin paid even more attention to the things you’d carelessly said in the past than you thought. 

You moan against his lips, and he slips his tongue into your mouth and roughly tugs at your hair, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter as your legs part for him to stand between. It drives you wild, and you feel just a little pathetic with how good you feel from something as simple as a kiss.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he pants against your lips, pushing the fabric you’re wearing up above your hips, your lace black panties in full view for him and the man nearly falls to his knees for you then. There’s something about you that works similarly to a drug, and he can’t wait another second before he strips your (well, his), shirt off and throws it to the floor. 

“Fuck,” he’s eyeing you hungrily, and normally such a gaze at your bare body may leave you wanting to cover up. But the way Changmin looks at you is so desperate and hungry that you blurt out the next words before you’ve thought of it. 

“Take a picture,” he can’t believe his luck, nor does he know what galaxy he saved in another life, but he’s practically tearing his phone from his pocket and fumbling to unlock it, nearly dropping it in the process. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Changmin. I’m sure,” it’s all the reassurance he needs, and the image he takes is enough to make his cock hard and strain against his sweatpants painfully. He throws his phone to the side, pulling his own shirt over his head and your mouth nearly waters at the sight you’re met with.

“Minnie…” you drag his name out in a whine, and he’s pulling you to your feet and practically shoving you down onto your knees in an instant before him. 

“Yes, angel?” it’s a mocking tone, but the very way he speaks to you causes your pussy to clench and your underwear to cling to your folds. The fabric teases your clit when you move and the stimulation makes you quiver. 

“Look at you, are you that weak?” you whine, licking the prominent v-line along his muscular stomach, before dipping your tongue beneath the fabric of his sweats. The blissful curses that leave his mouth and the grip he has on the back of your head is enough for you to pull the grey offending trousers down, his cock springing free.

“F-fuck,” maybe you were slowly starting to understand why girls were so loud with him. His cock was easily the biggest you’d ever seen, even to the point where you maybe thought that it was too much. Not only was the length impressive, but it was thick, enough that you struggled to wrap your hand around the base. 

“Are you dumb off seeing my cock already? Haven’t even fucked you yet,” it was degrading maybe, to have him insult you, but you wanted him to. His words turned you on, and you stick your tongue out and place the head of his cock in your mouth. 

You feel him grip a handful of hair, creating a makeshift ponytail as he steadies your head, your tongue lapping up his pre-cum and circling around the tip before you slowly try to ease him further into your mouth.

“Angel, you’re pathetic if that’s all you can take,” honestly, you’re inclined to agree. You’re barely halfway and your jaw already feels tense and your mouth feels full, but you try to relax and angle yourself slightly so that his cock pushes into your throat, “good girl.”

You cough, choking on your own spit and his cock but he keeps your head locked in place as tears spring to your eyes. It’s almost too much, but Changmin isn’t that cruel. He knows it and releases your head from his grip right after, allowing you to breathe. 

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” he’s stunned into silence at first. Truly, he’d never met a girl so eager to have his cock in her mouth, but who is he to say no?

“Oh… was that not too much for you… hmm?” 

“I’ll tap you three times if it is,” a pause, and then you look up at him, “I promise.”

He knows you’ll hold yourself to it. Even if he’d never experienced you sexually, he knows that you don’t go above your limits, so he trusts that you’ll let him know if you can’t take it. 

“Open your mouth,” you obey eagerly, knees pushing further apart, and he’s pulling your hair and yanking your head back so you look up at him before he spits in your mouth.

Fuck, he even remembered that.

He guides your mouth back to his cock, and you angle yourself again to push him deeper down your throat. You stop when you gag, and he only pulls back just enough to stop you from choking. He’s still at first, as if studying your reaction, before he starts to move. 

Changmin is relentless. Once he decides a certain pace, then that’s the way he’s going. He fucks your throat completely dry, and you only manage to get air for the second he spends pulling out of you before his cock stuffs you full again. Tears fall from your eyes and you moan, causing vibrations to hit his cock that only urge him on while you claw at his skin by his hips, trying to hold on to anything so you don’t fall over, scratching him until red angry marks taint his otherwise perfect skin. 

“You’re gonna swallow all of my cum, aren’t you baby?” you whimper, feeling his cock twitch before he stills, holding your head in place as his cum shoots down your throat. You savour every drop, falling into his arms as he pulls you up to your feet and then up onto his waist, “you good?”

“Y-yes,” you clear your throat, letting him carry you over to his bedroom before he sits down on the edge, shuffling around with you on top of him. Your clothed pussy rubs against him and it makes you shake, even more when you realise that he’s pushing your body further up, “do you need a break?”

“No,” he nods, resting his head on a pillow whilst you straddle his chest. You think you have a minute to breathe, but then his hands grip your ass and forcefully drag you up until your clothed cunt is hovering right over his mouth. 

“Min-”

“Hmm?” he kisses your thigh, and you nearly debate telling him that he doesn’t have to make you come. That you believe him when he says he knows exactly how to pleasure someone. Yet you’re convinced you’ll never get the mental image of him between your thighs out of your mind any time soon, and you’ll be damned if you let this go. 

“Fuck, I didn’t know you were so wet,” he chuckles, kneading your ass as he leans up and kisses your clothed folds. Your entire body trembles, and you wonder if you may have an orgasm right then, “all because of my cock in your mouth, hmm?” 

“Y-yes,” he pushes the fabric to the side, licking up your juices like he’s starved off the taste of you, and you feel your wetness drip onto his lips. You’re a moaning mess above him, only made louder when he spanks your ass. 

“You’re such a slut, hmm?” you want to agree, but just as you’re about to, his tongue finds your clit and you lose it, pushing down enough to wonder if you’re suffocating him between your legs. If you are, Changmin doesn’t mind, for he keeps the rigorous pace and only occasionally stops when the fabric of your underwear slips back into place. 

He growls, dissatisfied, and eventually he grips both ends of the flimsy fabric and tears it in half. Every movement he makes feels so messy and hungry, but you know everything is perfectly calculated. 

His ring finger teases your entrance while his tongue is still teasing your clit, lightly sucking the flesh, and you definitely know he’s calculating everything when he pushes his finger into you just as he lightly bites down on the bundle of nerves. 

“Changmin!” it’s rare, almost never, that you use his full name. Usually it’s when you’re angry, but in this case, it’s because you’ve lost most ability to think and say the first thing that comes to your mind. 

“God, look how you clench around my finger,” he swears he sees stars with how tight you are, pushing another finger inside you to slowly open you up enough for his cock, his rings cooling against your heat. A string of curses fall from his lips, knowing it’ll likely require some patience if you’re already clenching around something so small. 

“F-fuck,” you rock your hips against him, and he uses his free hand to press your thighs down, holding them in place as he laps his tongue back over your folds to where his fingers scissor you open, before running up to your clit. There’s a familiar coil in your stomach, but it grows all too quickly and without any warning while you desperately struggle against his harsh grip on your legs and his eagerness to taste you, “Chan- ahh.”

You briefly wonder if you may pass out, your entire body rising up though he moves with you, not once letting his fingers move even an inch out of you as he feels you convulse and shake above him. 

It takes him another second to realise that you’ve squirted on his chest and up along his collarbone and neck when you rose up, and your cheeks go incredibly crimson when you realise that you’ve left him a complete mess. But to him, he’s never felt more accomplished in his life, “fuck, you’re doing that again.”

His fingers slip out of you, and he’s incredibly gentle when he lets you lay there to recollect your breathing and become aware of your surroundings again. You could safely say that not only could he make a girl come, but he’d given you the most intense orgasm of your life. 

“Can I restrain you?” 

The question catches you by surprise at first, and it takes pathetically long for you to react at first, “what for?” 

“When I fuck you,” your eyes open, and there he is, sweating, still glistening slightly from your own orgasm, cock fully erect and dimples showing as he smiles. 

He looks ethereal. 

“Unless you’d rather stop for today? If it’s too much-”

“No! No, please don’t stop,” he chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes while he reaches over and kneads your ass cheeks again, occasionally offering a light spank that causes your body to ripple against the mattress, moans leaving your lips. 

You may lose your voice at this rate. 

“So… can I?” You think about it for a second, before ultimately nodding and deciding it’s something you’d like to try. 

“How do you want me?” 

“God, you can’t just say that. I might die,” you laugh, at least happy to know that you affect him just as much as he affects you. 

“But to answer the question…” he comes up behind you, chest pressing into your back as his cock grazes against your ass, making you subconsciously push against him, “I’d like you just like this.”

He adjusts the pillow, ensuring that your head is well rested if your hands are going to be bound against your back, limiting the amount of support you can give yourself. What shocks you the most is how the handcuffs he’d fished from his nightstand are not only a bright pink, but shaped like a heart, “didn’t take you as someone who’d have that.”

“Chanhee bought it as a joke. Don’t think he’d assume I’d actually use it,” you chuckle, briefly thinking of your friend who really probably didn’t think much of it (or maybe he did know), whilst Changmin restrains your wrists and tightens the metal, “too much?”

“No… but not tighter, please?” Changmin obeys, doesn’t push where he feels like he shouldn’t and instead pushes your knees apart, your pussy coated in your juices and now in full view for him as he’d stripped you off your last item of clothing.

An item that you could honestly throw away. 

“Just tell me if you want me to free you,” but you don’t think you’ll want him to. Something about giving him complete control over you whilst he fucks you from behind makes you question your sanity, because you feel like you’ve never wanted anything else more. 

The tip of his bare cock teases your entrance and you whimper, especially when he stills “can I fuck you raw?” 

“Yes,” you'd expected an internal debate in your mind that never comes. You always used condoms. Hell, you couldn’t remember when you last didn’t, but you wanted to feel every inch of his cock inside you and suddenly that internal thought process didn’t matter. You were on birth control anyway. 

“You’re going to kill me,” he slowly pushes his cock inside your sopping cunt, groaning at how tight you feel. He was going to have to take it inch by inch, quite literally, and the very thought was agonising to him. 

“F-fuck… you don’t fit,” you’re laughing, and at least knowing that you’re amused has him relaxing from the thought of thinking he was causing you pain. He laughs with you, but it’s quickly lost as he pushes himself deeper inside you, the sound strangled in his throat, “oh my god.”

“You still have a bit more than half, you know?” 

“Shut up, there’s no w- mhmm,” he shuts you up with a rather deep push of his hips, splitting you open around his shaft, “now it’s about half.”

He’s teasing you again, but it’s so incredibly hot that you don’t care. You’re convinced that Changmin is the sexiest man in the world with the way he’s set on fucking you stupid.

It’s never taken you this long to adjust to someone’s length and girth, but it’s a good few more minutes of Changmin pushing a little more every time until your ass finally meets his hips, “god, look at you. You’re drooling.”

He chuckles, and you realise he’s right, moaning as you feel yourself clench around him unintentionally. He really has you forget all coherent thought, completely unaware of your own reactions “you can move.”

The platinum blond does not need to be told more than once. He’s been waiting to move, been desperate to, as he moves in slow and languid thrusts, like he needs you to feel every inch of his cock inside you, “mhmm, more.”

“Already? Can you take it?” You nod, feeling him hold your head down against the pillow, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he quickens his pace. You cry out his name almost instantly, screaming it over and over from the pleasure you feel, though it’s partially muffled. 

“How good you take my cock.”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, feeling a sharp sting to your ass, but before you have time to respond, he’s taken the same hand he used to pull you up by the handcuffs that bind your wrists, your back twisted while he grips your hair and pulls you back into his shoulder, “h-harder.”

“Still?” he groans, obliging as he quickened his pace, his other free hand going around your waist and to your stomach, and he swears he can feel his cock inside you with every thrust, “mhmm fuck… I can feel my cock inside you.”

“Fuck... oh fuck, C-Changmin!” you wish your hands were free so you could touch him, but instead you have to rely on him to hold you up as he roughly pounds into you with no remorse. The pleasure becomes overbearing, but it’s brought to its peak when he dares test the waters with something you’d only mentioned once as something you wanted to try. 

His hand that had been gripping your hair snakes around your throat, and at first he only squeezes lightly to see how you respond, if he should stop or keep going. 

“C-Changmin! G-god. Please,” you whimper, tears falling from your eyes once again from the pleasure and he grins, biting down on your shoulder. 

“Whore,” he groans, tightening the hand he has around your neck just slightly as he breathes into your ear, his grip enough to cause the oxygen in your brain to short circuit but not enough to make you feel in pain or like you’re in danger. 

If your hands were free, you honestly think you’d make him grip you harder, and you know you’re about to fall over the edge.

It’s your inability to freely move and the way he holds you in place exactly the way he wants you with his cock deep inside you that makes you scream his name one more time, so loud that you'd be more surprised if the neighbours didn't hear it, your entire body shaking and clenching on his cock as you mess the sheets with your orgasm. 

It’s the stimulation around his cock and the tightness that makes him lose control, and a mangled cry of your name leaves his lips when his cum spills into you, coating your walls and leaving you to collapse as he loses his strength to hold you, pleasured groans falling from his chapped lips.

You fall onto the bed, hands still bound behind your back with Changmin falling right next to you. Neither of you say anything, but both your heavy breaths are loud in the room as you try to collect yourself. 

“We should shower,” you whine as a response, because you honestly don’t think you can move. Changmin doesn’t think he can either, but there’s no way he’s letting you lay in the mess you made with his cum still spilling out of you. 

As absolutely feral and possessive as that makes him. 

Your best friend unbinds the pink cuffs keeping your wrists together, wincing slightly as he sees how harshly you tugged at it even with the room he’d left. He brings them both to his lips, kissing the faint bruising as an apology falls from his mouth, but you don’t want him to be sorry.

“Please, if you dare apologise for the best sex of my life, I’ll kill you,” he chuckles, and you reach out lazily to poke his dimples, smiling when he squirms. 

“I’ll get you ice at least,” he finally gets up, and while the muscles in his body scream at him, he lifts you up into his arms and into the bathroom, setting you down in the tiled shower whilst adjusting the temperature of the water. 

“Wait here,” you nod, sat on the tiled floor in the shower as the water falls onto you, though you find it quite comfortable. Changmin comes back not long after, a few ice cubes wrapped around a towel that he holds to your wrist, kissing your forehead softly while brushing through your knotted hair. He’s completely different now, caring for you, and your heart swells in affection for him. 

“Can I wash you?” you nod, and you sit there with him whilst he rubs your body wash over your skin and then his own, making sure you’re both clean and taking his time as he does. He winces at the faint bruising on your hip and around your shoulder where he’d bitten your skin, but you glare at him, reminding him not to think about it. 

“Don’t pout about it,” you remind him, and he nods as he slowly begins to massage your scalp with your conditioner. 

He cares for you so much, and you’ve never felt it more than now, still trying to recollect your thoughts while he ensures you’re okay even when his own exhaustion is threatening to have him pass out on you. 

He even makes the bed for you both while you just sit and wait, fluffing the pillows for him, dressed in a new shirt of his while he's just adorning a pair of black boxers, and when he reaches for you to fall into his arms, you’re more than happy to. 

You think with how you’re spent, you’d fall asleep in an instant, but instead you lazily brush Changmin’s hair from his forehead and kiss his shoulder. He lets you do whatever you want, watching you with a deep adoration and love, but it doesn’t scare you. 

It doesn’t scare you, because you know when you look at him, it wasn’t just you who’d failed at keeping your feelings away. 

“I love you,” he’s surprised to hear you say it first, but the warmth in his chest and the smile that threatens to slip just make you want to say it again and again. 

“I love you too,” you nestle into his shoulder, still lazily playing with his hair while one of his hands hovers over your thigh, the other behind your back, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so content. 

“Also… next time, I’ll be the one leaving bruises,” Changmin laughs, and it’s a sound that brings you complete peace. 

“I’m holding you to that but..." he pushes the fabric of his boxers down past his hipbone, revealing aggressive red marks that you barely remember leaving. There's a silence first, before you lean close and kiss the broken skin, "oh, please don't do that. I'll want to ruin you again."

You oblige. As desirable as the thought is, you're both tired, and you lay there silently for a few more minutes until he breaks it to ask you a question that's been on his mind since your first orgasm, "still think sex is overrated?"

You throw a pillow right onto his smug face as your answer.

well... i wrote that... i actually can't believe the ideas in my brain sometimes. also the resitance to switch it to another member because i'm weak for them??? guess we writing more boyz ✌️🥵

#the boyz smut #changmin smut #q smut #ji changmin #the boyz changmin #changmin x reader #the boyz q #smut #the boyz #the boyz changmin smut #q x reader #tbz x reader #tbz #whisper made me do it #tbz fluff #fluff if you swuint #changmin fluff #q fluff

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 9: Bride

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

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

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Welcome to the penultimate chapter of the rework! This is a modified OG Chapter 6, with a couple mini flashbacks inserted. Sorry about the wait; turns out my HV was completely rubbish the first go around, so I’ve been pulling my hair out trying to translate properly. Thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for giving her stamp of approval!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, violence, age gap.

Daemon sees little of you in the weeks before the wedding.

Viserys, in his infinite wisdom, had elected to employ the services of the Rogue Prince in all matter of small duties and odd tasks, from assisting Strong in training with the City Watch to flying to the Reach and taking tea with the leeches of Highgarden. It is his punishment for daring to claim his precious child, his little beauty, ‘the People’s Princess’ or so you are called. 

One of the worst experiences of his life thus far has to be meeting with Lord Tyrell in a lurid solar in the man’s equally-as-tasteless Keep, having to pretend as though he’s apologetic for beating his head in for daring to tarnish your name. Upon learning of the Crown’s intentions to expand trade with the region—a thinly-veiled endeavour to compensate for the now-crooked jaw and the scarring bisecting his right cheek—the lord had been all merriment.

Sycophantic fuck, Daemon had thought to himself at seeing Lord Denys’s disposition change, the disfigured flesh stretching repellently as he smiled affably at him. Trust House Tyrell to prioritise money over pride.

It was likely short-sighted of him to believe that the Hightower problem would go away once his brother had announced your marriage before the court. Since the day of the pronouncement, the Queen had been making sly jabs on the suitability of the match, from overly-polite enquiries as to the state of the residuals he had claimed from Runestone—”I do hope Lord Gerold was accommodating to your requests to receive the remaining funds from your late lady wife’s estate?”—to offhand remarks about the plight of childlessness that had plagued him in his previous union. Not that a child could ever grow in the septic chasm that was his bronze bitch’s womb, though he had admittedly never bothered to explore its rocky depths. 

He had weathered the slights well enough, though he couldn’t help but to drop a few barbs about the son she was no doubt representing. Aegon is a perverted little twat if ever he had seen one—groping maids, fondling kitchen staff, and there are even rumours of him forcing himself on some unsuspecting common girl, though the tales vary widely and are exceedingly difficult to pin down.

I may be violent and brash, he thinks, but at least the women I bed come to me willingly.

Unfortunately, it seems as though the Queen has been whispering in Viserys’s ear when he is called to the Small Council chambers once more, this time with the full retinue present. He is surprised to see you in attendance, standing meekly at the foot of the table with eyes darting between the forms of your attending sister and the table.

It looks like an inquisition.

“Niece.” He strides forward and lays a kiss upon your brow in greeting, glaring out at his brother over the top of your head. You whisper a greeting in return, the sound fearful and taciturn in a way that he had not heard since the commencement of your reignited acquaintance. He addresses the wider audience sternly, who have shifted in discomfort at the liberties he has taken with you. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Daemon.” Viserys clears his throat uneasily. The Hightower bitch is thin-lipped beside him, and he is intrigued to note the thunderous expression on Rhaenyra’s face. Whatever this is, it isn’t good. “There have been… concerns… raised about your ability to—see through this marriage with my daughter.”

Now he knows the Hightower woman is involved.

“Oh, really?” Daemon asks quietly, dangerously. He can see Lyonel Strong swallow, resolutely avoiding staring at him or his little niece. “And by that I am taken to assume you mean my ability to bed her? Rest assured, brother—I’ll have no trouble at all on that account. Care for a demonstration?”

The occupants of the room shift guiltily as they exchange glances, and Daemon feels as though he is the butt of some unheard-of jest. He wonders what in the Seven hells is going on. Looking back at you, he sees you are equally as confused.

“It has been recommended to me by the Grand Maester that—so as to address this issue—we proceed with a… public… consummation,” Viserys says. Daemon finds it difficult to ascertain the tone. Guilt? Self-satisfaction? Whatever it is, it’s clearly warring in his brother’s mind, for the spasming of his features is bizarre to look upon. “The Small Council will bear witness to the evening’s… activities. Along with myself, the Queen and the heir.”

He cannot fucking believe his ears. For a moment, he is concerned he is having some kind of fit, or perhaps the madness of his bloodline has finally caught up with him. But the prolonged solemnity of the seated advisors, the stone-cold face of Rhaenyra and the guilty countenance of the Queen prove that his hearing is very much functional. His blood runs cold, then hot as he processes the words.

His impertinent comment seems suddenly ironic. It seems I’ll be demonstrating after all.

“A public consummation.” He shapes the words slowly, jaw clenched. Lord Tyland shifts nervously in his chair as he takes in what must be a truly deranged expression on his face. “Enlighten me”—his hand falls to the pommel of Dark Sister in feigned relaxation—“what precisely does that mean?”

This time, the old codger himself pipes up. Mellos, the balding fuck, has always disapproved of him. With a stern, unforgiving visage and a constantly disparaging nature, he is one among many, many maesters that Daemon can claim a healthy disrespect for. After the bungle the man had made of Baelon’s birth—dead child, dead mother, and naught to say for his learned experience save for ruined sheets and the encroaching decay of mortality—it was even more difficult to trust the man.

“You will wed the Princess,” he says superciliously. Daemon chafes at the obvious implication that he is somehow unintelligent for asking what the fuck he is thinking. “You will attend the festivities, and you will perform the bedding ceremony; after which, the Small Council will adjourn into the marital chamber behind a screen, view the consummation, and confirm it took place through examination of the linen.”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Daemon actively battles the urge to unsheathe his sword and run Mellos through.

He cannot believe the insanity of what has been asked of you. He cares markedly less for his own welfare—after a three-year war in the Stepstones, one learned not to be too choosy about where and in front of whom to bed a woman, taking any opportunity to achieve a quick release before battle called once more. It is an outrage. It is an insult.

He ought to have expected it. His brother really had capitulated too easily. Now he understands why.

“When did I offer you a choice?” Viserys asks, brow raised. He almost looks as though he is prepared to laugh, but perhaps he too is feeling the flush of Targaryen madness in him at the discussion being forced to take place. “You never lay with Lady Rhea. I’ll not give my daughter to you so you can squander two Targaryen lines.” 

When Rhea had been alive, he’d never once tried to stick his cock in her. Too plain, features too drab and form too shapeless—and that is physicality alone. She’d been much worse in character, sneering and conceited, though she had little cause. Runestone was no Dragonstone, nor is it comparable to the capital. He had honestly been concerned the razor-teeth surely lining her cunt would bite his appendage clean off. A thoroughly unpleasant shrew, an utter waste of woman—the most enjoyment he ever received from her was the sight of her brain spilling out of her cracked skull as she lay dying in the fields of the Vale, twitching and gurgling.

“So this is your brilliant solution? Having everyone watch? Inspecting her afterward, as though she’s some brothel whore? What—do you want to traumatise the girl?”

He cannot look at you, cannot bear to see the fear on your face, though he enjoys the discomfited looks shared amongst the Small Council at the crassness of his words, the resigned indignation of the Hightower woman and the barely-veiled fury of his eldest niece. Good. The attending Kingsguard—Ser Willis Fell and Ser Steffon Darklyn—straighten watchfully, hands falling to rest on their pommels to match his own disposition.

Lyonel Strong straightens in his seat, seeming eager to resolve the issue through artless placation. “Prince Daemon—”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Lord Hand,” Daemon snaps. He doesn’t give a fuck about what prosaicisms Lord Strong could possibly offer.

“It is a revival of Targaryen tradition.” Mellos clears his throat. “One that saw the reigning King’s…er, virility… proven to all those who denied it. This is the only—”

“Maegor?” His vexation turns to fury. “You want to reinstate a practice begun by Maegor?”

Long has his reputation been compared to that of his grandfather’s despotic uncle. It is terribly ironic that the custom Maegor had instituted on the eve of his wedding to his Black Brides would be reintroduced for his own ceremony.

He may have needed to prove his cock worked, Daemon thinks irately, but I certainly don’t.

This is not what he voices aloud. “I already have the blade”—his grip tightens on Dark Sister—“so I suppose you may as well name me ‘Daemon the Cruel’ and be done with it.”

Lyman Beesbury flinches; Viserys sighs. It is then that you step forward, timidly reaching out and touching his arm.

“Kepus,” you whisper. When he hushes you, you continue louder, more forcefully, carefully measuring your words in the tongue of your ancestors. “Aōle jikāks arlī daor. Līr jaelzi gaomās.” Don’t get yourself sent away again. Just do what they want.

He is furious at the fact that you are so used to having the wills of others exerted over you that you make no protest of this barbaric demand. Instead, you urge him to concede. He cannot help but to direct his irritation towards you.

When he angrily asks you if you’d actually like to be fucked with the entire Council watching, your rejoinder is swift but even. I am not the one you are angry at, you say, and it is true. Of all the people in this fucking room, it is you who deserves his rage the least. A wave of guilt washes over him when he considers the rudeness of his words.

He has to leave. If he doesn’t, he’ll say something downright insulting or potentially threatening, and he cannot afford to be exiled again. Not with the wedding looming so close—not when everything he has worked for is within close reach.

“Fine.” He huffs as he turns to face the Council once more. “This is not over. And fuck you very much for this little suggestion,” he says, pointing at Mellos. “I’d watch myself if I were you.”

He can hear the sounds of Viserys calling him back, of Mellos sputtering some indignant horseshit. He knocks lightly into Cole’s shoulder as he exits the room, the heavy door slamming loudly shut as he stalks off.

Daemon’s footsteps lead him to the yard, where the Strong boy’s second-in-command— a truly beastly figure by the name of Luthor Largent—is running training exercises with the City Watch.

He slumps against the wall, arms folded, watching with dark eyes and stormy thoughts as the man runs a truly merciless regime, shouting abuse at the stragglers who fall behind. Easily approaching seven feet in height, the captain is a fearsome grizzled warrior, a soldier who strikes fear into the hearts of the scum of King’s Landing. He had employed the man during his own tenure, selecting him from over a dozen contenders from the crownlands. It is a personal source of pride to see him prosper within the brotherhood.

The City Watch has flourished in his time away. He is irritated by the fact that he is forced to admit this—that the Strong lad has been a worthy enough successor to his former post as Commander.

It is some time later that he is approached by the man himself, Harwin Breakbones in his practical burnished armour and gold cloak. The man sits a small distance away from him and feigns careful examination of his subordinates, though it is clear his purpose has more to do with him than his post.

“Prince Daemon.” His growling gravel sets Daemon’s teeth on edge. Just because he’s accepted the man’s place in Rhaenyra’s life doesn’t mean he has to like his presence.

He sighs. “Ser Harwin.” He smirks when Largent tosses one of the new recruits clean over his back, sending the soldier sprawling and groaning in the dirt. He continues, still affecting ignorance and watching the display before him. No use in drawing this out. “What can I do for you?”

“I bring a message from the Lord Hand.”

Daemon’s eyes briefly flick to his companion before returning to the training. There are eyes all over the Red Keep, and it wouldn’t do to give any potential enemies ammunition.

“I had thought the Lord Hand was rather displeased with you at present—seems I was mistaken.” He sneers as he gives voice to the rumours that Lord Lyonel had rather comprehensively chastised his son for the constant speculation regarding the paternity of Rhaenyra’s children.

Secret conversations do not stay secret for long in King’s Landing. 

Strong grunts, a displeased concession. “If you would prefer I keep his words to myself, I’ll depart post-haste, my Prince.”

The cheek of him. It startles a laugh from Daemon, and he decides that perhaps it is worth listening to the lad after all.

“Very good.” He glances to Strong. “Well, then. Give me this message.”

“The white raven is in the pocket of the watchtower,” Strong says, and Daemon’s nose wrinkles as he ponders the words.

White raven, white raven… white ravens, Isle of Ravens, the Citadel—Maester. Watchtower—clearly ‘Hightower’.

The maester is in the pocket of Hightower.

It is clear that this has something to do with the old fuck’s grand idea to exact humiliation upon him and his little niece. Daemon’s jaw works as he contemplates the revelation. There’s little possibility that the Queen would govern the loyalty of the Grand Maester so coldly. Not only is she not nearly good enough at pretending perturbation as she had done in the Small Council, but he also doubts she would be willing to inflict such distress upon you. Nothing he has seen of your acquaintance would lead him to this conclusion.

But old Otto… an ambitious cunt, a man whose grandson holds a very legitimate claim to the Seven Kingdoms, a claim that is superseded only by the King’s declaration that his daughter will succeed him as heir. Such a man is capable of this. He has little doubt that the slimy fuck has been plotting behind the scenes ever since his removal from office. And, if the King’s daughter should only produce bastards—gossip that could very easily be proven correct in the right circumstances—precedent suggests that the next in line is… you. The People’s Princess, you are loved and respected by many, and you are far less personally objectionable than Aegon.

You are also to be his wife.

He is clearly not alone in realising how advantageous your impending match would be in shoring up the succession and preventing the Hightowers from acceding to the Iron Throne. It suddenly makes a twisted sort of sense. Popular opinion had long held that Daemon had cooled toward Rhea due to how zealously he was forced to her bed on the wedding night. To devise a public spectacle such as this in the hopes that it would foster resentment between you and he, prevent the solidification of the union before it can flourish…

It is absurd. It is underhanded. It is clever. A valiant attempt at engendering disharmony in conceivably the most significant blow to his ambition since the disgraced man had slunk from court, badge of the Hand firmly pinned to the lapel of another.

“Thank you, Ser Harwin,” he says. “I will remember your loyalty, and your father’s, when the time comes.”

The man nods. A brief look passes between them. It seems Breakbones and the Lord Hand have value after all. Perhaps he had been unwise to dismiss them so quickly. 

He pushes himself off the wall and treads leisurely back into the Keep in search of you, making careful effort not to appear hasty or distempered lest prying eyes should report this to Oldtown.

Otto really does spend too much time thinking about my cock, Daemon thinks wryly.

It is not the first protestation the man has had about his carnal exploits. Still, the dilemma is evident. Either he continues to protest the atrocity being demanded of you, to kick up a fuss and demand the respect you are both owed as Prince and Princess of the Realm, or he swallows his dignity and his wrath and he removes the lord’s power over the circumstances by… letting it happen.

Obviously, he ought to proceed with the latter. This is the surest way to foil Hightower’s plot, at least for the time being. But the thought of how frightening you would find it, his sweet little untried niece, to have your despoilment on exhibit for the Council’s sick satisfaction is a preoccupation that he must speak with you on before he makes any decision.

He finds you in Laena Velaryon’s apartments of all places, the series of rooms that she shares with her husband and children. The lady opens the door herself when he knocks, white hair untamed and loose, framing her head with dense coils that set off appealingly against her dark skin.

She is rather fetching—he’d always thought so. Daemon had even gone so far as to ask for her hand some years ago. In light of his upcoming nuptials, he cannot say he is too aggrieved that Rhaenys and Corlys had rebuffed him then, for you are an infinitely superior match. The woman is cradling the swell of her belly, a grimace of effort upon her face. He supposes the weight of the growing babe is beginning to exact its toll on her. Behind her, he can hear the sounds of bickering.

“My Prince,” Laena breathes, rubbing her distended middle with a small frown. “What might I assist you with?”

“Lady Strong,” he greets. After asking if you are present in her chambers, he is gratified when she nods, obligingly stepping back and widening the entrance so that he may step through.

You are standing over the glowering forms of the seated Jacaerys and Lucerys, Laenor beside you with arms crossed and a stern bearing. Across from Rhaenyra’s sons sit the identical forms of two young girls—he can only assume these are Ser Breakbones’s daughters, the twins Baela and Rhaena—one of whom is failing to conceal the cast of despondency from showing, the other with her arm thrown around her sister in comfort.

“It was unnecessarily cruel,” you are saying, a look of such disappointment on your face that even he feels the urge to quail. “You did not think about how awful it must feel for Aemond to be without a dragon, and nor did you consider how your actions might have made Rhaena feel.”

Ah, yes, he thinks, recalling a snippet of memory. The Strong girls had been gifted dragon eggs at Rhaenyra’s request—though one had yet to hatch.

“It was Aegon’s idea,” Jace says, his countenance more contrite than his words suggest. Tears have welled in Luke’s eyes.

Laenor scoffs. “And if Aegon had the idea to freefall from dragonback—would you do that, too? Use your sense, boy.”

He kneels down to crouch before his sons in all but blood, casting his hand through the boys’ dark hair comfortingly as the younger begins to cry. “I am unimpressed with your behaviour, but I understand what it is to be led into making a mistake. You will apologise to Aemond, and I will be discussing with your mother how you will be making reparations for this deed.”

Jace nods seriously, and Luke sniffles.

“You should also apologise to Rhaena, boys,” you add, eyes flicking guardedly to Daemon as you register his presence. You pat their shoulders as they sidle past you to hug Laena’s children, smiling faintly at the endearing sight the foursome make. 

Before making your way to him, you whisper something unknown to Laenor; the man’s gaze snaps to Daemon. He nods once in acknowledgement, though that same tightening around the eyes remains, a sign that he—like so many others—is yet to truly accept Daemon’s claim of you.

Laenor had been vexed by the news of your impending union, sidling up beside him for but a moment to whisper a mild-mannered threat while the court gathered themselves. “I’d threaten you,” he’d said, slapping his back a little too hard, “but I think whatever Rhaenyra is likely to have said to you will have a far more frightening consequence. Just know I’ll be looking out for her—and watching you.”

He is glad you have the love of your family, a feat not easily won in the divided House of the Dragon. He supposes Laenor’s pledge will be tested soon—as Rhaenyra’s Prince Consort, he’s likely to be one of several to watch the wedding night’s proceedings.

Daemon follows you out of the room, tipping his head briefly in farewell to Lady Strong as he departs. He turns to you. You are staring up at him watchfully, hands clasped together, a vision of piety in your high-collared gown.

“Are you well, Uncle?” you ask him, gentle and guileless.

His mouth quirks at the query. It is sweet and charming and utterly like yourself to be concerned for his welfare in light of the command levied by the King upon you both.

“I’m fine, sweetling.” He reaches for your small hand to draw it under and around his arm, securing your hold on his frame before initiating a slow walk to your younger sister’s apartments.

He has become familiar with your weekly visiting schedule over the weeks—Rhaenyra, Laena, Helaena, Viserys and Alicent, Ser Lysan—a repeated cycle of teas and books and chatter. It is surely your unsettling Hightower sister you are proceeding to next, and you make no protest at the direction his steps are leading you in.

He allows his gaze to settle on you once more. “I’m not concerned for myself. But I am concerned for you. How are you feeling?”

“Qrīdrolaks iksan.”  I am confused, you say, switching to your native tongue as you pass a busy intersection of the Keep and glancing nervously at the ogling of the courtiers. It has been three sennights since the announcement, two days until your wedding, and still the news preoccupies the residents of King’s Landing like no other. “Mīvindiks. Yn ñuhe gaomilaksir gaominna.” Frustrated. But I will perform my duty.

“Lo zūgā, kepa aōha qubroti jās ivestrinna.” He steers you up the staircase, looking down at you in concern. If you’re afraid, I will tell your father to fuck off.

You giggle, squeezing his arm in amused admonition. The gravity returns to your countenance as the laughter dies off.

“Daor.” You sigh. “Lo bonir gaomā, ponte ērinis. Kesir tatinna, kepus.” No—if you do that, they win. I will see this done, Uncle.

His brave, brave girl. Though the remark is decisive and firm, the way in which your lower lip quivers as the words escape belies the trepidation you are surely feeling.

You straighten, swallowing and looking straight ahead as you approach the so-called Hightower wing of the Keep that is named for its occupying residents. “Zaldrīzesse biādroti zūgusy daor.” Dragons do not fear sheep.

An admirable sentiment. But he must make certain before he allows this to happen.

“Pōnto syt gaomagon bēvilō daor—lo epō, qogrondi ossēninna.” You don’t have to perform for them—I will slaughter the bunch if you ask. 

He almost hopes you will take him up on it.

You dig your heels in lightly when you reach an entrance, the door to the chambers left ajar. Inside, he can see a sliver of pale hair and the inane mutterings of the witchling, light and nonsensical. You are one of few individuals that can draw the girl to the realm outside her mind.

You shake your head at him, declining his offer. He wonders if you believe him to be jesting. He is not.

“Ynot mīsilā,” you murmur, and it makes his chest tighten. You will protect me.

He can count on a single hand the number of times in his life he had been the recipient of such belief. It is so simple a statement, and yet so profound. Watchful, mistrusting girl that you are, he is pleased to receive such an avowal of faith in him. He hopes that he will deserve it.

You tiptoe to lay a sweetheart kiss upon his cheek, blushing scarlet as you dart into the room and close the door, a bold ingenue teasing at her suitor. He chuckles at your shy seduction as he ventures off to his room to ponder the plot that has been unveiled.

If Viserys wishes to watch the bedding—if Otto wants to wage war on his marriage—then let him, he thinks to himself ruthlessly.

Let them bear witness to the power your union will wield; let them see and be afraid.

After all—dragons do not fear sheep.

In many respects, the wedding ceremony is every bit as typical as any other ritual undertaken in the Sept. As he had predicted, there is far too much droning from Septon Eustace, far too much incense and far too many spectators. He shall have to commence talks with the High Priest to arrange for a Valyrian rite.

You are darling in a high-collared gown of white and precious metal, sworls of gold and silver latticed in conformation to the shape of your waist and bust, decorating the sleeves and ends. Rubies and other priceless jewels glitter among the openwork, fashioning a picture of might and wealth. He’s gratified to see the Valyrian steel necklace he gifted you around your throat, and it serves almost as a divide separating your bare skin from the fabric.

You’d favoured these gauzy sort of dresses as a girl, too.

“Mama! Mama, do you like it?” you ask, handfuls of skirt clutched in plump fists as you sway from side to side, beaming at your reflection.

“Beautiful, my dearest!” Aemma laughs at your happy little wiggle, hand pressed to her belly. This babe is a boy, or so she’d told Daemon, and a rather active one at that. She winces, presumably from yet another movement of the child tumbling about in her womb. “Is it what you wanted?”

You nod enthusiastically. “I love it!” Your eyes meet his through the mirror. “Kepus! Do you—do you like it too?”

Truthfully, you look a little too similar to those iced cakes you enjoy, puffed and pastel and thoroughly impractical. But Aemma is correct; you are beautiful. With your silver hair curling strikingly against its backdrop of pale sky and your cheeks rounded and flush with your joy, how can you be anything but?

“Lovely,” he says from his place by the door, unfolding his arms and standing tall. “Ready for your celebration?”

At the reminder, you gasp like a common street performer, revolving on spun heel to dart to the exit. You are getting quicker by the day, and so he is only just able to catch you around the arm as you bolt through the small opening and into the hall. You squeal as he swings you up and onto his hip, tiny arms winding in a near chokehold around his neck.

“Yes! Yes!” You are exultant, the high sound of your voice piercing in his ears. Your legs kick out at his side for good measure. “Happy name day to me!”

Daemon swallows against the dryness in his mouth. She looks nothing like a cake now.

He is struck by the urge to lay you across the altar and give the Seven Kingdoms something to really talk about. His bashful princess, so precious, so demure, so clearly eager to be corrupted—and he is all too willing to do the spoiling. 

“I am yours and you are mine, from this day, until the end of my days.” Your voices mingle in the chamber, a pleasing amalgamation of high and low.

The Septon finally—finally—gives him leave to kiss his bride, and he savours the gentle touch of your lips against his, no more than a ghostly graze of skin against skin. You are soft and sweet in his hold, and it is with exultation that he leads you down the aisle as his lady wife.

Your ladies rush forward to help gather your skirts as you stop him uncertainly at the top of the stairs. You clutch his proffered hand with a grateful smile, leaning on his support as you journey down to the courtyard from where you will make your way across to the Great Hall.

The seating arrangement had caused some headache during planning, he knows. That is the issue with Targaryen intermarriage—when husband and wife share the same family, whom do they assign as representatives for each? In the end, it had been decided that Viserys would sit next to you, with Alicent and the Lord Hand rounding out the left side of the royal table. On the other side, Rhaenyra was to be installed beside Daemon, Laenor completing the row at the end. He is thankful for the arrangement, having no desire to sit beside his brother. The King is still surly and aggrieved by the entire thing, but had miraculously—and for a reason unknown to him—conceded to your preference and acquiesced to the match.

At the first feast following the ceremony, it is custom for the wedded pair to remain seated as the guests dance. This forces Daemon to make conversation with an occupied Rhaenyra—busy watching her oldest child like a hawk on one of the auxiliary tables beside Ser Harwin, a move that had set afresh new gossip—or a drunken Laenor, or dodging the gaze of Viserys.

You are quiet and withdrawn, though affecting a facade of genteel delight, and it is no wonder. With the prospect of the bedding ceremony looming—a ridiculous tradition in which the wedded pair were stripped by the crowd and carried undressed to their bed—and the further ignobility of an exposed consummation, you are likely to feel quite traumatised already.

Sitting beside him in your pretty little wedding gown, he is discomfited by the recurrence of memory once more.

A tugging at his shirt distracts him from his goal.

“What?” he barks. The sound of a sniffle draws his attention down.

You stand in your name day dress, skirts as frightfully fluffy as ever, only your expression is drawn into a scowl and your eyes are rimmed red. With a sigh, he steps away from his latest liaison—Lord Crane’s wife, or is it his daughter?—and dismisses her with a careless wave of the hand. She scurries off, lips bruised and hair ruffled and thoroughly indignant, though he cannot confess to care overmuch for her feelings.

He stoops before you. “What is it, sweetling?”

You pout, rubbing a sticky hand over your face. Your mouth is smeared with icing, he notes with some amusement. “There is too much—too much people here, kepus. I don’t like it.”

“Too many,” he corrects automatically, brushing stray strands out of your face. He frowns, grabbing you by the shoulders when you lean into him. “All those guests, hm?” he asks, attempting to distract you from the flood of tears that is no doubt on its way. “Awfully loud for my little princess, too, I wager. Want to leave?”

“Uh-huh.” Your palm trails a path of sugar-paste over his doublet and flexes in the fabric, your gaze shifting from his and slightly to the left. He takes hold of your wrist before your fingers can make their way into his hair. “I’m tired.”

Good girl. It had been a struggle for the ages to have you admit to such a thing until recently. He used to have to hold the blankets firm over you until you ceased your caterwauling, stubborn tot desperate to stay up just a little longer—but against his strength, you were no match. And now, here you are, conceding your fatigue with no prompting whatsoever. You are growing up, and the prospect fills him with a bittersweet gladness.

“Alright, then.”

He lifts you under your arms and strides down the empty halls. Your head settles into the crook of his neck, nose snuffling against his flesh, and he savours the doll-sized warmth of you in his embrace for just a little while longer.

You never did enjoy crowds. He cannot imagine you are at ease now.

When the call for the bedding springs up from within the crowd, he rises and turns to you. “Come, sweetling,” he tells you, taking your hand. “We’d best leave now.”

You are already flushing, uncertain. He can feel Laenor glaring at the back of his neck.

“Daemon!” Viserys is reddened with excitement and beaming. “can you not hear the noise? It’s time for the bedding!”

He is deep within his cups, swept along by the conviviality of the hall, the loud chatter and spirited guffaws comprising the din. He has not absorbed his brother’s stance as of yet, severe and uncompromising.

“There will be no bedding,” he says, tugging you to your feet. You follow pliantly, brows furrowed and worrying at your bottom lip.

“We agreed, brother!” The King’s face displays the slow-dawning comprehension of a man who has realised that the groom is prepared to make a scene at his own wedding feast. And he is.

He cares not who he must murder in order to convey you to your rooms untouched by other men. You are his.

“No.” He smiles through gritted teeth. “You decided. Don’t worry, brother. You’ll get your spectacle, but my niece will not endure any further debasement this night.”

He lightly fingers the knife attached to his hip, watching Viserys’s eyes flicker between the motion and his fixed expression. Meanwhile, the Hightower bitch is dabbing at the corners of her mouth with cloth, a poor pretence at ignorance. His brother forces an exhalation, no doubt resigned and irked by yet another display of defiance.

“Fine,” he says. “No bedding.”

“Good.”

You brighten imperceptibly at his words, quickly taking his arm and allowing him to walk you through the hall to the entry before your father can change his mind. The nettled grumbles begin in the chamber behind you as the King announces the news.

“Thank you,” you breathe, a relieved half-grimace painting your features.

“Of course,” he says, leading you up the grand staircase to your marital chambers.

Despite everything—despite the knowledge of Otto’s hand in your union and the expectation of what is to come, despite your obvious apprehension and the role he is forced to play in it—he cannot help his excitement.

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[in-my-feels-probably]

This Is Me Trying

(Aegon Targaryen x Reader)

Request: Please write more HCs about Aegon, HCs how he reacts when he is loved, cherished and cared for (maybe by reader as his lovely widowed aunt, a younger sister / half-sister of Viserys and daemon) when Aegon is defended by someone, someone really stands up for him and defends and protects him against all hostilities and against the harsh treatment of Alicent, Otto and Aemond!

Requested by: @cara-eva

Hi! Thank you for the request, I’m sorry for the long wait. I don’t love the outcome, but I don’t want to make you wait any longer and I think it’s as good as it’s gonna get. I hope you like the story format instead of the headcanons, it was just easier for me to write this out that way. I’m hoping this is close to what you were looking for. If it’s not, I’m happy to write you another request.

Also, I didn’t really specify how you’re related to Aegon, but when I was writing I was intending for it to be a Targaryen reader that was close to him in age, who grew up in King’s Landing with him. So maybe a daughter to Daemon or Rhaenyra, or a really young sister to Daemon and Viserys. It doesn’t really matter how you choose to perceive it, it’s not important to the plot that much. I hope it’s ok that I left it open to interpretation.

Anyways, I hope you like it, let me know what you think!

(Warnings: swearing, mentions of physical and verbal abuse, mentions of alcohol and substances, references to the street of silk, very vague gore and blood, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You could recall almost all the times in your life where Aegon had looked to you for comfort, after someone in your family was particularly harsh to him.

Not that he didn’t occasionally deserve it, he really did know how to piss someone off if he wanted to. He’s done it to you more times than you can count. You’ve just apparently learned how to deal with him more positively than the rest of your family.

But more often than not, Aegon was criticized and humiliated by his own family, for no real reason at all.

It was something he had become accustomed to, and he no longer fought it. Which meant that you had to be the one to stand up for him, you had to be the shoulder to cry on, because nobody else was going to.

—

Aegon never felt respected or well regarded by most members of the court, particularly regarding his Grandsire. Despite Aegon having a higher position than him, the Hand had no problem making it known that he thought very little of his grandson.

The worst that ever occurred between the two of them that you can recall was when word was sent to King Viserys that Corlys Velaryon had been critically injured, and his impending succession was to be challenged in an upcoming gathering. With the King bedridden, Otto took the news as the perfect opportunity to begin subverting Princess Rhaenyra’s children’s positions.

In doing so, he advised all the King’s children to support Vaemond Velaryon’s claim. He attempted to convince you the evening the message arrived, but you wouldn’t hear it. You made your claim of support for Lucerys on the spot, more so to spite Otto than anything.

In the week before the whole family was set to arrive, he cracked down on you. You had gone to accompany Aegon to the dragonpit, when Ser Erryk found you and asked you both to report to the Tower of the Hand.

You could tell Otto wasn’t pleased with your presence, but you accompanied Aegon anyway, taking a seat while the two of them talked.

“Aegon, it is the same laws being twisted to support Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne that is preventing you from being named heir. You’re the King’s firstborn son, and you’re being robbed of the opportunity to rule.”

“Careful, My Lord,” you had said, grinning. “Your words are embarking upon treason.��

He ignored you, trying not to give you a reaction. “Those very same laws are once again being used to falsely back Lucerys, when the Driftwood Throne should pass to Vaemond Velaryon. Back his claim, My Prince. Out of principle, alone.”

“I don’t give a shit about the throne, Iron or otherwise,” Aegon huffed, like the conversation was the dullest thing he could have possibly endured that day.

Otto narrowed his eyes, speaking firmer. “Lucerys’s claim is illegitimate, even you can admit that. You’ve got more blood of Old Valyria than he does, and he carries the name Velaryon. Does that not unsettle you?”

“Bastard or not, it is of no consequence to me,” Aegon said, shrugging his shoulders. “Let my nephew have it, or don’t let him have it, I don’t care. I’m not interested enough to involve myself.”

Otto stood from his chair, leaning over his desk to look Aegon in the eye. He almost shook with a silent fury, his voice laced with venom.

“Everything handed to you on a silver platter,” he spat, his face cold. “And you waste it. The Seven Kingdoms in the palm of your hand, and you don’t even bat an eye. You may have the pure blood of Old Valyria, but you’re more of a bastard than Lucerys will ever be.”

This caught your attention, making you stand and move behind the chair Aegon was sitting in. You had no problem standing up for Aegon, considering your position was also higher than Otto’s, and you simply enjoyed aggravating him.

“It would be in your best interest to hold your tongue, My Lord. It would be a shame to have to see to it that it is removed from your head.”

Otto took a step toward you, glaring, before leaning down to whisper into Aegon’s ear.

“Look at you…hiding behind a little girl. You’re lazy, arrogant, and a miserable excuse for a Targaryen. You bring shame upon your house, and humiliate yourself while doing so. It’s no wonder our Queen, your own mother, despises you so.”

You shook your head in disbelief, peering down at Aegon to see that his eyes had glossed over, and he had gone rigid in his chair. You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb in circles on the exposed skin peeking out of his shirt.

Aegon took a shaky breath, and you felt a rage course through you that expelled itself before you could stop it. You stepped in between Aegon and Otto, blocking Aegon from Otto’s sight. You reached a hand behind you, offering it for Aegon to take, which he gladly accepted.

With your free hand, you pressed your finger into Otto’s chest, inadvertently pushing him to take a step back.

“You forget yourself, My Lord. What about the phrase, ‘hold your tongue,’ did you not understand? You’re speaking to the Prince, at least pretend to act like it.”

You coaxed Aegon to stand, pulling him with you to head for the door. Otto nearly smirked as he watched, leaning back against his desk. His face fell when you turned around to speak to him, just before you stepped out the door.

“You’re weak, Otto. Pathetic. Half the man Aegon is, if even that. The stewards have more honor and merit than you. You burn bridges with every word you speak against the Crown and its children. As much as you hate to admit it, it still doesn’t change the fact that the histories will record Aegon’s and Lucerys’s names, bastard or not.”

Aegon smirked, watching Otto soak in your words like a slow acting poison, killing its victim cell by cell.

“Your name, however, will be forgotten. Far gone and lost to the obscurity of every man like you that has come before. Your efforts will be for naught, and the rest of your existence will be a miserable one. I hope you’ll come to understand that, because it is undoubtedly your fate. And I, for one, cannot wait to witness it.”

—

Aegon’s Grandsire was not the only member of his family that was known to be unnecessarily cruel. Amongst his siblings, Aegon really only dealt with Aemond’s hostility.

You could recall countless fights between the two of them, always squabbling with each other.

It took a lot for Aemond to actually get physical, or put any real malice behind his words. He was usually content to ignore Aegon’s presence entirely. But when provoked, it was probably better that you were there to intervene.

Despite how harsh Aemond could be, he was the easiest to deal with. You were one of the few members of the family Aemond actually liked, and he normally listened to you when you told him to pipe down. Plus, his and Aegon’s spats were normally sibling derived, and of no major consequence.

The worst between them was when Aemond finally snapped, and the two of them got into a screaming match about Aegon’s lack of ambition. Aegon had just returned from Flea Bottom, and Aemond had returned from an evening flight on Vhagar.

You heard them all the way from your chambers, finding them nearly throwing blows in the courtyard.

“I did not ask for this!” Aegon yelled, making Aemond sneer.

“Clearly. And yet, it was handed to you anyway. Why not take advantage of it?”

Aegon groaned, biting his tongue to keep from screaming. “I don’t care, brother. Why does everyone expect so much from me?”

“Because you piss it all away,” Aemond said, stepping forward and shoving Aegon’s shoulder. “You don’t have any idea how lucky you are.”

Before anyone could actually get hurt, you rushed in between them, pushing them both a few steps back.

“What the fuck are you doing? Do you have any idea how late the hour is?”

“Yes, brother,” Aemond said, exasperatedly throwing his hands up. “Do you? Or have you forgotten the time in the bottom of a cup? Perhaps on the Street of Silk?”

Aegon grumbled, trying to step past you, but you held him back. You narrowed your eyes at him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Stop. I won’t ask again.”

You turned back to Aemond, who looked like he had grown tired of the conversation already.

“Are you done?” You asked, raising a brow. “Must you antagonize him? You know it will do no good.”

Aemond groaned, taking a step back. “Must you always defend him? He’s infuriating. You’re never nearly as harsh enough with him as you should be.”

“He’s not my child, he’s not mine to discipline,” you said, nodding your head towards Aegon. “The Gods know you and your family do that enough to him already.”

Aemond scoffed, turning around, but you caught his arm, making him wait.

“Wait…listen. Trust me, he doesn’t get away with being an ass around me. He knows well enough that it won’t end well for him.”

Aegon had grown quiet, sulking behind you. You kept your eyes on Aemond, not letting him go.

“But I also don’t purposely antagonize him to warrant a reaction. I understand your frustrations, believe me, I do. But squabbling like children does neither of you any good. He’s your brother, Aemond. Ease up…let it go.”

Aemond grumbled, his face cold, like he was debating on if he should walk away or not. Finally, he softened, gently easing his arm from your grip.

“Fine,” he said, turning around to leave the courtyard. “As you wish.”

Once he was out of earshot, you turned around to face Aegon. He had gone pink, awkwardly shifting back and forth from foot to foot. You gave him a less than impressed look, before turning back in the direction of your chambers.

“Come along, then. You can explain to me what happened on the way. I swear, it is baffling how you two manage to annoy me more and more every day.”

Aegon lightened up, moving to match your stride. “Oh, come on, darling. Just admit it. You enjoy it, you know you do.”

You rolled your eyes at his improved mood, walking faster, letting him trail you all the way back to your chambers.

—

Settling tensions between Aemond and Aegon was far easier than dealing with Otto and the court. Plus, you found it to be the least hurtful to Aegon.

The harsh words that hurt the most…were from his own mother, Queen Alicent.

Aegon knew he was the least favorite, of both his mother and his father. He knew how she valued Aemond, and how she doted on Helaena. He knew that, despite his father neglecting all his youngest children, the King at least had something in common with his younger siblings.

Aegon was almost foreign to him, like a granted wish gone awry.

Despite being the King’s firstborn son, Aegon’s very existence was a constant reminder of all the King and Queen’s failures in the family, and of all the wasted opportunities to strengthen House Targaryen.

To the King, Aegon was a reminder of the years he wasted on wanting a son, neglecting Rhaenyra as his first born.

To Alicent, Aegon was a reminder of how she was a child herself, practically sold and made to squeeze out heirs for the Crown. Aegon was a product of her father’s own selfish ambition, a point of view she could not bring herself to look past.

She loved her son, nobody doubted that.

But she did not like him. The same could be said for the King.

Considering she was the Queen, Aegon’s mother was a lot more difficult for you to stand up to. Speaking directly against her in her presence was not wise, and you often had to bite your tongue and console Aegon about it later.

This evening in particular was proving to be one of the worst times she had publicly treated him, both verbally and physically. Apparently, she had grown quite used to disciplining him in front of you.

If you could even call it that.

It had all happened so fast. You were in the Queen’s chambers, sitting by the fire with her.

One minute, you were having tea with Alicent and listening to her tell you about her day. The next, Aegon had been dragged in by Ser Criston, unsuccessfully fighting against his hold.

Ser Criston dragged him into the center of the room, letting him go before standing in front of the door to block the exit. Not that he necessarily needed to. Aegon couldn’t beat Ser Criston in a fight on a good day. Let alone as drunk as he apparently was.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Your Grace, My Lady. I found him nearly passed out on the steps outside the training yard. The Prince has apparently already had his fill. Didn’t even make it to Flea Bottom, which is where I presume he was going.”

Alicent closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “You found him? Or someone alerted you of his presence?”

“One of the servants, Your Grace. Apparently he was making quite the fuss before he passed out.”

Aegon collapsed into a nearby chair, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. He let out a groan, leaning back.

As you looked at him, you realized it wasn’t just wine that had weakened his resolve. His eyes were hazy, his movements staggered. He had taken milk of the poppy, and quite a high dosage at that.

An option that he rarely referred to anymore, knowing how much you hated seeing him on it. Something must’ve happened, something bad.

“A fuss?” You asked, trying to avoid staring at Aegon.

“It is not for a Lady’s ears, I’m afraid,” Ser Criston hesitated. “He was…rather crude, I should say. Speaking incoherently to himself, loud enough for the servants to take notice.”

Alicent stood and nodded, brushing her skirts down. “Thank you, Ser Criston. I appreciate your discretion. I will handle it from here, you may go.”

“Yes, My Queen,” he said, nodding to her before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

You stood, unsure of whether or not you should leave as well. You would later come to regret not doing so.

Alicent stood in front of Aegon, glaring down at him. “Have you no shame? Is the reputation you already uphold not bad enough? Do you have any idea about the kind of burden you are, not only on yourself, but on your family?”

Aegon didn’t look up, keeping his eyes on the floor. He slumped down in his chair, shielding his eyes from the light of the fire.

“Look at me,” Alicent said, before sharpening her tone enough to make Aegon flinch. “Look at me!”

When he didn’t, she pulled his hair at the nape of his neck back to tilt his head up, before backhanding him across the face. Her ring caught on his cheek, leaving a small cut at the top of his cheekbone.

You quietly gasped, bringing a hand to your mouth to stifle the noise.

Alicent didn’t seem fazed, now gaining Aegon’s attention. “Is it not enough to embarrass me, not only as your Mother and as your Queen, but to embarrass the whole of your family, as well? Does it not embarrass you, carrying yourself like this, in front of them…in front of Y/N? Does it not bother you, what she must think of you?”

Aegon’s eyes flitted to yours, before turning away in shame. You felt your heart ache at the sight, keeping quiet beside your chair.

“How many times must I discuss this with you, Aegon? When will you learn?”

“What’s the point, Mother?” Aegon finally asked, giving her a sad smile. “You’ll be disappointed in me anyway, no matter what I do. Why even bother?”

She slapped him across his cheek again, adding to the already reddened skin. The blood from his cut smeared along his cheekbone. Aegon let out a sound of pain, swallowing his words.

You couldn’t take it any longer, walking over and gently placing your arm on Alicent’s, turning her to you.

“You Grace, I am sorry to interrupt. But it seems I have overstayed my welcome, and I would hate to intrude. I’ll be on my way, if you’ll excuse me.”

She shook her head, grabbing one of your hands in hers. “Not at all, my dear. I enjoyed your company. I thank you for it, and I apologize for my son’s interruption.”

“He was no trouble, My Queen. If you’d like, I can see to it that he makes it back safely to his chambers?”

“That is quite alright, darling,” she said, turning back to Aegon. “I have a few more things I’d like to discuss with my son, but it is kind of you to offer. You may go, Y/N. Thank you for the tea.”

You politely smiled. “Of course. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

You turned to go, hesitating at the door when you heard Alicent retreat back to stand in front of Aegon.

You didn’t want to go.

You didn’t want to leave him there, to endure any more of his mother’s wrath. But there was nothing you could do.

There was little you could say this time. There was no way to protect him while it happened, not without risking yourself in the process. And you knew how much Aegon hated when you did that, when it was actually dangerous.

So, you left, returning to your chambers.

You simply had to wait for Aegon to make a decision. It usually boiled down to two options.

Go to Flea Bottom, start drinking, and keep drinking until whatever memory he had of the night disappeared into his cups. Or…he could go to your chambers, and find another kind of comfort there.

You prayed that he’d choose the latter, tonight. You paced back and forth in your chambers for what seemed like hours before you got any answers. You knew the gods ruled in your favor when a feeble knock was heard on your chamber door later that night, making you sigh in relief.

“Come in,” you said, anxiously standing at the foot of your bed.

There was a pause, and then the door creaked open, revealing a disheveled and apprehensive Aegon. He closed the door behind him, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You took the time to look at him, observing his form. The bruise on his cheek had settled in, all black and blue. The cut from his mother’s ring was beginning to scab over, dry blood crusted along his cheekbone. His cheek was reddened, with the slightest imprint of a hand, marking the flesh. A fresh bruise was beginning to form around his temple, a garish green encircling it.

You didn’t even want to know what that one was from.

You slowly approached him, careful not to make any rash movements. “Can I touch you?”

He still didn’t meet your eyes, but slowly nodded.

Gently, you cupped his jaw so you could turn his head, checking for any wounds you could have missed. Slowly and carefully, you moved your hands up to cup his face in your palms, gently running your thumbs across his cheekbones.

Aegon let out a pained whimper, leaning into your touch.

“Did I hurt you?” You asked, moving to pull your hands away. He quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrists and holding you still, silently asking for you to not let go.

His voice was shaky. “No.”

“You weren’t drunk, were you?” You asked, resuming running your thumbs across the top of his cheekbones. “It was milk of the poppy.”

His eyes met yours, a look of guilt flashing across his face. You shook your head, shushing him.

“I’m not angry. Just tell me the truth.”

He was reluctant to, but he finally nodded, confirming your suspicions. You sighed deeply, moving your hands to brush his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ears.

“Why?”

“You know why,” he replied, his voice quiet.

You did.

Sometimes, getting drunk wasn’t enough. Sometimes, Aegon felt like he was suffocating, and the only way to fill his lungs was to cloud his mind first, easing his thoughts. Milk of the poppy usually did the trick.

You didn’t press the matter further, nodding. “Are you going to tell me what happened after I left?”

“The usual happened,” he said, his jaw clenched. “Mother yelled, I listened. She hit, I got hit. Don’t worry, though, you witnessed the best of it. Don’t think you missed the entertaining part.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, sharpening your tone. “Don’t say that. I didn’t enjoy a moment of it, not a single second. Do you think I like watching you get hurt?”

He returned his gaze to the floor, flinching at your sudden change in demeanor. You stopped yourself, not wanting to sound like you were scolding him, like his mother does all too frequently. Gently, you lifted your sleeve and tried to softly wipe away the blood that had stained his cheek.

You were interrupted by a sudden tear, rolling down his cheek. You looked up, only to be met with Aegon’s eyes brimming with tears that were slowly falling down his face like fresh snow from the sky.

“Aegon?” You asked, cupping his chin, trying to make him look at you. The tears kept flowing. Finally, his eyes met yours.

“Am I a burden?”

Your jaw slacked in shock. “What? Of course not, why would you ask that?”

“My Mother believes it to be true,” he said, face crumbling. “That’s what she said, after you left. That I’m a burden to you, always making you clean up my messes.”

You quickly shook your head, gently wiping away his tears. “That’s not true, Aegon. She’s wrong. I don’t do anything for you out of obligation, or because I feel I need to. I do it because I want to. If nobody in this family is going to give you even an ounce of optimism or support, then I’ll happily be the one to do it.”

“You shouldn’t have to–,” he starts, pulling himself from your grip.

“I want to.”

Aegon took a deep breath, and you watched as his shoulders shook and his eyes clouded with tears, all red and bloodshot. He made a sound of frustration, balling his hands into fists at his sides. His voice was desperate.

“I’m trying, Y/N…I’m trying so fucking hard.”

You felt your heart shatter, quickly throwing your arms around his neck. You pulled him close to you, cradling his head with one hand, squeezing him tightly to you with the other. Aegon melted into your embrace, locking his arms around you, desperately clutching at the fabric of your clothes. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, and you felt hot tears landing on your skin. You paid them no mind, gently shushing him.

“I know you’re trying,” you said, willing yourself not to cry as well, staying strong for him. “I know. And that’s all I could ever ask of you.”

You leaned back far enough to cup his jaw, wiping away the tears. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, gently caressing his face.

“I know it seems like nobody is seeing your efforts, or that nobody cares enough to acknowledge them. But I care, alright? I care. I see it, I see you trying. You’re doing your best, Aegon. That’s all you can really do. And if our family can’t see or understand that, it’s their problem. Not yours. Alright?”

He slowly nodded, taking a deep breath. “Alright.”

You nodded, taking his hand in yours, pulling him along with you to your bed.

“Come on, then. It’s late, you need to lie down. I refuse to deal with you all cranky and sleep deprived in the morning because you were too stubborn to rest.”

Aegon softly grinned, letting you guide him. “What are you talking about? I’m a delight in the mornings.”

“You’re a gremlin in the mornings,” you retorted, patting the space of the bed next to you. “Now lie down. That wasn’t a request.”

Aegon could feel the troubles lifting from his shoulders already, watching you invite him into your space with open arms. He nearly chuckled at the serious face you had put on, one you normally reserved for scoldings.

“As you command, darling,” he said, crawling in next to you. “Who would I be to deny you?”

“A fool.”

Your reply was quick, with absolutely no hesitation in your voice. It made Aegon grin wider as he felt his heart warm, settling himself close beside you.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

—

A/N - Hi! I don’t love this outcome honestly, but I hope this is what you were looking for. If it’s not, I’ll gladly accept another request and try to do better. Let me know what you think.

#house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon imagine #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #alicent hightower #otto hightower #aemond targaryen #house targaryen

[eddiesxangel]

Lay All Your Love On Me | Rockstar!Eddie x Nepo!Baby Reader

@oneforthemunny Summer writing game! This is the first time EVER posted something like this, pls be nice, I’m scared 🫣 Proofread but honestly there could be some minor things.

WC: 2.6K+

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 😡 I S2G I MEAN IT 18+ ONLY nsfw/unprotected sex/ p in v/ dom vs sub/ dirty talk/ oral (f & M receiving)/ degradation/ name calling/ breeding kink if you squint. Sorry if I missed anything

🐚-Prompt your/Eddie's dream vacation. where do you go? what do you do? It doesn't have to be beachy or tropical, wherever you want!

The last 6 months of your life, have been the longest of your entire life. Traveling all over the USA for work, fashion shows, photoshoots, endless fittings, attending your parent's mind-numbing galas, and worst of all, not being able to see Eddie at all. He was on a Europe/Asia tour with his world-famous band Corroded Coffin, and you were at home busting your ass without any downtime. People think being a celebrity is easy, that everything is handed to you because of who your parents are, but news flash! It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. 

Your relationship was taking such a toll, there was only so much time in the day and with the time difference keeping up with where he was in the world was getting difficult, also the phone sex was getting old. Eddie and you decided that because you both needed some serious R&R to reconnect, a vacation was the right move. You needed it desperately, so you had your assistant book the two of you a private villa on a secluded beach in the middle of nowhere for 3 luxurious weeks.

6 months head lead up to this point, 24 weeks on the go, 182 days without him. You had even tried surprising him but each time something came up. The band wasn’t in the same city for more than one night, you had a photo shoot in Hawaii, he was in Tokyo, you had to be in Colorado for a charity event, he was in Milan. Nothing worked up until this point. His tour ended today, since you had to travel farther you got to the villa one day early. 

You could just taste the ocean air as you stepped off your parents private jet. The boat ride to the little Greek island was less than an hour and you had time to unwind before Eddie was to arrive the next day.

You wanted to get there before him just to get one day to yourself. (Like you siad, it was a long 6 months) There was hardly any time for self care, not to mention when you did do your self care the vibrator Eddie had gotten you for while he was away had broke from being over uses 3 months into him being gone. There was no way in hell you were going to be caught by the paps in a sex shop getting a replacement. 

The villa was beautiful, blue and white everything, a beautiful kitchen that you could fulfill all the domestic fantasies these next three weeks brought. The bedroom was huge and had a king size bed in the middle, the shower was spa like and there was an infinity pool in the back yard, it looked like the most luxurious oasis. A view of the Sea was enough to relax you the second you stepped outside, it was everything you expected. You made a mental note to give your assistant a bonus for booking this place.

*24 hrs later*

After a relaxing night of self care that included, shaving, exfoliating, facial masks, and a little bit of wine, you stayed by the pool most of the morning. It was perfect tanning weather and you would take advantage of not having tan lines. You stripped off your bathing suit, it was only you in the villa and your closest neighbour was more than a few miles away. and you weren’t expecting Eddie for a few more hours. (not that he would be complaining.) You were listening to your music, really starting to relax as your body finally understood that you are in fact in vacation mode, as you sunk into the daybed.         

Meditating to the sound of the ocean, your soft music playing in the background you hadn’t a care in the world

—————————————————————————-

The second Eddie stepped off the boat he knew his hunger couldn’t be satiated until he had you consuming every inch of him. He walked into the villa and didn’t even take in its beauty. He had one thing in mind and that was finding you. He was calling out your name but the house was empty with the echo of his voice. Running to each room, he found the kitchen, the sitting room, the bathroom, and the bedroom where he finally put his bags down, but with no luck, they were all empty. He was starting to second guess if he got the date wrong? But seeing your things spread all over the bedroom including the teeniest red string bikini on the bed lead him to believe otherwise. 

Then he heard it, your awful pop music coming from the yard, he knew you were here. He rushed his way to the sliding glass door, his heart skips a beat when he sees you. Laying on your stomach, head facing away from the door, bare ass in the air, on display for him. Eddie was famished and here you were sitting out for him on a silver platter. He couldn’t wait a second longer, he slid the door open and made his way towards you. 

You had just started to nodd off, sun beaming down on your skin, the familiar smell of sunblock and the ocean air southed your soul. 

“Oh baby you sure know how to welcome your man” Eddie sighed.

“AHHHHHHH” A scream of terror left your throat at the sudden voice right behind you you jumped and saw his cherubic face framed by the sun light beaming behind him. 

“BABY” you pop up on to your knees on the lounger to embrace him in the tightest hug you could. He looked good, tired but good. He let his beard grow out and had a few more tattoos covering up his arms than the last time you saw him. His hair was the same as always and he must have been working out with the trainer while on tour because he definitely was more filled out than the last time you saw him. 

Eddie pulled back so he could kiss you, not wasting any time he is ravishing you, a kiss that took your breath away, the kiss was hard, rough and messy but the passion of not being together for 6 months was coming trough his actions. His hands shot up to your bare ass grabbing it pulling you closer into him. His hands then traveled up to your breasts as a gut reaction you moaned into his touch. “God I missed you” he moaned into your mouth, hands frantic, touching any part of him you could. Time stood still, you could have been kissing him for 5 hours or 5 mins it didn’t matter you were together again. 

Eddie reluctantly pulled away to take you all in. 6 months of not feeling, seeing, or tasting you he was a man starved. “God baby if I knew you would be welcoming me like this I would have told the pilot to parachute me onto the island to get here faster.” His eyes take in your bare everything. Giggling at his stupid flirting, you blushed, but it quickly went away when he latched his mouth onto your left nipple. Your head flew back with pleasure, with a moan he pulled away to see the cute little bud that was forming. The sensation of his mouth on you went straight to your core. You needed him so badly that you forgot what it was like to be touched, to be wanted. Naturally, you slid your hands down his torso, up under his shirt, signaling for him to take it off, you needed to feel his skin, you kissed him like it was the last time you ever would kiss him. You slid your hands down to his belt buckle, undoing it at a speed that wasn’t fast enough. “What do you think you’re doing?” Eddie gripped the back of your hair and yanked your head back, letting out a little yelp “Please Eddie I need you, let me make you feel good baby. I need this, it's been too long, I can’t-” Usually under different circumstances, he wouldn’t let you touch him until you were told you were allowed, but he could see the plea in your eyes, you both needed this. “Fine, but just this one time, Princess” he let go of your hair and you bent lower to take his cock out. “You remember, one tap you’re ok, two to stop” his tone was serious, “Yes Sir” Giving him the most innocent eyes you slide your tongue up the thick shaft and envelope his head in the rest of your mouth, not breaking eye contact. The weight of his cock resting in your mouth made you drool. “ Fuuuuuck, good girl” Eddie’s breath became erratic. His hips pulled back and you knew it was coming, he thrust back into your mouth almost hitting the back of your throat, fucking himself in your mouth your eyes started watering and your breathing became shallow but you were in heaven. “You ok babydoll?” He’s looking down at you, hand gripped on the back of your head still thrusting until he hit the back of your throat. You gave him one tap on his bare thigh, as he kept up the pace. “I missed this mouth so fucking much, my hand wasn’t enough.  Could’ve had any groupie I wanted, girls were throwing themselves at me” He said through gritted teeth. “ but I didn’t *thrust* want *thrust* any *thrust* of *thrust* them *thrust* they aren’t you” his hips sped up until he filling pulled out. You were finally able to catch your breath, you were a mess, hair tangled and scalp burning from his harsh grip, drool coming out of your mouth, tears and snot running down your face. He pulled you back up to kiss him, your pussy was throbbing, and the pulse that went directly to your clit was screaming for attention, you tried rubbing your thighs together for some sort of friction but Eddie noticed. 

Moaning your name he pushed you back down onto the day bed, you saw the hunger in his eyes “Baby, please.” involuntary whimper came from your mouth, he went in for another kiss, hands roaming from your inner thigh up until it reached your pussy “oh baby” he says with shaky breath the second he truly felt how wet you were for him.

Kissing down your neck, leaving purple bruises in his wake, not giving a care in the world right now about visible hickeys, he crept lower and lower until he was kneeling between your legs forcing your knees open he stared into your heat “Oh Princess, you’ve been so neglected, haven't you? No one to take care of you like I can, don’t worry I’m here now.” He wasn’t talking to you, he was talking to her. He leaned in, soft kitten licks your clit with the tip of his tongue, gentle and delicate. The tickle of his new beard was a sensation you had yet to feel, it’s not what you were used to with Eddie but you weren’t complaining, you were doing the exact opposite actually. You couldn’t resist it anymore, your hips started gyrating into his face, you needed more. “Eddie please” you whimpered. “Seems like you’re forgetting my name babydoll, but I’ll give you a pass it has been 182 days,” he says looking up still stroking your folds with his index finger. “ ‘m sorry Master, please I need you” you practically in tears. “That’s my good girl, beg for it” he’s grinning down at you but you’re too distracted you didn’t realize he had his pants off from around his ankles, his hard cock in hand he rubbed his tip up and down your slit gathering your juices. 

At this point you were so turned on you couldn’t think, moaning out as he slowly stretched you open eyes rolling to the back of your head, inch by inch the pleasure mixed with the burn of the stretch, it was good, too good, you’ll never let it be this long ever again to have him fill you.

“My little slut can’t even think straight can she? My big cock got you all stupid didn’t it?” You hadn’t even realized he was talking to you, cock drunk off the feeling you were so close and he hardly started. “I-I- huhhhhhh, master plea-” You didn’t stand a chance he started thrusting into you, your ankles rolling, he gripped your calfs to hold your legs as wide was the could go. With each thrust the pleasure became more and more, your back arching up into the feeling of him filling you up. The feeling in your belly starting to build until he unexpectedly flipped you so you were on all fours, and he started thrusting harder “Oh god! There! Please don’t stop!”  It was so good your hands gave out, your check pressing into the foam mattress, only making your ass stick out more for him. He spread your cheeks, and you scream as he hits that sweet spot in you each time. A slap comes down hard on your ass as he pounds into you, you moan out with pleasure. Another smack on the other cheek to even things out. He’s going at a a pace that makes your head spin, his fingers gripped into your hips so rough you’re sure there will be bruising tomorrow. The noises that are coming out of you are inhumane, you didn’t even recognize yourself, he was so big, you were so full, it was too good. 

Eddie yanked your head back by your hair so you were parallel with his body. “Tell your master how much you missed this cock you little slut” he whispers through gritted teeth. You couldn’t talk, each thrust was getting deeper and deeper at the angle he was holding you in, you almost fall you grab his forearm to balance yourself. Suddenly he pulled out and you cried out at the loss. “You really have been fucked dumb because I know you heard me” he pushed you back down your hands almost not catching your fall. “I missed your cock so bad, it’s been so long, Master please! I need it!” you were crying, all your emotions built up leading up to this point. “There you go baby, was that so hard?” He plunged back in each thrust building and building, the coil in your stomach tightening until he started rubbing your clit and you couldn’t take it anymore “Master I need to come please” you cried! “Oh looks like you didn’t forget everything, good girl, come for me” You were already seeing stars before he finished talking, your body shook, clenching down so tight on his cock while your orgasm filled your body. “Oh god yes, baby milk this cock so good I’m going to fill you up” Your pussy gripped down so hard on his cock you felt him cumming a few thrusts later.

Dazed, and all fucked out you roll over to see Eddie beaming down at you. “Hi princess” Eyes glazed over you manage a “Hi baby,” you reach for his face, you’re still crying, he leans into your request and gives you the softest kiss you think he has ever given you. “I missed you so much, don’t ever leave me that long again.” you sniffle and curl into his lap. “ I love you so much Princess, never again.” He held you like a child, you needed him just to be there. After a couple of minutes, the tears stopped, and you curled into his neck, leaving soft kisses and kitten licks, you couldn’t help yourself, your boyfriend was just so hot. 

“I think we have a lot of catching up to do” he throws you over his shoulder “Eddie put me down” you giggle, getting a full view of his bare ass in front of your face he runs you to the bedroom, you knew it was going to be a long night. 

Master list

#rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie smut #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie x reader #munnysummergame #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson concept #eddie munson edit #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie fanfiction #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female oc #rockstar!eddie munson x you #rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar!eddiemunson #dom!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb

[imaginingaustin]

turn that frown upside down

summary: after you have a bad day at work, austin does what he can to try and cheer you up.

you'd been having the worst few weeks, and were pushed and pulled in all sorts of directions. between issues with clients at work, important projects, drama between coworkers, and additional stressors in your personal life, everything was weighing on your mind, shoulders, and every other part of your body. you were stressed beyond belief, and you were almost to your breaking point. 

once you finally returned home after work one friday evening, you immediately let it all fall. your dropped your bags in the foyer, slid down the door and just sobbed. you were sitting there for quite some time before your boyfriend came to check on you.

“y/n? baby, what’s wrong? i didn’t even hear you come in.” austin said softly, picking you up from the floor. you were crying too hard to even form a sentence to speak. you just shook your head and cried in his arms. he sat there on the floor with you, rubbing your head and shoulders, allowing you to sob into his chest.

some time passed, and once you finally ran out of tears, you sat up and looked at austin.

“i’m sorry.” you said quietly.

“for what?” he asked, raising a brow at you.

“for blubbering like this.” you sighed. 

“baby, please,” he said as he stood. he held his hands out to you, lifting you off the floor and pulling you into a tight embrace. “you dont have to ever apologize for your feelings.” he said. he held your face in his hands and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, your eyes flitting closed as his lips met your skin.

“i love you.” you sighed before looking up at him. “so much.” 

“i love you.” he repeated, gently kissing your lips. “now, why dont you go take a shower and wash this day off. i’ll order us some dinner, pour us a couple glasses of wine, and we can watch a movie or something, okay?” you nodded, kissing him again before heading upstairs. 

you quickly undressed and got in the shower, letting the warm water wash away your stress and thoughts about the day. you were in the shower longer than you anticipated, just letting the pressure massage your muscles.

once you were finally done, you stepped out and into your bedroom, noting the sleep clothes austin had laid out for you, a pair of shorts and one of his old t-shirts. you smiled at the gesture, quickly dressing before heading back downstairs. once you got back to the living room, austin was nowhere to be found.

“aus?” you called out into the house. you got no answer in response, just the beginning of a song blaring through a bluetooth speaker. you followed the sound, and found him the kitchen, holding the broom as a makeshift mic stand.

you focused on the sound, the tune of an elvis presley song playing. even though that chapter of his life was closed, there was still a part of him that enjoyed playing the king. and you didn’t mind it at all.

you watched as he sang and danced across the kitchen, moving closer to you, pressing a kiss to your lips as elvis would do during his concerts. you didn’t know what prompted this performance, but you loved it. you began singing the song along with him. he performed a couple of songs for you before he was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, presumptively the food he ordered finally arriving.

you turned down the music as he opened the door, and watched as he carried the bags into the kitchen. you moved behind him, wrapped your arms around his waist, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

“what was all that about?” you asked, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“i just wanted to cheer you up. did it work?” he asked. you watched his face change as he smiled, avoiding your gaze.

“it did.”

“perfect.” he turned to face you and kissed you softly. “now, let’s eat.” you nodded, and helped him take the food into the living room. he poured you both glasses of wine and you sat down at the coffee table to eat. you turned on a movie, one of yours and austin’s favorites to watch together, and one you’d seen many times.

the rest of the night ended up being exactly what you needed to take your mind off your stress. you finally felt at ease, and were able to relax with the man you loved the most. fortunately, it was the weekend, and you couldn't wait to spend the next two days like this.

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader

[joellkeeny]

✧*:･ﾟlast drink of the night

— warnings: fluff. a bit of angst (bullying).

— summary: when you get dumped at a party, Steve is the first one to come and save you, which makes you realize just how much he's always been there for you.

— masterlist

for @steveharringtonscarkeys <3 happy late birthday lu sorry it took me so long to get this done!!

You're sniffling, knees pressed up to your chest as you hug them closer, as if curling into yourself will protect you from feeling the embarassement rising up the back of your neck and to your cheeks which were already red from the alcohol. What started like a normal high school party, quickly turned into the worst day of your life when Nick, the boy who has been all over you for the past week, rejected you and more so, made fun of you for thinking that he would be into you even though he was the one who sought you out in the first place.

Pushing your way out of the crowd of laughing and whispering people, no doubt gossiping about how dumb you were to believe he would actually like you, you grabbed the phone and dialed the only number you knew by heart. His soft voice was the only thing that could soothe you at the moment, thick and sweet like honey, making a small smile pull at your lips, previously curled downwards. Now you were sitting in the driveway on the grass, wiping your tears away because even though he's your best friend in the whole world and he knows you best, you still didn't want to let him see you like this because of some boy. One that he's sure he had warned you about the first time you told him about his advances towards you, yet you still didn't listen. Because what did the former king of Hawkins high would know about being a playboy, right?

Pulling at a loose strand on the sleeve of your top, you hear the tires screeching as the famous burgundy BMW comes into view, parking on the side of the street. He's storming out of the car like a hurricane, slamming the car door while his footsteps press heavily on the pavement as he walks up the alley, jaw set tight while looking for you. “Steve...” You call out softly, head rising from between your knees to look up at him as he turns to you, stopping in his tracks. The moment his eyes settle on you, he seems to relax a bit, body slackening as he let's out a sigh that somehow seems apologetic. “Hey,” He comes to you, sitting on the grass next to you, gazing out at the other houses on the other side of the road before his eyes switch to you. “Watcha lookin' at?” He bumps his shoulder to yours as he leans back on his hands, legs crossing as he hopes you're not that sad about it anymore, though it's hard to let go of something like that so easily. The only response you give is a slight shrug as you look down at the grass, feeling his hip press against yours. Having him this close feels like he's peeling your walls like an onion, revealing more and more of the emotions you kept down until he arrived come to the surface as he buries deeper and deeper under your walls.

Shuffling closer to him, you feel the lump burning and rising to your chest again, opting to curl your legs under you while you lay your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes in hopes of drifting away and forgetting about all of the embarrassment of the night. “What happened?” His voice is the gentlest you've ever heard it be while he lays his cheek on top of your head, letting you open up to him. “Nick,” You simply mumble his name, afraid your voice will crack if you speak any louder. “He- he made me look like a fool, Steve.” You sniffle and you can feel his body tensing next to yours, whether for the fact that he was not comfortable with having you cry on his shoulder, or the fact that he was thinking about ripping the boy to shreds, you're not sure. Your hand coming up at the front of his sweater, playing with the soft material, getting a sniff of his cologne as you bury your face into his collar, feeling his hand coming up to rub your back, though his movements are a bit stiff. “Everyone laughed,” You continue, feeling a tear slip down your cheek and onto his neck, warm skin getting wetter as you slowly start letting your guard down and letting yourself cry on him. His other hand comes up to your head, soothing over the back of it slowly as he shields you away from the people passing by as they leave the party, his finger tracing over your cheek before moving your hair away from your cheek.

“Steve?” You almost whine as he pulls away, suddenly rising to his feet as the stiff demeanor returns once again, jaw clenching and unclenching when he looks back at the house, music still roaring inside. “No, please, just...” You cut yourself with another sniffle, his eyes darting towards you, lips pursed in thought. “Alright, here's what we're gonna do.” He sighs, coming back to you and getting down on one knee. “We're gonna go back in there, you're gonna show me the asshole that did this to you and I'm gonna have a chat with him.” He explains, forcing a smile on his face as anger bubbles up in his chest the more he looks at you in your current state. Seeing as you have no choice and knowing that it's pretty hard to talk Steve and his overprotective nature out of something like this. Letting him sit you up, you brush and pat off any remained grass off your pants before sheepishly following behind him as he walks inside, your hand holding onto his sleeve to keep yourself from being swept away into the crowd.

It didn't take much to find Nick since he always feels the need to be in the center of attention, thinking of himself to be more important than the rest. Tugging on Steve's arm, you point to the few boys perched at the top of the stairs, looking over the party as if they own the place. With a hum, Steve nods, looking them over before his hand slides into yours, threading your fingers together which should have not made your stomach flip the way it did. Your drunken mind easily flustered by the barest of touches. Letting him guide you through the sea of people again, you almost stumble up the stairs but luckily, Steve's hand keeps you tight against his side, not letting you tumble down.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he lets go and you immediately miss the warmth of his palm against yours, watching as he approaches the group of guys laughing and poking fun at each other or anyone passing them. When Steve greets them they're momentarily stunned to see him out of all people. His highschool party days are long gone ever since the incident that happened on Halloween of '84 which he briefly told you about that involved a lot of heartbreak on his part. You didn't insist on it because you've never liked nor you ever will to have to hear about his failed love life and endless string of hookups.

Whereas he was more the outgoing type, preferring to drown his romantic sorrows with insane amounts of sex, you just liked being with him. Sticking to him like glue in hopes that one day, he'll finally realize that he should not be searching for the perfect girl when she has been in front of him the whole time. Some called you clingy and annoying with the way you were keeping yourself to his side at all times, but he never had a problem with it whatsoever, thinking that's just how you were, so he never let himself think of you as more than a friend, a best friend. Endless nights spend with you snoring softly while laying your head on his thighs, lending you his jacket whenever you gave the first sign of being cold, or right now, sticking up for you when nobody will.

“Great party, huh?” Steve asks smoothly, pointing over his shoulder at the people dancing and bouncing around the living room which was considered the dance floor for the time being. “Lots of girls too.” He points out as his lips curl into a smirk. “Dude that's Steve Harrington...” One of the boys mumbles to Nick and the said boy elbows him into his ribs, flashing Steve a polite and friendly smile. You've never seen Nick act like this, almost as if he was looking up to Steve, or at lest the king he had been in high school once. It took Nick a few more moments to respond something along the lines of “Whoa, dude, didn't expect to see you here.” Still surprised of Steve's appearance, you feel slightly off. Like Steve is planning something but you're not sure what, it might also be the effect of the awful cups of punch you decided to down a few hours ago.

Suddenly remembering Steve's last remark, Nick let's cocky smile pull at his lips, obnoxious dimples on his cheeks. “Of course, can't be a party without.” Even though Steve is towering over him, you can see from your spot at the top of the stairs, a few steps behind Steve that Nick leans in closer, seemingly whispering something to Steve. “Lots of pussy too, if you want you can take any of the girls in Brad's parent's bedroom, they won't mind, right Brad?” You can see the shorter and much thinner boy nod even though he probably disagrees with the idea of strangers having sex in his house, especially on his parent's bed. Even though a few years ago Steve might've cheerfully agreed to that offer, now, his knuckles seem to go white on the railing at Nick's words. The implication of him taking another woman to the bedroom wasn't a foreign one to you, though it still made your guts twist and churn with envy.

“Not here for a quick fuck, sorry to disappoint.” You immediately sense he's being sarcastic, though Nick seems to stay oblivious to the fact as he gives a simple, nonchalant shrug. “Suit yourself,” You don't hear much after that, being swallowed by the swarm of people hurrying upstairs to the bathrooms, probably ready to make a mess they know they're not going to clean. But what you do see is Steve, taking a step closer to Nick, grabbing his shoulder, grip too forceful to be considered friendly while he bends down to the boy's height, shaking him once as he speaks to him. When he pulls back you can see the color drain from his face even though the dim light and colorful flashes of neon all while Steve keeps his awfully friendly smile. With a harsh swallow, the younger boy nods, looking equal parts embarrassed and afraid while looking back at his friends, pushing his way through them before storming off to the bathroom and you're more than sure that he's not going to come out until the guests leave.

You almost feel bad for him, but it quickly passes when you remember the way he haf laughed at you. Steve's arm around you pulls you out of your thoughts, washing away the memories, which with no doubt will haunt you for years. “Hey, you okay?” He asks carefully, his touch infinitely gentler with the way he squeezes and rubs at your upper arm while he bends down to talk into your ear. You do your best to surpress the full body shiver that takes over you the moment his warm breath fans over your ear. “Y-yeah, mhm...what did you say to him?” You ask, letting him guide you down the stairs, his arm still around you even after you exit the crowd, no longer needed to have his touch settle you into his side, but you still let him, drifting closer to the safeness his toned torso offers you.

“Oh, you know. Just reminded him not to be a dick. I'm sure he won't look at you anymore. That unless he wants the broken arms and bruises I promised him.” You gasp, looking up at him in shock. “Steve!” You shriek, barely smacking his chest as you frown. “Why did you do that?” You ask indignantly, not liking the fact that he needed to come and save you like some lost princess, waiting for her knight in shining armor. “He wanted to mess with you, so I messed with him. It seems only fair.” Opening the door for you, he climbs into the car once he makes sure your belt is buckled, seeing as your hands are a bit uncoordinated, alcohol still lingering behind in your system and breath, giving it a punch and beer tint to it.

“My place?” He asks, buckling his belt and fishing out his car keys. You simply nod, settling back into the familiar leather seat, resting your head against the window with a sigh. “Yeah, my parents will kill me if they see me like this. I told them I'll be sleeping at a friend's anyway, they don't expect me to be back until tomorrow.” The rest of the drive is silent, just trying to settle your stomach and the dizziness taking over your stomach each time you spend too much time looking at the passing houses and trees, finally starting to recognize the part of the town where Steve's house is, the imposing house with a large door catching your eye the moment he pulls up into the driveway, climbing out of the car before he opens the door for you, taking your hand to make sure you're not going to trip over your own feet as he walks you inside. Grateful for the silence and comfort of the moment, you blink hazily, head lulling to the side against the wall as you rest back against it. Not registering the fact that Steve is now on his knees, in front of you as he pulls your shoes off.

“Don't pass out on me, yeah? Just a bit more and we're done, I promise I'll let you sleep in my bed.” The promise of feeling his scent on the covers and the plush pillow under your body is enough to keep your eyes open, looking down at him just as he tucks your shoes away, removing his before grabbing your hand again. This time, his touch warms you whole, head to toe sizzling with excitement while he pulls you carefully up the stairs. The room, just like the house, is exactly as you remember it to be. Ugly patterns on the walls, a severe lack of color and less and less Steve-related objects. Just a simple poster of Magic Johnson on the wall next to his desk where if it weren't for the notebooks with his name on them you'd think it was unused. Seeing you looking around, he snaps his fingers in front of your face before he sees your hazy eyes finally focus on him, his lips moving but you're too enchanted by the way the moon shines through the window, directly onto the right side of his face, weakly illuminating his sharp, yet gentle features. “Huh?” You're lost once again in the small twinkle in his eyes.

“I asked if you want some of my clothes to sleep in?” He asks again, moving to his closet once you nod. Pulling out a plain shirt and the smallest pair of pyjama pants he can find, he passes them to you, standing there awkwardly for a moment before pointing back over his shoulder. “I'll...go to the bathroom and let you change.” You nod again, watching him grab some clothes for himself before disappearing into the bathroom. You shimmy out of your party clothes, grimacing slightly at the dried up punch sticking to your clothes. Leaving them in a heap at the bathroom door, you call out to him, telling him that you're decent again before going to the bed, sitting down at the edge of it while waiting for him. Hearing the door click, you turn your head, giving him a nervous smile. You had no idea why your palms were suddenly clammy and your throat dry. This is not your first time in his bed, far from it. But, it's the first time he picks you up from a party, threatening the boy who hurt you then bringing you back to his place, all while treating you like a jewel.

“Now get in before you get cold.” He scolds lightheartedly, ushering you under the covers pulling them up to your neck. “Don't worry, I'll take my parents' bed, just so I don't make this awkward.” He gives you a soft smile, knowing he'll have to deal with a hungover you in the morning. You nip at your lip, opening your mouth to speak before he gets up. Instinctively, in a flash, your hand is wrapped around his wrist, tugging him back to the bed. His brows furrow, pulling together in the middle, deep brown eyes flickering between your face and your hand, holding him tightly as if he would slip away if you didn't. “Or,” You draw out the word, giving his wrist a small tug. “You could stay here.” Your eyes move to the empty side of the bed, silently hoping he'll accept the offer without thinking too much of it, afraid of what he'll find if he does.

All you know is that you need him close, closer than you've ever had him before in your five year friendship with Steve Harrington. Unsure if it's the alcohol talking or you, he hesitates, the last thing he wants is for you to wake up in a bed with him and get the wrong idea or worse, being mad at him for letting himself be convinced by you to sleep in the same bed together. “Are you sure?” The words are a lot more inquisitive than he'd like, knowing the sole reason why he can't be as flirty and touchy with you like he was with other girls.

Because he fell for you, and he fell hard. Like someone dropped him from above the clouds directly onto the hard pavement which at first was terrifying, but now he's learned to live with it. Before he can doubt himself even more than he already does, you pull the covers back, nodding, He accepts your silent invitation, crawling under the heap of blankets with you. Settling on the far end of the bed, you pout into the darkness, turning on your side and curling up. “Steve?”

“Hmm?” One arm under his head, he gazes up at the ceiling, a small flicker of light shining in his eyes from the window. His head turns once you take a longer break from speaking, seeing your eyes running down the slope of his nose, down to where his rosy lips rest in a natural pout. “Thank you.” You murmur, shifting closer to his body, a thick warmth radiating off his body in waves that seems to grasp at your borrowed shirt and tug you closer, wanting you to immerse to the sweet and familiar scent which you can easily recognise that is best described through one word.

Steve.

One little familiar word that can bring a smile on your face each time someone mentions him in a conversation. “You're welcome. Do you need anything else. I can bring you a pill or something.” He offers, unsure of where the conversation is going, though feeling your body drift closer to his. He's never felt this intimate with you, never felt so constricted while being in his own bed. He's not sure if it's bad, but he knows that he's trying to be respectful for you even though he'd like to kiss you more than he ever did.

That familiar feeling of excitement and fear prickling at his stomach because he's so close to kissing you he finds himself breathing in the same air, your wide hazy eyes peering up at him, feeling your hand just shy of his stomach as your knuckles bump into his waist. His body is now facing yours, currently not freaked out by the possibility of feeling Steve Harrington like you've wanted to for so long. You're bolder, much less calculated but letting yourself feel the energy and tension building up between you. You can't believe you're going to actually kiss him, but he doesn't let you take the last step as you crane your neck up, reaching for his lips. With a sigh, he pulls away, rubbing a hand over his face. “You're drunk.” He states, the minimal distance and your shallow breaths still letting him feel the aftertaste of alcohol lingering behind which made him snap out of his little fantasy where you're in love with him and have been for god knows how long. “I'll...” He clears his throat, looking away before sitting up. “I'll take the couch, I'll see you in the morning.” He mumbles, getting out of bed because he knows he can't trust himself around you when you're ready to throw yourself at him. Stumbling out of bed, he whishes you a good night before you're left alone once again. Puling the covers over yourself, you sigh, opting to not think about his rejection too much as you close your eyes, guilt tugging at your heart for pushing his limits more than you should've, knowing you probably made him uncomfortable.

Pressing your face into his pillow, a slight smile tugs at the corners of your lips the moment you feel his scent on the pillow as you inhale. Groaning exasperadely when the sun breaches your eyes, a throb in your temples quickly appearing out of nowhere, a sure reminder of last night's events at the party. Blinking your bleary eyes open, you see the glass of water along with a pill perched up on the nightstand, and the though that Steve saw you asleep makes you cringe a bit though you clear your throat and take the pill nonetheless. Hoping that the atmosphere is now back to normal despite the fact that you almost pounced on your best friend after having to beg him to sleep in the same bed, even though it didn't technically happen as you well remember. The brief thought of grabbing your party clothes and jumping out of his window to avoid having to talk to him again crosses your mind, but you're more than sure that you're still dizzy so you would most probably break at least one bone.

Listening carefully for any sounds coming from outside the room, you furrow your brows at the slight clinking sound, followed by sizzling. Reluctantly, you move out of the comfy warmth of his bed, making your way down the hall where you can see straight to the kitchen. You swallow, finally seeing him as he moves around the generous space with a bowl in hand, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder carelessly. Swallowing down your nerves, you step down the stairs until you clear your thoat, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt that is now over your shoulders, having had the curtesy to offer it to you and not let you sleep in a punch stained shirt. “Morning.” Your voice almost makes him jump, turning around to you and giving you a smile, “Morning. Hungry?” He motions to the stove as he asks, the smell of food finally entering your lungs which instantly makes your stomach growl. You nod, not even noticing the way you lick your lips at the mention of food. Walking to the table, you sit down, hands in your lap as you look at him plate your food. “Thanks for the pill. I barely feel the headache.” And the anxiety at the thought of the conversation we're about to have. You want to add, but decide to keep it to yourself instead when you see the plate of food he places in front of you.

It's not much, some bacon and some scrambled eggs, but it does look good and your heart swells ten times in size when you see the way he's sitting in front of you with his own plate, peeking at you from time to time to catch your reaction, almost like a puppy, he's excited to see how you react. It's really endearing to see that he woke up early to cook something for you, but then again, that's just how Steve is with you. Always taking care of you in one way or another, making sure that you're not cold when you're out, that you're not hungry, or even that you're feeling okay which he has proved last night again when he almost beat up Nick because you told him he had upset you.

Tasting the first bite out of his food, you stop, a bit surprised by the pleasant taste, not expecting to taste that good, but before you can get the compliment out of your mouth, he cuts through the silence. “You don't like it? I'm sorry, I should've asked what you wanted.” He sighs, fork toying with his scrambled eggs and you almost choke on your bacon at his words. “What? No, no, no, I'm sorry for not saying it sooner but this is really good, Steve, thank you, I really appreciate the effort.” His shoulders sag slightly, somewhat relieved to hear that come out of your mouth. “S'really good, I promise.” You smile the moment his lips curl up bashfully at the compliment, thanking you as he starts eating again, wearing a proud, little smile on his face. Going through the food as if someone was going to take it away from you, you hum once you're done, thanking him again before settling back in your seat, the conversation you seemed set on avoiding was now forgotten about until he spoke again.

“So....” Your gaze lifts to his, watching him curiously. “What do you remember from last night?” It catches you off guard, and the way he's patiently waiting lets you know that he really wants an answer to that question. Not sure if you really want to tell him that you remember the way you drunkenly threw yourself at him, you swallow, clearing your throat deciding that this is now or never for the two of you. “Well, I uh, I remember Nick laughing at me, then calling you to pick me up. You drove us back to your place then w-we got into bed...together.” You stop, swallowing slightly as you prepare to utter your next words, feeling the need to drink some water, fiddling with your glass as you place it down. “Then I tried to kiss you,” Looking down at your lap, you pull your lip between your teeth, ashamed to look up at him, the possibility of losing him, your best friend, now more real than ever. “Did you mean it?” He tries to slowly coax a confession out of you, clearing his throat, his hand coming to hold yours over the table. A gesture which could be easily interpreted, though you don't allow yourself to think too much about it.

“I did,” Looking up at him you feel a lot bolder, knowing that there's no going back and you might as well go through with it. “Never meant anything more in my whole life. Steve....”

“Yeah?” He seems to pull his chair closer to the table, swallowing nervously as you see the light shimmer in the brown, deep eyes of his. In a similar manner as it did last night and you feel that gravitational pull again, licking your lips again, this time with a different type of hunger. “Steve, I love you. I have for a really long time.” Feeling as if a rock was lifted off your chest once the words left your lips, you look at him expectantly, heart jumping in your chest the moment he stands up, slowly moving to your side of the table, something about the way his hand slides over your arm has you thinking that the touch is no longer coming from a best friend, and long time coming boyfriend.

He steps towards you, his warm, wierdly soft palm coming up to hold your cheek gently, as if afraid you'll freak out and run away. He's standing over you, lips out of reach so you pull yourself up, fingers curling into his shirt, soft cotton crumpling up between your fingers, letting out a soft sound followed by his name. “Steve,” You look up at him, giving the shirt over his chest a soft tug until you see him leaning down. “I love you too.” He murmurs lowly, affectionately keeping you in his grip by pressing his other hand to your lower back. His words nearly make your knees give out, sensing just how much he had been craving to say them. “Steve, please...” You beg softly, reaching your lips up to his, chasing them as your lips practically feel on fire, his plump ones being the only way to soothe yours. Not letting you finish your sentence, he finally leans down, breaking any barrier between you which kept you from calling him your boyfriend.

You practically whine against his lips, your arm curling over his neck, pulling him lower and keeping him pressed to you. Feeling his lips curl into a soft smile against yours, your heart flutters, head tilting against yours as he leans over you, palm pressing into your back. “I love you.” He says with a grin in an almost sing-song voice, eyes fluttering open when he pulls back slightly. “I love you, you idiot.” You smack his chest softly, laughing with him. “You should've done that a lot sooner.” Humming at your words, he muffles you with another kiss, slowly enjoying you now that he knows that you're his and his only.

taglist: @dahliamae : @livingintheupsidedown :

#steve harrington #stranger things #x reader #joellkeeny #steve harrington is pretty #st4 #steve harrington x reader #fluff #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things s1 #steve harrington angst #comfort #stranger things blurb #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you

[angelasscribbles]

The Crown and the Shield Chapter 8: Healing

Series: The Crown and the Shield

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Constantine x Jackson

Word Count: 922

Rating: PG

Warnings for this chapter: none

Special thanks to @aussiegurl1234 for her input.

A/N: So, we finally come to the final chapter of this “one-shot” lol. I hope it meets expectations.

My other stuff: Master List.

“Today is the one-year anniversary of the Madrid Peace Summit Massacre,” the news anchor addressed the camera.

“It was a dark day for all our countries,” His co-host replied nodding her head sympathetically, “Isabella Hasapis was forced to take the Auverness throne when both her parents were killed, making her the youngest monarch in their history, ascending the throne at only sixteen. In Monterisso, the late queen’s sister was appointed as regent until crown princess Amalas is old enough to rule.”

Constantine turned the volume of the TV up as his mind ran back in time to the worst day of his life.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the white-coated doctor stood with his hands in his pockets as he delivered the news, “We did everything we could. Heroic measures were employed but the injuries from the gunshot wounds were too grievous, and we were unable to save him.”

Constantine’s body shook with sobs. He let himself be led to a chair. He sank into it and dropped his head into his hands. He gathered his emotions as best he could and lifted his head, “And her?”

“I’m sorry, sir, again, the extent of the injuries-“

“So I’ve lost them both?”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. Would you like to see your wife now?”

“Connie, why are you watching this?” Eleanor took the remote from his hand and clicked the TV off just as the footage of his remarks from the south lawn of the palace earlier in the day began to play.

He turned to her with tears in his eyes, “It was the day I lost both my parents. The day I almost lost you. I don’t know how Leo and Liam would have-“

“Hey, we don’t have to worry about that. I’m here. I made it and so did you.”

“Thanks to Jack.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “Thanks to Jack. Speaking of him…don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall and jumped to his feet, “Shit! Yes! I have to go!”

“It’s fine, go!” She shooed him out of their private living room, one hand at the small of her back and the other resting on her burgeoning stomach as she felt the baby kick. “Settle down, Lena. You have a month left in there.”

She missed her in-laws, but she was grateful that both she and her husband had been spared. The bullet had hit her in the side. There had been a lot of blood, but no major organs had been damaged.

She would have joined the king, but she was on partial bedrest for the duration of the pregnancy. She had told Constantine to give her love to the Walker family. She would be forever grateful for the sacrifices made that day.

Constantine stepped out of the limo and approached the group gathered around the gravesite. He made his way to Bianca and swept her into a hug before doing the same with Drake and Savannah in turn.

He stepped forward and touched the cold marble of the marker, his fingers tracing the etching. His throat constricted as he croaked out, “He died a hero.”

“That he did. He stepped right in front of that bullet.”

Constantine turned toward the voice with a solemn expression, “So did you.”

“Damned straight I did! And I’d do it again!”

The king pulled the other man into a tight embrace as he fought back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, “Don’t joke about that, Jack, I almost lost you that day!”

It had been touch and go for two weeks. Constantine had never left his side.

“I’m not joking,” Jackson hugged him back.

Constantine had tried to get him to transfer to a less dangerous position, but Jackson had refused. There was no one else he trusted to safeguard the man he loved.

“Eleanor sends her love to all of you,” Constantine pushed out of Jackson’s arms and turned back to the monument, “We know how much Bastien meant to you.”

“He was like family,” Bianca agreed.

“He didn’t hesitate to take that bullet for her,” Jackson removed a flask of whiskey from his jacket pocket and held it up to the monument in salute, “Here’s to the best junior officer I ever had the privilege of training.”

“To Bastien!” the little group chorused.

When the gathering was over, Constantine and Jackson walked back to the limo together, hand in hand.

The perpetrators of the attack had all been brought to justice and The Liberation Core dismantled. There was some amount of closure in that.

Eleanor had taken the news of his relationship with Jackson in stride.

“I suspected, Connie. But it doesn’t change anything for me. I love you, and I love our boys.”

The only thing she had asked him for was another child. A chance for a girl and he’d given it to her.

In return, she’d given him complete acceptance of his relationship with Jackson.

He was as happy as he could be while still grieving his parents. He would always miss them, but he had a baby on the way, a queen who understood him, and the love of his life by his side.

Next year for his birthday, Jackson was getting that white water rafting trip. Constantine had already booked it. Just the two of them…give or take a few dozen guardsmen.

He glanced at the man next to him with happiness in his heart. He was healing, Cordonia was healing, and the future looked bright.  

~fin

#trr au #trr fanfic #trr fandom #trr au fanfic #choices fic writers creations #tcats #the crown and the shield #angelasscribbles #the royal romance #trr #the royal romance fanfic #cfwc fics of the week #Constantine Rys #Jackson Walker #Connie x Jack #choices stories you play #choices

[annymation]

So how King Florian got himself killed like drinking a poison?

Alright, this is the part 4 of this Prequel I wrote with Amaya and Magnus backstory!

I'm in a writing Florian mood, this OC that has been just in my head for so long is finally getting loose!

If you wanna take a look on how he looks, click HERE to see @uva124 amazing design for him and young Magnus and Amaya!

So here’s how his death went:

King Florian is sleeping on his large comfortable bed, he groans as he wakes up, feeling a terrible headache that has been making him unable to do anything for days now.

“Ughhh my head…”

"Good morning, your majesty" Says a sweet voice from the side of the bed

"AAAH!" The young king get startled by the voice, he turns to the side of the bed and sees "Miss Amaya! You scared the life out of me!" He says shaken up by the sudden wake up call. He calls her miss even though she's just 5 years older than him, just to show respect.

"Oh dear, I’m so sorry, my king" The woman apologizes bowing her head down slightly.

Florian holds his head, still feeling pain, but then he realizes something... "Wait, what are you doing here? Weeks ago you said you'd be away in vacation for a while... I assumed you went to travel with my brother- ugh" He groans because of the headache.

"Heavens no! I wouldn't go traveling in the ocean, not after my past experiences" She chuckles quietly "I just needed a break from the confining walls of the palace, you know? For the past few days I was lodged with a lovely family of farmers"

Said farmers provide the food for the palace. Amaya poisoned their vegetables with a potion that would only give terrible headaches to someone that magic in them, a sorcerer such as Florian. It never affected anyone from the castle staff or the food testers, so no one suspected a thing.

"I see... So what brings you back?" He smiles at her kindly despite being in pain.

"Isn’t it obvious? I’ve came to restore you back to health. You poor thing, I should’ve never left, you’re clearly in desperate need of my talents." Amaya has a gentle smile and eyes full of fake pity. She picks up a tea cup from the king's night stand "Here you go, this will make all the pain go away" her voice is soft as she hand him the tea cup

The king holds the tea and sees his own reflection on it, he looks skeptical "Thank you, but I doubt it, I've been trying every healing spell in the library to get rid of these migraines, but nothing works… It feels more like a curse..."

"A curse? That can’t be, who would ever curse you? You’re so beloved by all of your people" She acts shocked, like she just heard the saddest thing in the world.

"I don't know, but THIS isn’t natural... And speaking of my people, I haven’t granted any wishes for days…" Florian places the tea on his night stand and starts to try getting out of bed, he’s distressed "I shouldn’t keep them waiting- I should at least check a few wishes today, then- I- I-" He feels his legs go limp and just falls back on the bed "Ugghhhhh" He groans in frustration with how weak he feels.

"Shhh come now my king, you must rest" Amaya sounds motherly, she caresses the king’s long hair to comfort him "There’s nothing to worry about, your people love you, they won't mind if they don't get a few wishes for just a little while" those words do indeed help Florian feel better "... What a shame that Magnus went to travel, hm? If he was here perhaps he could help you with the wishes" she says longingly

"Heh nah, he couldn’t do that since he got no magi-" Florian realizes he just blurted out his brother's secret that they both agreed to keep away from the public, and worst, he said it to the maiden his brother is in love with, he lifts his head from the pillow nervously trying to remedy his mistake "UUUH I mean- Umm- He doesn't USE his magic a much as me bu-but-" Florian tries to come up with something, but he's a terrible liar

"Hush now your highness, it's alright, I already know" Amaya said calmly

That caught him out of guard… Sure Amaya has been living in the palace for a year now, but Magnus was always so serious about hiding from others that he has no magic… He really must love her a lot.

“Oh- hehe of course… I should’ve guessed, you two are so close… It makes me glad that he found love, he really changed thanks to you, you know?” Florian looks at her with a thankful smile as he sits on the bed

“He did?” She asks innocently tilting her head “How so?”

“Growing up, he always been closed off and cold… But since you arrived, he has been so much happier and alive, he even started treating ME better, which is crazy cause for years he avoided even looking at me! -Ough” Florian gets excited talking about how his brother has improved, but his migraines start flaring up again, he lowers his head and holds it with both hands.

“Oh your majesty, please lay down.” Florian did as she said, laying back on the bed “There, now drink up, and I promise you’ll feel better before you know it.” She takes the tea cup and gives it to him with a caring smile “My potions always help you feel better, don't they?… And I made it apple flavored, I know it’s your favorite”

It was true, Amaya has been their royal potion maker for about a year, and her potions always did help Florian feel better whenever he had a cold or felt tired. He knew he could trust her.

“… Thank you, Amaya” Florian drinks the tea… it does taste like apple, but it’s really bitter, he makes a face of disgust but tries to hide it to be polite.

“Not to your liking? That’s quite alright, one sip is more than enough for the effects to kick in.” Amaya says as her gentle smile changes into a wicked smirk.

Florian is looking at the tea so he doesn’t see her change in expression "Oh no no! It tastes great hah ha" he lies, then he asks what he should’ve probably asked before even drinking it “And umm what are the effec-“

… Florian feels strange…

He feels sleepiness overtake him... But not like a nice sensation of drifting off to sleep, it's more like his eyelids are being forcefully shut down, he tries his best to keep them open, and he sees Amaya's wicked grin.

"It's nothing much really, you'll just fell a bit sleepy..." Amaya says still with her sweet voice. She takes the tea cup from his shaky hands.

He tries to speak but it's getting hard to breathe, it's like his heart is slowing down even though he's terrified as realization dawns on him.

"Then, your breath will still." Her smile shows how she's just having way too much fun seeing the gleam in his innocent big eyes being shattered with betrayal.

He feels cold, really cold, and it doesn't come from outside, the freezing sensation comes from within him and it's spreading through his whole body. He can't move, but he still manages to look at Amaya angrily with his last strengths.

"And your blood will congeal." She finishes listing the effects of the curse, amused with the young king's angry expression.

Florian tries to resist the curse, he tries to use his magic but he can't focus, everything is becoming blurry but he still hears Amaya's voice as a distant echo

"Oh don't fight it your majesty, just relax, you won't really die after all, you'll simply fall into a sleep LIKE death." She stands up from the chair and covers him with his blanket to look like the king never woke up at all "... Though you will be buried alive, THEN you'll die hahahaah aaah" She laughs devilishly

Florian is losing the battle as his eyes begin to seal shut, but he can still hear Amaya like an echo in his head.

She leans down to whisper in his ear "But I'll tell you a little secret, there is an antidote, wanna know what it is?... True love's kiss." She holds in more laughter like that's the punchline of the joke, as she starts to walk out of the room with the tea cup "Awwn... If only there was someone out there who loved you..."

Those were the last words Florian heard before his mind drifted off into a dreamless slumber, one that he never woke up from.

Magnus returned from his travel not long after, "devastated" by the news. He was the one who buried his "dear little brother".

#wish rewrite #wish reimagined #kingdom of wishes #ask

[ronance4everbrainrot]

Since I've read some of my other incorrect quotes stuff I wanted to make another one with the adults so

Stranger Things incorrect quotes generator (feat. Robin+ the Adults, +Bonus)

Pt. 18

Murray and Robin

Murray: Give me everything you’ve got!

Robin: All your friends secretly hate you.

Murray: Wait, what?

Robin: I’ve got anxiety.

(Oof. I feel that)

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Murray, texting Robin: Text me when you’re home safely.

Robin: I’m home dangerously.

Murray: Stop it.

Robin: I’m home lethally.

(Just some more modern AU fun)

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Robin: You know me, Murray, I don’t take any shit. You know what I say to my haters?

Murray: What?

Robin: I say: “Please don’t hate me, I’m really nice.”

(she is really nice. But she would fight you if you insult one of her friends)

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Robin: No, this is not a mess. You know what I consider a mess?

Murray: Your life?

Robin: I- well yes, but-

(More like my room. It's very messy. And oof)

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Murray: Look, Robin, it's the third time this week you had a mental breakdown and its Monday.

(well a lot is happening rn so let her be)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: Surgery is basically just stabbing someone to life.

Murray: Please never become a surgeon.

(I think she'd hate it anyway)

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Murray: I don’t even have time to tell you how wrong you are.

Robin: Okay?

Murray: …

Murray: …

Murray: Actually it’s gonna bug me if I don’t, so—

(You know. The longest he has not told her how wrong she was, was only 5 minutes)

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Robin: You know what I’ve realized?

Murray: Some thoughts are better left unsaid?

Robin: Nice try, anyways-

(he is getting tired of telling her she's wrong lol)

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Robin: Don’t trust everything you see on the internet.

Murray: Pfft. What possibly nonsense could come from the internet? Oh. Did you know that the Earth is actually flat?

Robin: *Takes away Murray’s phone* Yeah, that enough for you.

(omg no. He has discovered the false conspiracy theories. This is gonna take a bit of arguing and debating with Robin to get him back to reality)

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Robin: Awww, why don't you like cats, Murray? They're just snuggly buddies! They have toe beans! They make a little blep! What's not to love??

Murray: I don't know Robin, I just prefer to be conscious instead of dead on the floor.

Robin:

Murray: I'm ALLERGIC.

(Robin is a golden retriever that loves cats. You know the black cat, golden retriever thing. And Nancy is the black cat that loves dogs. You know with Max's dog. Love that scene)

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Robin: I love you.

Murray: How many people have you said that to?

Robin: Everyone.

Murray: What?

Robin: I told everyone that I love you.

(After she got officially adopted, she loves to say she loves her dad, again. Also her dad and Murray would have gotten along well. Because I say so)

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[Karen and Robin]

Robin: I have an idea.

Karen: A good idea?

Robin: Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

(Robin in that Halloween story)

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Robin: Please, Karen, after everything we’ve been through together. You can’t do this.

Karen: I’m sorry Robin.

Robin: I’m begging you. Don’t do it.

Karen: It has to be done.

Robin:

Karen:

Robin:

Karen: *Places +4* Uno.

(just some game night with the family playing Uno. And Robin thinks Karen doesn't like her because of that)

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Karen: Why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you.

Karen: Ask me to kill for you.

Robin: ...First of all, calm down-

(Oop, that escalated quickly.)

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Karen: Why don’t you go talk to them?

Robin, sarcastically: Oh. Yeah, sure.

Karen: What? So you go tell them they’re cute, what’s the worst that could happen?

Robin: They could hear me.

(Robin accidentally mentions she has a crush, while they had a little party with the party)

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Robin, hungover: Please tell me I'm imagining that I claimed I was king of the ducks.

Karen: I would, but then I would be lying to the King of All Ducks.

(Robin drank a bit too much and stayed over)

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Robin, playing a video game: This game is so frustrating! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!

Karen: Ok, I think it’s time to turn off the game for a little while.

Robin: But I’m having fun!

(I feel that. I am it. It is me)

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Robin: You know, you were right.

Karen: About what specifically? Because I’m right about a lot of things.

(Probably about the game)

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Robin: Dinosaurs aren't extinct. I mean, Ted is walking in this room.

Karen: *wheeze*

(I don't know how dinosaurs are an insult but ok. Just wanted to bring Ted in for the transition)

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[Ted and Robin]

Robin, handing a balloon to Ted: I have no soul. Have a good day!

Ted, walking off: I don't have one either.

(I mean that man is literally Ted. That is what he would respond)

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Ted: The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was changing their name to Robin.

(Robin annoys him every chance she gets)

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Robin: Guess what I'm about to get!

Ted: On my nerves.

(yes)

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Robin: :)

Ted: >:(

Robin: Turn that frown upside down!

Ted: ):<

Robin: Not sure what I was expecting...

(Me neither)

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Ted: There's nothing worse than people using big words they don't understand.

Robin: I photosynthesize with this.

(she knows big words but she just says stuff like that to annoy him lol)

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Robin: Go big or go home!

Ted: Please, for once in your life just go home. I'm begging you. Go. Home.

Robin: I'm going big!

(he just wants his peace. Poor Ted lol)

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Robin: I’m serious! They’re watching me! They’ve even got an agent following me! Don’t you believe me?

Ted: Look, it’s not that I don’t believe you… It’s that I don’t believe you and I don’t care.

(he doesn't care. And he doesn't believe her. He is just annoyed)

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Ted: Knock, knock.

Robin: Who's there?

Ted: Boo!

Robin: Boo who?

Ted: Why are you crying?

Robin: I'm not crying.

Ted: Hello notcrying, I'm Ted.

(He wanted to annoy her back once and pulled a dad joke since his kids hated them. But jokes on him. She also makes dad jokes they bonded over it somehow. Just a little bit)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin, holding a scooter: Ted! Can I go outside and play with this?

Ted: Sure, whatever. I'm not your parent, okay?

Robin, running outside: Thanks Ted!

Ted, running out after them and screaming: NOT ON THE STREET! STAY AWAY!

(omg. He does care)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Ted: What do you want for breakfast, Robin?

Robin: Gay Cheerios.

Ted: I TOLD YOU TO STOP CALLING FRUIT LOOPS THAT!!

(Ted is not homophobic. He just doesn't give a fuck. Any Robin just loves to annoy him. Also he doesn't really yell or scream he just says it with a very frustrated voice. Also Holly picks up on Robin's jokes and also calls them gay Cheerios. She just likes to copy Robin)

(lol just realized gay Cheerios is basically the Unholy Trinity from Glee. Love them)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨���✨✨✨✨

[Joyce and Robin]

Joyce: *Turns on the kitchen light*

Robin: *Sitting at the table, eating bread*

Joyce: It’s four in the morning.

Robin: Turn the light back off.

(this is funny. Also Robin couldn't sleep so she went to the kitchen eating one of her comfort foods. ✨🥖Bread🥖✨)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Joyce: Robin, can I ask you a question?

Robin: Sure, anything.

Joyce: Why don't you go back to your own house and leave us alone?

(Robin wants to steal Will lol. Like in the last one. And when the Byers moved back she was there a lot with Murray tho.)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Joyce: We all have our demons.

Joyce, grabbing Robin: This one’s mine!

(trying to steal her son)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Joyce: Hey, what’s the name of the guy who lives down the hall?

Robin: His cats' names are Walter and Rose.

Joyce: That's not what I asked.

Robin: That is all the information I have.

(The Byers visiting Robin in her new apartment)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: Can we get a birthday cake?

Joyce: It’s not your birthday.

Robin: The cake won’t know!

(Robin wants a cake for the little apartment tour/party)

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Joyce: Robin, why does your bucket list have ‘Die’ on it?

Robin: So I can die feeling at least a little bit accomplished.

(Joyce noticed it in Robin's bedroom when she was looking around. Also oof. But smart. I need to write it down)

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Robin: Don’t mansplain this to me!

Joyce: Wh- I’m a woman! I can't mansplain anything to you!

Robin: …Well, I’m a feminist, and I believe a woman can do anything a man does!

(I just found the quote funny)

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Robin: Hostage or not, sometimes it’s nice being held.

Joyce: Are you okay.

(talking about the time with the Russians)

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Joyce: Life could be worse, Robin.

Robin: Life could be a lot better too!

(so true. So true)

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Joyce: How would you rate your pain?

Robin: 0/10. Would not recommend.

(yeah. Like not at all good 👎)

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Robin: If bees can be fish and boys can be girls, then why can't my mom love me?

Joyce: I thought I was going to have to yell at you, but now I think I should hug you.

(yes Qvq give her a hug)

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[+Hopper]

Robin, to Joyce: If you see Hopper, give them this message *makes a neutral face*

Robin: They'll know what it means.

*later*

Joyce: oh, and Robin said to give you a message.

Joyce: *makes a neutral face*

Hopper: Oh no. The neutral face of displeasure.

(he's seen it a lot when he was at Murray's... The reason is still unknown 👀)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Hopper: Nothing feels better than winning Monopoly. Not love, not sex, not free pizza, nothing!

Robin: I’m sorry, have you tried pizza?

Hopper: Yes, and it doesn’t compare to owning half the board and watching the light die from your friend’s eyes as you take their money and feel your friendship slowly deteriorate.

Joyce: I like you.

(jopper UwU yay. Also oof and yes same)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Hopper: I never tell people off the bat that I'm gay. I wait. I wait until they say some homophobic shit and then I laugh and am like "you know I'm Bisexual right?" and watch the look of terror on their face.

Robin:

Robin: I like you.

(omg Hopper is Bi 👀 is that why he is at Murray's 👀)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Hopper: What are you drinking?

Robin: Vodka.

Hopper: Straight?

Robin: No, gay. Why?

(Gay vodka ✨)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: School sucks.

Hopper: I know, but you have to do it so you can get a job.

Robin: What are jobs like?

Hopper: They suck.

(Oof. Depends. But yes)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: *sighs*

Hopper: You bored?

Robin: Yeah.

Hopper: Wanna start drama for no reason?

Robin: I thought you’d never ask.

(they love drama. Also they just annoy the others with puns)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: Anyone down to take couples counseling and see at what point the therapist realizes we barely know each other?

Hopper: Idiots to lovers, 20k words, angst with a happy ending.

(omg maybe he definitely was reading AO3 in the other incorrect quotes. Also I would love to read something like that)

Kidnapper: I have one of your friends.

Hopper: Which one? I have seven.

Kidnapper: The loud, annoying, rowdy one who never shuts up.

Hopper: Ah. You have Robin.

Robin, distantly: HEY!!!

(he loves her tho. He is just as loud and annoying when they start making puns)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: I’m so tired.

Hopper: Did you get to bed late?

Robin: No.

Hopper: Did you do something strenuous?

Robin: No.

Hopper: Then why are you tired?

Robin: I’m alive.

Hopper: Sounds exhausting.

(Ah yes. It is)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: How would you like your coffee?

Hopper: As dark and as bitter as my soul.

Robin, shouting to someone behind the counter: I need one vanilla latte with extra cream and sugar!

(he has a big heart)

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Robin: I have a 1:30 appointment.

Hopper: Which doctor?

Robin: No, I want the regular doctor.

(They are always trying to get each other with a joke. It's like an ongoing war. And if someone gets tricked the other gets a drink or a snack. Like a little prize)

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[The Sinclairs]

*Sue is casually searching around the room*

Robin: Hey Sue, what’re you looking for?

Sue: My will to live.

*Charles walks into the room*

Sue: Oh, there it is.

(Love this)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Sue: Hey, are you okay?

Robin: Yeah.

Sue: You don't look okay...

Robin: Then stop looking.

(Her mother is being a bitch)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Sue: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Robin?

Robin: No.

Charles: I do!

Sue: I know, Charles.

Charles: I’m sad.

Sue: I know, Charles.

(Sue and Charles always talk about their feelings. They are a healthy couple and good parents)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Sue: Are you alright?

Robin: Short answer or long answer?

Sue: Short?

Robin: No.

Sue: Long?

Robin: Nooooooo.

(Lol. Also why. What happened? 🥺 also she finally talked about her emotions)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Sue: WHO ATE MY BREAD?!

Sue: I'M GOING TO K-

Charles: I did?

Sue: Kiss you and buy some more, you haven't been eating anything today Charles.

Sue: *walks away*

Charles:

Charles: They're gone Robin.

Robin, coming out of the closet with bread stuffed in their mouth: Twankh uh!

(Robin loves bread. Also Sue would have said the same to Robin. But Sue also loves bread. They bond over that.)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: One time I went to hand Sue a bowl of soup. I wanted to say “Careful, it’s hot!”, and “Here’s your soup!”, so instead I blurted out “Careful it’s soup.”

(omg yes be careful. Soup could be bad and not good soup 👀)

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[Ronance]

Nancy: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Robin!

Robin: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

(Nancy finally confronted Robin about Steve and Robin came out to her lol. Idk)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: I can't take this anymore, someone needs to take me out!

Nancy: In a dating type of way, or an assassination type of way?

Robin: I don't know, surprise me!

(I hope it was the first option)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nancy: So you like cats?

Robin: Yeah.

Nancy: *tries to impress them by slowly pushing a glass off the table*

(like I said before. Robin loves cats)

(also this is just all just Nancy trying to flirt with Robin since she came out to her)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nancy: My hands are cold.

Robin: Here, let me hold them.

Nancy: My lips are cold too.

Robin: *covers Nancy's mouth with their hand*

(Nice try Nancy nice try. But maybe something a bit more obvious)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nancy: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out?

Robin: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

(oof. Well I guess you just need to straight up tell her if she doesn't get this l)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Robin: I'm trash.

Nancy: As someone who's environmentally conscious, it's my duty to pick you up. Does 7 work for you?

Robin:

Robin: You smooth motherfucker.

Robin: And yes it does.

(omg it finally worked. Also that was smooth)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nancy: I feel like doing something stupid.

Robin: I’m stupid, do me.

-- (bonus from the Generator)

Nancy: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you...

Robin: Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, Mon amor.

(and well the rest is history. Robin speaking in different languages is like the same thing when Careless Whispers is playing for Nancy (if anyone still gets that joke. I don't know who made it)

--(another Bonus from the Generator)

Nancy: Stop doing that.

Robin: Stop doing what?

Nancy: Saying things that make me wanna kiss the hell out of you.

(🥺)

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Nancy walking into the kitchen and seeing all their limes peeled: Robin, I love you but, what the h-e-double FUCK.

Robin, sipping coffee happily: I love you too :)

(Oh god. This is why she can't have coffee. Who gave her that)

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Robin: Hey, wanna take a shower with me?

Nancy: I have a gun in that nightstand beside the bed. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it out and shot me because I’ve obviously gone crazy.

(Woop. Damn. But you would be crazy if you'd say no)

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Robin: Two bros!

Nancy: Chillin' in a hot tub!

Robin and Nancy, in unison: Zero feet apart 'cause we're GAY AS FUCK!

(two bros. Sitting on a tree. B e i n g g ay )

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Nancy: *Holding up a pack of pencils* These are kinda cute.

Robin: Nancy, that’s gay.

Nancy: We’ve been dating for 2 years—

(I wish)

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Leave any requests for groups or just people you want to see interact.

So that's the end again. Hope you enjoyed it.

I kinda wanted to add more of Sue and Charles, but there weren't any good ones.

Also here is the other one with the adults if you haven't seen it. There is the context to some of the jokes I made.

Bye and lots of love ✨💕💖✨💖💕✨

#stranger things incorrect quotes #long post #incorrect ronance #ronance #robin buckley #murray adopting robin #joyce byers #jim hopper #karen wheeler #ted wheeler

[wordsafterhours]

Songs About You - Chapter 13

Author's Note: Y'all!!!! Finally. It's been what, two months? Eek, I'm so sorry. I had a family loss and then I just couldn't write to save my life. So, long overdue, here's an update and I hope it was worth the wait. Honestly, it was meant to be double the length, but I figured I would split it into two chapters.

Word Count: 4.6k

Masterlist

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

Aelin’s favorite time of year was just about here but there wasn’t an excited ounce in her body. No Yulemas cheer to be found. The decorations for the entire house still sat boxed up, forgotten and dusty in the basement. Several times she’d opened the doors to retrieve them but had found some excuse to not venture down the stairs. Today, was no exception. 

She was sprawled out on the floor in her library, a worn book in her hands, enjoying the warmth of the fire as it danced across her skin. Nothing productive had occurred since Aelin had gotten up but sometimes days spent doing nothing were exactly what one should do. Since Present Tense had been doing well, she had been able to take on an employee: Evangeline.  

Lysandra had met Evangeline through a youth outreach program a few years prior and the pair had formed an amazing bond in the interim, with Lysandra mentoring the young girl. Newly aged out of the system, Evangeline was having to learn to do life on her own, relatively speaking because Lys never strayed far from her side. 

Evangeline was a quick study, surprising Aelin with her knowledge of both fiction and non-fiction volumes. She hadn’t anticipated leaving her alone at the store, but it had become clear that she would call Aelin with any questions or problems. One week later, she was abandoning her baby, choosing to lay on the floor doing nothing. 

The excess free time had proved to be a detriment. Rowan’s steely presence had made her feel better and for days after their sleepover, she had been able to ignore the melancholy. Communication had been few and far between since then. While she wanted to ask him the reasoning, it felt like she couldn’t. They were friends, but not enough to where he owed her explanations or dedicated time for catching up. 

Yet, it’s the only thing she wanted: a meaningful place in his life.  

“This is stupid,” she chastised herself, flopping onto her back and staring at the ceiling. The pattern of seeking outside happiness was hard to break. ‘It hadn’t always been like this’ was quickly proving to be the tag line of her life. Seeking distraction, Aelin plucked her discarded phone from the floor and mindlessly scrolled through her socials. 

It all was a stark reminder of what she didn’t have: a successful relationship, a child, family… She supposed the last one was a quasi-lie. Her cousin and uncle were very much alive but after Arobynn’s deceit had come to life, so had Gavriel and Aedion’s involvement in the Vaults. It was unforgiveable. 

Mercifully, the familiar vibration of an incoming phone call saved her from sinking further into self-pity.

“Hello?” she answered quickly, not bothering to check the caller ID beforehand. 

“Aelinnnnn!” 

“Dorian! It’s so wonderful to hear your voice.”

“Well, you’d hear it more often if you ever bothered to check in,” he replied jokingly but not enough that she didn’t detect a small note of hurt.

“You’re right, I’ve been a shit friend lately.”

“The absolute worst,” Dorian confirmed with dramatic flair.

“To be fair, you didn’t call either.”

“I know, which is why I’m following up this phone call with an invitation to see my handsome, smiling face in person.”

“WHAT?” she yelped, jumping to her feet. “You’re here in Orynth?” 

“Specifically, 20 King’s Road.”

Mere seconds ticked by, just enough for his statement to sink in, before she was pushing through the library door, dodging the dog lying on her bedroom floor, and sprinting down the stairs. Aelin was in Dorian’s arms the moment she opened the door, clinging to him as though he were life itself. 

Not ready for her launch, the man stumbled backwards a few steps, but managed to stabilize them both as he held her close. “Hi, Ae,” he mumbled into her hair.

“It’s been too long, Dor.” 

She slipped from his grasp, taking a step back to take him all in. Dorian had this enduring boyish charm to him, and his laughter was infectious. Sometimes, she envied the way he seemed to have nothing weighing him down, like he hadn’t a single care in the world. He was passionate and loyal and always seemed to show up when he was needed. His black hair had grown longer in the year apart, touching his collar and following over his ears. Bright eyed as ever. 

“Are you done?” he jested, rolling his eyes. 

“I was just making sure I was still the most beautiful one in this friendship.” 

A pinched look appeared on Dorian’s face, and she knew he was internally trying to talk himself down from participating in this redundant argument. Both vain, both beautiful, and always trying to outdo the other. “I’m not doing this with you, not today. This is a pass because of what’s been going on in your life. Not that you bothered to tell me. I had to listen to my best friend go on and on about it. Let me tell you, after an hour, I was ready to be fed to a pack of ghost leopards.” 

The blonde did her best not to laugh, but a small chuckle escaped.

“Go ahead, laugh at my misery. There is nothing I could ever do or have done to deserve listening to that man whine drunkenly for the better part of an entire evening. It was pathetic really.” 

“Thank you for your service,” Aelin grinned, placing a reassuring hand on Dorian’s shoulder. 

“Don’t mention it… or actually, I know how you can repay me,” the raven-haired man announced, a devilish smirk tipping up his lips.

‘This, this is not good,’ Aelin thought to herself. Dorian was a level unto himself, and her current state would not allow her to keep up with whatever hairbrained idea he seemed to be concocting.  

Muscle taut, she braced herself for what his next words would be.

“You can come to Moonie’s with me.”

“Huh?” 

“Close your jaw and nod your pretty little head in agreement.” 

“How do you even know about Moonie’s?”

The rustic bar was not Dorian’s scene. He haunted places like Manon’s bar, The Thirteen; places with a certain ambiance and ability to have VIP section and service. He was very much a creature of luxury subsequent to his wealthy upbringing. 

“Why must everything be so difficult?” he whined, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I started my morning at your store, except to my surprise, you weren’t there, and a young, dark-headed girl was. Naturally, I introduced myself in attempt to discern your whereabouts when Lys came in and interrupted the conversation per usual. Anyways, long story short, I traded a ‘yes’ to the bar to catch up, for your location.” 

“Well, you’re in for a treat.” 

“Gods, where is this establishment? The Staghorns themselves?” her male counterpart griped from the passenger seat. 

“Oh hush. It’s not even been half an hour.”

“I’m going to murder Lysandra. Moonie’s is really code for ‘the woods’, isn’t it?” 

Aelin slid her gaze sideways, pinning Dorian with an annoyed look. A small fragment of her felt sympathy but another part relished in how distressed he looked, half his face pressed into the window and his bottom lip stuck out, pouting. As soon as they got to the bar, this would be Lysandra’s problem. There were beers and Fenrys awaiting her. 

Soon, she was parking her vehicle in the lot, pleased to have found up front parking. It was going to be a good night if the plethora of parked cars was any indication. The driver-side door wasn’t even shut before her turquoise eyes saw the back of Dorian disappearing into the bar. “No, that’s fine. Don’t wait for me,” Aelin muttered to the cold night air. 

The loud cacophony of Moonie’s patrons reached her ears before she’d even set both feet on the worn porch. Whatever she had been expecting, it was not this. There wasn’t an empty table to be found, with many groups of people standing amongst themselves, drinking and talking. The carved-out area of the dance floor was equally occupied, twirling bodies artfully avoiding one another as they moved about. Despite the somber mood that had gripped her most of the day, even in the presence of her giddy friend, Aelin found her pink lips pulling up into the ghost of a smile. 

Fenrys’ blond head was a glowing beacon up towards the bar, summoning her like a moth to flame. As she neared, an unladylike snort left her as she noted Dorian and him locked in conversation. The odds of those two finding one another should have been higher—for her sake, at the very least. 

“There she is, the only woman I’ll ever get on my knees for,” crooned Fenrys, hand out in expectation. 

Aelin’s cheeks burned, the drunkenly declared compliment making her feel as though the entire bar had heard him. Still, she took his hand, and he pulled her close, body flush against his. Dorian, grinning like a fiend, said nothing as he took sip from his glass.

“I see you move quick,” she observed.

“It’s not my fault you’re slow.”

“Dor, you practically ran inside. There was a dust shaped outline of you by the passenger side door.”

“I did not run in here like some degenerate alcoholic,” he asserted with a pinched look. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

“Gods themselves, remind me why we’re friends again?” 

“Because she’s perfect,” chimed in Fenrys, briefly squeezing her tighter. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Aelin admitted. 

“One of these days, you’re going to see yourself the way everyone else does,” the raven-haired man quietly acknowledged, dimming the playful tone of the conversation. 

Feeling awkward, she shuffled through her brain for a redirection tact. “I want you guys to tell me something—” Both their gazes on her, interest piqued as they waited for her to continue. “How is that you two singled one another out in the bar with this many people in it?” 

A coy look passed between the two. “Oh Aelin, didn’t anyone every tell you, like calls to like?” 

Raising her hand in protest, she was quickly shushed by Fenrys as he insisted that they go sit down. Still trapped by his arm around her shoulders, there was no choice but to follow. Before the night was over, the actual reason would come to light. 

Two long tables were shoved together to accommodate the gathering of friends tonight. Half a bench was open at one of them and Aelin sat, smothered between Dorian and Fenrys. At the opposite end, a familiar head of silver caught her eye. Subtly, she looked over; instant regret filled her veins as she caught him placing a kiss to Lyria’s lips. 

Unconsciously, her body must have stiffened, because suddenly Dorian was leaning into her, his lips brushing against the shell of her right ear. “You okay?” 

Not trusting her voice, she worried her lip, giving the best nod she could muster. His blue eyes appraised her heavily before flicking away. Steeling herself, Aelin joined in the conversation, doing her best to catch up with everyone and ignore Rowan and Lyria without seeming like she was. 

Every now and again, the boys would lean in, and ask her if she was doing okay. Or make small jokes and off-colored comments. Perhaps, because of their closeness, they could feel the unyielding tension in her body or sense that she wasn’t really engaged, interjecting at bare minimum… whatever it was, she was grateful for their check-ins. It also helped distract her from the feeling of eyes boring into the side of her head. 

“Fen, move, I have to pee,” she whispered, tapping his thigh.

“And here I thought you were trying to cop a feel.”

“If that ever happens, you’ll know,” Aelin declared. 

“You promise?” he waggled his eyes brows, laughing harder as her gaze narrowed. 

Flustered at being so easily ruffled, Aelin hurried down the dimly lit corridor to the bathrooms. Why they were so far out of the way, she’d never understand, but at least it was quieter here and free from intense stares. Worn frames with black and white photos lined the hallway. Until now, Aelin hadn’t really noticed their presence, whether it was from alcohol or general unawareness, she couldn’t say.

Smiling, familiar faces stared back at her. It was “The Cadre”, Rowan and his friends, in various ages and settings. Rowan wasn’t in the younger ones, but you would have never guessed from how well he fit into the ones he was a part of. His accent was a dead giveaway that he came from across the sea but in their conversations, exactly where had not come to light.

Wistfully, her fingers traced along the frames, chasing the feelings depicted within. Their happiness was palpable, seemingly leaking from the edges, highlighting emotions not privy to her for some time. 

“That was last summer,” a rough, lilted voice spoke from behind her, sending her heart skittering into rapid staccato. Hand to chest, Aelin refused to turn around, instead electing to remain looking the photo. All five were covered in mud, looking at one another and laughing—so carefree and present. It truly was a magnificent candid shot. 

Teeth, sharp, sunk into her plush bottom lip, reminding her to maintain composure as she felt him move closer, nearly flush against her back. It would take nothing to close the distance, something she wanted more than anything, but would not grant him the satisfaction. 

His warm breath fanned against her as he spoke once more. “We were helping one of my neighbors clean up their property. Too many felled trees and debris result in increased fire hazard. And last year, it had been dry, no rain and was windy the entire blasted month of June. I was afraid that if a fire happened, they would lose their house. So, the guys, they helped clean it up. The last day, it rained… Actually, it was a godsdamned torrential down pour. This was taken after it quit. To say we had fun would be an understatement.” 

Aelin could feel the joy of that day like it was her own. Rowan, he was a natural born storyteller. It didn’t matter with what he had to say was two sentences or twenty, she always found herself on the proverbial edge of her seat, waiting for what he’d say next. It seemed as though he was done when the silence lapsed from seconds into minutes. 

She could feel the large breath he loosed, the distance between them still so minute that he could have been touching her. “Nothing to say?”

Frustration clung heavy to those three little words. 

“No.” Succinct. No room for argument. 

“You and I both know that’s a lie. I can see how flushed your skin is. You posture is bone-breaking rigid. You’re tapping your fingers against your thigh.” It was the arrogance of his observation that burst the dam. 

“You don’t deserve my words, Rowan. Only my friends deserve my words.”

He snorted, widening the space between them, her body cried at the loss of his warmth. “That must be why you were practically in Fenrys’ and Adarlanian prince’s laps all night, whispering in their ears. I wasn’t aware that was appropriate behavior amongst friends.” 

First. How dare he. Aelin was seething at what the silver-haired man had just implied. Secondly, how did he know Dorian was the son of Adarlan’s governor? Had she been that checked out in the conversation? Thirdly, he was all over Lyria since she had sat down at the table. 

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Go. Fuck. Yourself. You literally slept in my bed, witnessed me at my worst, and then disappeared for weeks. I’ve reached out, you’ve not answered or give one- or two-word replies. What happened to ‘you can count on me’?”  

The telltale burning of tears had Aelin digging her nails into her palms, a poor attempt at redirecting her frustration and hurt. 

“I have a life, Aelin! I’ve been busy. I have a girlfriend. I can’t just be around 24/7 to hold your hand,” he barked angrily, throwing his hands up. 

Girlfriend. 

Girlfriend. That word echoed against the walls of newly formed cavern in her chest. She was going to be sick. 

“Well, excuse me for having taken you at your word. I am sorry to have wasted your time and you won’t have to worry about ‘holding’ my hand anymore.”

An unknown emotion flitted across his face as she used her hands to quote him. Not giving him the chance of rebuttal, she hit her shoulder hard into his as she passed. Fleeing into the bathroom, with barely enough time to lock the door, her knees buckled. 

She pressed the heel of her hands hard into her eyes, almost to the point of pain, quelling the tears. If her lids had to be taped shut in order for no tears to come, that’s what would happen. Despite wanting to give up, wanting to give in to the debilitating sadness and exhaustion, she could not go there again. There would be no one left on the other side.

Rising to her feet, Aelin walked to the sink, and splashed cool water on her face. Two swipes of a paper towel and her runny mascara looked immaculate again. Pale skin was marred pink, eyes a little swollen, but hopefully no one at the table would look too closely. 

Her heart lifted a little when she returned to the table to see neither Rowan nor Lyria in sight. At least she wouldn’t have to sit there, acting normal, after having her heart pulverized by his callous words. Both Dorian and Fenrys jumped to their feet when she came to stand behind them. 

“Aeeeeeee, you were gone for so long, I thought you left me,” slurred Dorian, throwing a heavy arm around her. 

“He acts like he didn’t want that,” Fenrys chimed in, pointedly looking at his new friend.

Dorian pinked up and looked away. “What did I miss?”

“An extremely interesting round of truth or dare.” 

“Well, fill me in,” she pleaded. A distraction was welcome, needed. 

“Oh no, no, no my dashing blonde friend. You snooze, you lose,” cooed Dorian, leaning his head against her.

“I’m sorry I have a bladder.” 

“Learn to hold it like the rest of us.”

“You know what, you can sit here with everyone else. Fenrys and I are going to dance.” She slipped out from his grasp, instead trading it for the golden male’s. Dorian made to follow them, but Manon grabbed his hand before he could get to far. Aelin smirked, mouthing thanks to her friend. She wasn’t sure what he was whining in protest, but from the overly devious look on the other woman’s face, Aelin was feeling quite satisfied and not the least bit sorry. 

The song playing throughout the bar didn’t fit the ambience of the establishment, but she supposed that it was one of the things that made Moonie’s so charming.  It was never what she expected. 

Rhythmic beats pulsed through the air and Aelin moved her body against Fen’s without a care in the world. Her back was flush to his chest, but not indecent enough that anyone could yell “get a room” at them. The male’s hands, came to rest on her hips, holding her close the best he could while also maintaining a decent hold of his drink.

Still, unfairly aware of her surroundings, her deft fingers relieved him of his drink. She downed it in an instant, grimacing only slightly as the unpleasant burn of whiskey gripped her throat. 

“Some of us were drinking that!” Fenrys remarked against the shell of her ear.

“It was very good, thank you.”

“Would you like another?”

She nodded, holding up two fingers to convey a double. 

Spinning, hands up in the air, Aelin laughed, not caring if she looked ridiculous. The alcohol was providing enough of a light-headed feeling that she no longer was noting every detail, cataloguing the people around, cycling through Rowan’s cruel conversation behind it all. 

By the next song, Fenrys was making his way back to her, drinks in hand and Dorian, looking a little worse for wear, trailing behind him. “Hi babes!” she joyfully (drunkenly) declared, throwing her weight into Dorian as she wrapped her arms around him. 

“I see you’ve been having fun.” 

She tucked her head in embarrassment, a sheepish laugh escaping her. 

“It’s about time you laughed. You don’t do it enough and it’s beautiful,” her other friend said from behind. A full glass of whatever whiskey concoction he had gotten her, appeared in her peripheral. She grabbed it, pushing away from Dorian, and quickly disappearing half the glass before anyone could caution her against it. 

It burned less, numbed more, and it was exactly the feeling Aelin was desperately chasing. The blurred state that only came with participating in reckless behaviors. As the glass touched her lips again, the weight of heavy stares caused her to pause. The two sets of eyes were so starkly different, a night and day contrast, yet both conveyed the same thing: 

You should slow down. 

“What?” she asked innocently, hoping no lecture or words of caution would result from it. 

The two shared a glance but neither spoke up, instead choosing to wash down their words with libations. 

The drink was gone, and they’d been idle too long. “Let’s dance!” she yelled, spinning away with childish abandonment. The group huddled together, moving to some electronic pop number. Fists in the air, they jumped up and down, careful not to knock into anyone else. 

Aelin felt weightless. Carefree. Untraumatized. Too long it had been since she had felt so unburdened from her life. This feeling was addictive and she wished that this moment could be bottled up, to be sipped on later when the heaviness of it all, was drowning her so relentlessly. 

They danced and danced and danced. Sometimes, she was sandwiched between the two boys, other times, they danced alone, or took turns spinning one another when a two-step song came on. Her legs would be akin to a new-born deer tomorrow, unlikely to hold her up. Perhaps, Fleetfoot would entertain herself… unlikely but with the high she was riding tonight, a small glimmer of hope nagged her thoughts. 

“Guys,” she said loudly over the music, “I think I’m going to go sit down for a second. Elide needs to come dance with us. I’m going to have to pry her off Lorcan.” 

“Goodluck,” Fenrys muttered whilst giving her a dramatic salute. 

Her legs felt like jello as she did her best to remain upright through her stumble off the dance floor. The lightheaded feeling created by copious amounts of alcohol was still present but not as severe as it had been. Her two dance partners where largely to blame for her current elated mood. 

Spying their table, her eyes roved over familiar heads, but disappointingly, Lorcan was present without Elide. Two others were also still surprisingly absent. Despite their earlier altercation, her heart still withered a little in her chest knowing he had truly left with Lyria. 

“Where’s ‘Lide?” Aelin asked of no one in particular. 

Vaughn pointed over his shoulder, “Taking someone for all their money in pool.” Loudly she snorted. Elide was a pool shark and was never suspected of it until halfway through a game. It was a good bit of entertainment on many occasions. 

The petite creature in question was leaning against a pool table, stick pressed against her face, animatedly talking to somebody sitting down. Two seconds away from barreling in unannounced, Aelin stopped dead in her tracks, as though an invisible wall had been dropped in front of her. 

“—the only remaining family she has was charged in connection with Arobynn and the Vaults. They later dropped the charges in exchange for information, but she never forgave them.” 

“Why not?” 

“You didn’t know her before. She was this bright flame, drawing everyone to her. Even when we were kids, you couldn’t help but notice her. A godsdamned force of nature with a penchant for sweets. She drove Rhoe and Evalin crazy… I think it’s why they just had one kid, ya know? And then, when Gavriel and Aedion moved to the city, she gained a sibling, and never looked back. The thing about her, is she loves with her whole heart—all or nothing. So when she gets let down, she really feels it.”

Aelin didn’t dare move, frozen in equal parts disbelief, anger, and uncertainty. How could her best friend be talking about her life like none of it was painful, private? Or hers to safeguard or disclose? Her cousin and uncle’s names still salt in raw wound. 

“After her parents, she recovered by leaning on the remaining men in her life that she considered family. But when Arobynn was found to be the reason they were dead and that her cousin and uncle had been involved in the underground operation he largely headed, it broke something in her. The fire dimmed. I think most days, it’s nothing more than a hot coal, barely glowing.”

A few beats of uncomfortable silence passed before the petite, dark-haired woman added, “Somedays, I think she’d be okay with laying down and never getting up again.” 

“I think you’re right.” It was the absolute pity in his lilting voice that spurred her into action.

Clapping down the triangular ball setter, Aelin took momentary satisfaction in Elide’s surprise and subsequent dropping on the pool stick. 

“I don’t know what hurts worse, that my best friend is talking about my life like it’s Friday night dinner conversation or that you’re listening like you don’t shit on my feelings every two godsdamned seconds!” 

Both looked shamefaced, standing next to one another, refusing to meet her gaze. 

“One of you has a right to my life because you’ve been here to see it. You knew my parents, my cousin, my uncle. You had a front row seat to me falling apart, wiped my tears when it became too much. You know better. Or you should. There’s stuff that you know that not even my ex-boyfriend of six years knew.”

Elide went to open her mouth, dark eyes finally rising to meet Aelin’s furious and hurt gaze. She nodded, holding up a palm before looking at Rowan, narrowing her gaze.

“And you! Are my feelings some sort of game to you? One minute you’re promising to be around, to be someone I can count on, and the next, you’re squashing me under your boot. You can’t have it both ways, Rowan. You either fucking care or you don’t. I don’t need your pity when it’s convenient.” Aelin had done her best not to cry, but the minute her voice cracked on his name, the tears slowly rolled down flushed cheeks. 

If someone had dropped a pen, it would have echoed. The bar’s merriment and debauchery had simply vanished in the wake of this unfolding debacle.

“Ae—” Rowan started in as he took a step towards her. 

“I think you’ve done enough, Ro,” Fenrys said from somewhere behind her. Soon, his warm hug enveloped her from behind. She sagged in relief. The silver-haired man took another two steps before he stopped, heeding whatever look her blond counterpart had given him. 

“You okay?” he whispered into her hair. 

Too tired to answer, she meekly nodded no. 

“I’ll take you home, Kid.” 

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

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#rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #elide lochan #fenrys moonbeam #Moonie's #rowaelin #rowaelin au #dorian havilliard #I kinda stan a dorian and Fenrys romp ;) #throne of glass #songs about you #romance #slow burn #will Aelin ever stop crying? #friends to lovers

[whisker-biscuit]

The Lines We Cross: Chapter 19

The Unseen Foe

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Sometimes I’m not angry, I’m hurt, and there’s a big difference.

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It was no secret that the Panda King was a ruthless, dangerous criminal.

Born penniless, the man had grown up fascinated by fireworks and had spent a decade learning the art, hoping to impress the rich business that set up shops every New Years to sell only the highest quality products. When they had instead proceeded to ridicule him and ruined his already-meager reputation, he and his sister had been forced to relocate halfway across China just to find work under people who did not share the connections with the men that had made a laughing stock out of his work.

“Inspector Fox.”

Humiliated, King had eventually returned to take revenge on those who shunned him by using the very tools of his art for crime, destroying both their livelihoods and their lives with his fatal fireworks. The Fiendish Five had recruited him as their demolition’s expert within a few short years afterwards, and from then on, his explosive touch became feared worldwide.

“Inspector Fox.”

The panda was well-known for returning to his home country after a completed job with his cohorts. His last sighting had been a year and a half ago at the eastern border between China and North Korea. But no one seemed to know where, exactly, he holed up in, and local police provinces were either unhelpful or unwelcoming towards every Interpol effort to find information about him.

If only there was one clue they could get, one tiny piece to jumpstart the puzzle, then –

“FOX!”

Carmelita jolted out of her train of thought to see Inspector Barkley standing in the doorway to her office. His arms were folded impatiently with an unimpressed look on his face, and she hunched up her shoulders in embarrassment as she turned away from the world map on her corkboard wall that was littered with little red pins. A few in Europe, another several in Africa, one or two down the coast of South America.

An entire cluster across the whole of China.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just so focused…”

“So I’ve noticed,” he said gruffly, stepping up beside her to study her wall map and the chaos of tacks all over it. “Just wanted to check in and see how things are going. You’ve been holed up in your office since you’ve been back.”

The fox swallowed. It had been nearly two weeks since the…since she had returned from Wales. She had come back to France out of a blinding need for familiarity and security, but nothing seemed to help calm her scattered thoughts. Staying home felt lonely and unproductive. Working in the office felt crowded and confining. She was stuck in a limbo where all she seemed to think about was the worst day of her life and all she wanted to think about was anything but that.

What made it even worse was that she couldn’t fall back on her main case to distract her. With only two members of the Five left to find, no strong leads for one and practically zero information on the other, the inspector had hit a brick wall that left her frustrated on her best days, and nearly depressed on her lowest.

Barkley seemed to have caught on to that last fact, considering he was standing here when she couldn’t remember the last time he had sought her out willingly instead of summoning her to his office. He continued to eye the mess across the wall, stroking his mustache almost thoughtfully.

“Finally hit a wall on the Fiendish Five case, hm?”

“Not a permanent one!” She rapidly replied, fighting the urge to fidget like a child scared of disappointing their teacher. “Just…a minor bump in the road. I’ll be right back on track soon, I swear.”

“Relax, Fox. We’re not going to boot you from the case for getting stuck. Considering you’ve taken down more than half of them in the last month when we had couldn’t even manage one in fifteen years, it’d be foolhardy to even entertain the idea.”

Guilt made Carmelita’s tail curl behind her out of her boss’ line of sight. She didn’t deserve that praise. Not when she had been unknowingly relying on help and info from a traitorous, heartbreaking criminal.

“I appreciate your faith in me, sir,” came her response anyway, because it was what she would’ve said in any other circumstance. He couldn’t know about what she’d done. Who she’d trusted.

The badger grunted, still stroking his mustache, then appeared to come to a decision. He motioned for her to follow him out the door and down the hall. “What you need is a change of pace, I think. Something to keep your mind sharp while you’re working through this rut so you can return to the case with a fresh pair of eyes.”

“Did you have another case in mind, sir?”

“Not quite.” He led her down a set of stairs, down to the floor where they questioned those they had arrested. “Let me ask you – when was the last time you helped out with an interrogation?”

“Since before I started working on the Fiendish Five case.”

She was intrigued despite her melancholy; interrogations were usually boring or unfruitful, but she knew how to cast an intimidating presence and it had often yielded results when her coworkers were unsuccessful. It would probably be less likely to make her want to bash her head against the wall, at any rate.

Then they entered the observation room adjacent to the holding pen, and she got a clear look at exactly who she was supposed to be questioning. Sir Raleigh sat in his chair with perfect posture, picking idly at whatever perceived dirt he could find along his cuffed hands. Even from the other side of the one-way mirror, the fox could practically feel his boredom for the situation he’d found himself in.

Barkley started talking about everything they’d tried to make the machinist speak against his still-free cohorts, but all of it went in one ear and out the other as Carmelita stared at the man who had pushed the tiny metaphorical snowball into the cascading mess that was currently wrecking her life. There was not a single part of her that didn’t want to go into that room.

“Well, Fox? What do you say? Think you can get your most recent quarry to finally crack?”

What left her mouth was almost automatic. “Of course, sir.”

She had no way of saying no without having to explain herself. She didn’t want to talk to Raleigh, with every fiber of her being, but even more than that, she absolutely did not want to share any of the events that had transpired from the moment she’d stepped foot onto a certain ransacked street in Mesa City.

Mechanically, distantly, the inspector entered the room. Raleigh didn’t even glance up from his fingers.

“I want my phone call,” he said, sounding both curt and unconcerned. It was a disturbing talent he had, truly.

Carmelita took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she sat down across from him. “Did someone promise you a phone call?”

The sound of her voice finally got the frog’s attention. He looked at her, surprised for all of two seconds before a downright catty grin curled across his visage.

“Well, well, well. To what do I owe the honor to be graced by your presence?”

“I’m here because I’ve heard you weren’t cooperating with our other officers.”

“’Cooperate’ is an awfully generous term, Inspector. I’ve merely been exercising my right to general silence and I have been harassed immensely for it.”

The grin had stricken fear in her heart, but she forced herself to relax when he didn’t act on whatever was obviously going on in his head. So long as he remained indignant about how he was being treated, there was a very good chance she could get through this encounter without him bringing up the elephant in the room.

The raccoon, to be more precise.

“There are standard procedures in place for these interrogations,” she said, trying to appear the no-nonsense inspector that she was. “Whatever injustices you believe you have experienced, we will make note of it.”

“If I recall, allowing a prisoner at least one phone call is also standard procedure, but no one has given me that courtesy yet. Interpol certainly doesn’t practice what it preaches, does it?”

"We'll see about getting you your phone call once our discussion is over. Your cooperation will speed things along."

Raleigh scoffed and folded his arms, looking at her like she was a bug to squish. “Bloody get on with it, then.”

“Very well. How long have you been a member of the Fiendish Five?”

“No doubt since you were in diapers, little wench.”

She ignored the insult. This was much more familiar territory now. “Can you give me any specific dates? Even just a year?”

“How bizarre. I can’t seem to remember. Next question.”

“Fine. We’ll come back to that one later, then. What kind of technology did you provide for your fellow colleagues?”

“I’m sure you lot have enough neurons to share between yourselves to figure it out from the private residence you ransacked when you assaulted me.”

Another jab that was easy to sidestep. The sooner she asked her questions, the sooner she could get out of this room and back to relative safety. Extending their time together by getting riled up was only adding risk to herself.

“Where are the rest of the Fiendish Five located?”

“Do I look like a rat to you?” He sneered. “Why are you even asking me that? Don’t you already have a –”

Raleigh broke off suddenly, staring at her in a way that made her fur bristle. He sat back in his chair with a rising smirk.

“Ah. You lost him, didn’t you?”

The fox stiffened where she sat, feeling Barkley’s eyes through the one-way window. She took a deep breath and put on her best poker face of puzzlement.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’d like to stay on topic.”

“Of course, you would. Someone like you doesn’t want to be reminded of what she let slip through her fingers.” How desperately she wanted to wipe that awful grin off his face. “I can’t say I blame you for it, though. He’s trickier than even I realized. A sly little thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Carmelita’s fingers twitched against the table, but the frog didn’t acknowledge it beyond a widening of his smile. She prayed to all that was holy that he didn’t go any further – that this was just a dig to get under her skin, that he wouldn’t expose her secret to her fellow officers.

Her terrible, terrible secret.

Raleigh opened his mouth again and she braced herself for the worst, knowing he was a criminal, knowing he’d relish a chance to throw her under the bus and ruin her reputation, blow her credibility as a detective to smithereens entirely as a form of revenge –

“I’m done answering pointless questions. I want my phone call now. I won’t speak to anyone again until I get it.”

“...What?” She asked dumbly, thrown completely off balance.

“Phone call, Inspector,” the machinist scoffed. All traces of amusement had disappeared under impatience and contempt. “Are you daft? Just as moronic as those other rozzers who were in here earlier? Tell your boss that either I get my call, or you’ll be stuck in this pissing contest you’re so eager to have forever.”

“I’ll – I’ll see what I can do,” came the lame response as Carmelita struggled to comprehend the fact that he wasn’t going to expose her deeper involvement with one of his fellow criminals.

Raleigh refused to answer anything else, and sat in irritated silence until the inspector finally gave up and retreated out of the room. Barkley was waiting for her.

“I’ll have someone else work on him for a while,” he promised, studying his subordinate as she ran a stressed hand through her hair. “He’s probably more likely to cooperate with someone who didn’t have a hand in bringing him in.”

“Right,” she murmured, staring out the one-sided window at the criminal who was still sulkily lounging in his chair.

“Raleigh seems to think you had another Fiendish Five member within your grasp, though,” the badger pointed out. “Know how he reached that conclusion?”

“I…I thought I had a decent lead on Clockwerk.” The lie rolled off her tongue so smoothly. She hated herself for it. “I had found something in the boathouse that seemed connected to him. Raleigh saw me with it when we were fighting. It turned out to be a...waste of time.”

That last part was true, at least, but her gut still twisted into a pretzel as her boss accepted the story without question. He stroked his mustache in thought.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea – looking into Clockwerk until you get over that wall you’ve hit on the Panda King’s case, I mean. How much have you delved into on him?”

“Not much,” Carmelita admitted. “I read his file along with the rest when you first sent them to me, but there wasn’t much to go on. I haven’t touched it since.”

Barkley exhaled harshly through his nose. “He’s definitely the most elusive member. We were damn lucky to even get photos, and those are barely identifying at all.”

A traitorous thought drifted across her skull; wondering if Sly had ever seen their leader in person. Would he have described him if she’d asked? Her jaw clenched tight as she rubbed her eyes in an attempt to banish him from her mind yet again.

“I’ll keep you posted on any new progress I make,” she said, trying and failing to sound less exhausted than she felt.

“Good. And I’ll let you know if anything changes here.”

The two of them looked through the window. Neither had particularly high hopes.

“Keep up the good work, Fox,” he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“Thank you, sir.”

The walk back to her office felt twice as long as the walk away from it. Every time the inspector passed a coworker by, she could feel the respect and recognition in all of their gazes – things that had been in short supply before she had taken on her most recent case. Instead of feeling happy and welcome, all she wanted to do was shy away in shame, knowing that it had been earned through a farce. Secluding herself from those looks did little to help, but she did it anyway.

Carmelita collapsed in her desk chair and put her face in her hands. No matter what she said or did, thoughts about Sly – Cooper – kept coming back to her like weeds rooted in her brain. She bared her teeth, pressing her fingers harshly against her temples, and warred with her broken heart to please, please focus on anything else.

But no matter how hard she tried not to, the picture of Sly’s face and the sound of his voice was stark in her mind. Teasing her for her struggles on a mission; getting infuriatingly quiet when he felt like being obtuse to her questions; sending biting words her way that got her blood pumping with the urge to bite right back and prove him wrong.

The way he’d screamed her name when she was nearly crushed by Raleigh.

The inspector shook her head, trying to clear it all away, but it warped into other memories instead. The way he had listened to her stories on their long plane rides. His laughter growing less and less reserved every time she was actually able to make him laugh. That night on the roof together when he had admitted he trusted her; wanted to continue trusting her.

Empty eyes and cold, hard metal against her throat.

She growled and stood up so abruptly that her chair nearly toppled. Enough distractions – there was work to be done, locations to find, and criminals to catch. If she couldn’t banish the thief from her mind, then she’d just push him to the side to deal with later. The fox went back to her corkboard, pretending that there was a detail there she hadn’t already scoured ten times over.

It didn’t work.

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Records were kept in the building’s basement.

Inspector Fox made her way down there the very next day, moving with a purpose she didn’t actually feel after another wasted day of not finding a lead on the Panda King. She had told herself that having a physical copy of information to study would be more stimulating than staring at a computer screen any longer, and she kept that thought firmly in mind as she plucked King’s file from the appropriate cabinet and then made a beeline for another.

Down an aisle or two, she found the cabinet with the “C” listing, and from there it was short work to find Clockwerk’s remarkably thin folder. The fox pulled it out, started to close the drawer, then stopped. Considered.

There was no point trying to be sneaky when there were cameras mounted everywhere. Even so, Carmelita couldn't help glancing both ways down the aisle to make sure she was alone as her hand slid past "Cl" and into "Co".

Cooper, Conner.

She pulled the file out carefully, afraid to spill its contents. It was far heftier than Clockwerk’s, she noticed – and then wondered why she was comparing them. They had nothing to do with each other. There was no connection between the Fiendish Five and the master thief.

Except for one young raccoon who wouldn’t stop plaguing her.

It felt like she was stealing something priceless as the fox hurried back to her office with Cooper’s folder tucked under her arm, hidden from sight under Clockwerk’s. The moment her door was shut safely behind her, she rushed to her desk to flip through it.

Page after page of Cooper’s countless heists, robberies, and suspected crimes were laid out before her. The man was a legend in his time with barely more than a glimpse caught of him by the many detectives who had chased him for nearly twenty years. They hadn’t even been certain that the male raccoon found in the massacre of that couple in the U.S. had actually been him until his DNA came back a match from one of his earliest heists. It was the first time they’d ever seen his face.

Carmelita let out a quiet noise as she found the police report on Conner’s death. She had studied it as well as the criminal himself during her time at the academy, but it had been a required subject that had only delved into his criminal escapades. His murder had been a footnote at best, and there had certainly never any mention of him having children.

She slipped her reading glasses onto her face and began looking.

At 8:36 PM local time, a police dispatch had received a call about a domestic disturbance. Two officers had arrived at the scene ten minutes later and discovered the bodies of Conner Cooper and his presumed-spouse, Charlotte James-Cooper. Charlotte had been found in the dining room with three bullet wounds across her body. Conner had been found in the living room with severe chest trauma.

Manner of death: Homicide Perpetrators: Unknown

There were pictures tucked under the page. Carmelita pulled them out – and immediately regretted it. She had never actually seen the photos of the infamous scene, and even though she was no stranger to the often-graphic aftermath of crime, these were…particularly brutal.

“Severe chest trauma” was an understatement. The man had had his chest ripped open from sternum to hip. She’d have those images stuck in her head for weeks.

Swallowing hard, the inspector put them back and started skimming through the rest of the documents. Autopsy reports, police and witness accounts, press conference transcripts – but nothing about a child found or rescued or even reported. No mention of relatives or other known family that had been contacted after death, either.

That last one had been unlikely, anyway. The only attachments the master thief had ever been known to have were his fellow Cooper gang members, and one of them had turned himself in as soon as news of the murders had been made public. Briefly, Carmelita considered the idea of interviewing Jim McSweeney to find out if he knew of any other Cooper relatives, then nixed it immediately. She highly doubted that Conner, secretive and cautious as he was famous for, would have let his fellow criminals near any potential children he might have had.

Not to mention, the walrus had no affiliation with the Fiendish Five. Barkley would want to know why she was pursuing a completely unrelated case when her hands were already full with this one, and she didn’t want him asking questions she didn’t know – or want – to answer.

Not until she had a better understanding of just how Cooper’s supposed son had started working for one of the most notorious criminal gangs of the last century, barely out of his teens.

More photos of the crime scene, thankfully with less violent imagery. The fox thumbed through them one by one, noting the ransacked rooms and particularly the open wall safe in the living room, so reminiscent of the state of Muggshot’s office way back when. It wasn’t anything more than a coincidence – certainly not enough to prove a connection between the bulldog or his associates with Conner Cooper’s death. Honestly, there wasn’t even really proof that Sly was who he’d said he was. Doppelgangers had popped up for years after the master thief’s death; a tribute by some criminals who had admired Cooper, and an attempt to ride the infamy of his name by others. He could have simply lied about his heritage to get into the Five’s good graces and happened to have enough talent to back it up until he no longer could.

Maybe that was why he had suddenly wanted to get out.

Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t even be sure that the cane Sly had used was the real deal. It had felt like the real deal when it had been looped around her neck, but it could have easily been custom-made. Nothing to suggest it was actually Conner Cooper’s original cane, despite the thing still being missing to this day.

Something caught her eye in the wide shot of the living room. Carmelita squinted at the photo, noticing for the first time that there were several broken picture frames littered about the floor. The details were too tiny to make out, but the shapes in them picked at the detective instincts in her mind.

She started flipping through the rest of the photos, grateful for the evidence team’s thoroughness when she found one that showed a close-up of those frames and the contents within them. Most were, bizarrely enough, pictures of previous Coopers who had also been famous for their thieving exploits – Tennessee Kid Cooper and Thaddeus Winslow Cooper III were two she immediately recognized, among others.

But they weren’t the ones that had grabbed her attention. That belonged to a single photo that must have been ripped off the wall incredibly violently, because its frame was broken and there was a huge, jagged crack in the glass right down the middle. Even then, she could still make out what that picture was.

Conner Cooper on the left, his wife on the right. Both were cut off above the shoulders because they were not the focus of the image. The focus of the image was a grinning child holding a balloon between them who barely even reached their hips in height.

Even ten years younger, she’d recognize Sly’s face anywhere.

Carmelita fell back in her chair, clutching this photo of a photo that held the proof she had been looking for. There had been a child. Cooper had had a child, and it had been Sly. What had happened to him after the homicide? How had he started working with one of the most infamous criminal syndicates of the modern age without first making a name for himself elsewhere?

And why wasn’t there a mention of his existence in any of these reports? Surely, a new descendant of the Cooper line would have been a very big deal regardless of whether he had survived the massacre that claimed the rest of his family.

She stared at that picture for a long time, mind whirring as she tried to make sense of it all. Something wasn’t quite adding up no matter what angle she tried, and it was frustrating her that she didn’t have anything else to go on. If she just had a little more information, she’d be able to piece it all together. She was sure of that.

The inspector glanced at the door. Then she glanced up at her corkboard, littered with sticky notes and pins and question marks about the two remaining Fiendish Five. She found herself wishing her partner was with her to help find them, then immediately banished the thought from her head. He hadn’t been helping her at all. He’d been playing her. He’d probably known where every single one of them had been and was just stringing her along to make her feel like she’d figured things out herself.

Well, she could figure those things out all by herself from now on. She didn’t need him anymore or ever again.

But maybe a quick detour to solve a smaller mystery first wouldn’t hurt.

Armed with Conner’s file, Carmelita left her office and walked with purpose across the hall and down a floor, where most of the employees stationed here were more office workers than actual investigators. There was one person she was looking for in particular, one she’d never sought out of her own free will before, and it took a minute to find his name on his office door.

She gave three rapid knocks.

“Come in!”

And entered immediately with no further fanfare.

“Winthorp, is this all there is in the Conner Cooper case?”

The otter looked up from his laptop just in time to watch her lay the heavy file on his desk. He opened his mouth as if to greet her, then saw the no-nonsense look on her face and seemed to realize she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Instead, he glanced back down at the case.

“Which part of it?”

She opened it to the section about the master thief’s death, swiping a photo of the destroyed living room and waving it in front of his snout. “This part. The homicide and robbery. Were there ever any other reports or notes made about it beyond what’s here?”

“Uh…” The poor man was clearly struggling to catch up. He scanned what was in front of him as quickly as he could, but Carmelita still fought the urge to cross her arms or tap her foot in impatience. “I can check. Give me just a few minutes.”

He began typing rapidly at his keyboard while the fox waited with bated breath. She almost hoped he didn’t find anything new; that the revelation she found herself on the cusp of wasn’t truly there.

“Looking into a few cold cases, huh? That’s a great idea! I’ve heard a lot of detectives say it helps them break out of the slump they’re struggling with in their main cases – not that you’re in a slump, ma’am! I’d never say that, absolutely not…”

Carmelita was so caught up in her own thoughts that it took her far too long to realize he was talking. She shifted her weight and finally did fold her arms, more out of awkwardness than anything else.

“Yeah, I, um…needed a break from the Fiendish Five case for a bit.”

“Oh, I completely understand!” He chirped, very clearly not understanding at all while he obliviously typed away. “It must be awful having to go after such horrible people. I’ve been reading up on them lately – not for, uh, any particular reason – and just hearing about the terrible crimes they’ve committed was enough to make my stomach turn. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever – huh.”

His awed rambling cut off in a distinct noise of confusion, breaking her out of her rising exasperation. The fox zeroed in on the pinched, bemused expression suddenly on his face.

“What? Did you find something?”

“…Yes?” Winthorp answered tentatively. “Or…I guess, no? I’m not really sure.”

Frowning, she walked around his desk so that she could see what had him so stumped. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; in fact, it looked like the exact same information that was in the physical file.

“Walk me through what you’re seeing,” she said, knowing that he would fill in the blanks she couldn’t even find.

“Well, I noticed when I first pulled up the report that the Interpol officer assigned to the case was Francine Pennington. She retired a few years ago, but she was a really amazing detective when she was here for like, twenty years.”

“I know; she tutored a class I once had about the importance of detailed record-keeping.”

“Okay! So then, you probably know how she liked to make her own personal entries about every case she was assigned to, regardless of whether she solved it or not.”

Carmelita didn’t actually know that, but she didn’t question it. If there was anyone in the entire department who could recognize the difference in paperwork between individual officers, it was Winthorp. The guy practically lived in Records.

“I can see here that every time she encountered Conner Cooper or reported a successful heist he did, she left an additional side report – usually rehashing what she’d already formally said but with her personal thoughts and questions as well.”

“She added her own case notes to the official records?”

“Pretty much! Since she was usually the only detective assigned to the cases she worked on, it probably left an easy way to pick things back up whenever she returned to them.”

“As fascinating as this is, Winthorp, I’d really like to know where you’re going with it.”

“Her personal report about the night of Conner Cooper’s death is missing.”

That pulled the inspector up short. “What do you mean? She just didn’t write one?”

“I mean that it’s completely gone.” He gestured to some small detail on his screen that she couldn’t decipher. “It used to be in our system, I can see the submission date for it along with everything else right here, but it’s just…not there anymore.”

“Was it moved? Deleted?”

The otter bit his lip and began pecking at his keyboard. His frown grew more and more pronounced until finally he leaned back with a sigh and a shake of his head. “I don’t know. Whoever messed with it knew how to cover their tracks. I’m not a tech guy, unfortunately.”

Someone had tampered with Interpol evidence. The weight of that knowledge hung heavily in the air between them. Carmelita restlessly drummed her fingers against the Clockwerk case file she was still holding, disturbed and struggling to make sense of it.

Was Sly mentioned in that report? She wondered. Did he find a way to have it erased to make it easier to move around the world unnoticed?

“Could you do me a favor, Winthorp?” She asked. “Do you think you could find that missing report for me, or at least see if there’s a copy of it? I’m, um, really curious as to why it’s disappeared.”

“You and me both,” he replied in a surprisingly candid mutter. “I’ll see what I can do, Inspector. If I do find it, what’s the best way to contact you?”

The fox hesitated, then decided that the pros outweighed the cons. “I’ll give you my number.”

To his credit, he didn’t get weird about it – although it might’ve just been because his snout was practically touching his computer screen with how absorbed in this new conundrum he was. “Thanks. I’ll let you know as soon as I find it.”

“…Sounds good.”

As soon as she left Winthorp’s office with Conner Cooper’s file back in her arms, Carmelita looked up and down the hall before slowly pulling out her phone. She opened her contacts and scrolled down until a recent, damning name stared back at her.

She’d saved Sly’s number after the first time he’d finally called her, right before everything had gone to shit. It had burned in the back of her mind for two weeks, but she hadn’t dared do anything with it. She couldn’t; she didn’t know how or have the equipment to track a phone, and asking someone who did would only lead to questions that she was still afraid to answer. But she hadn’t deleted it, either, for reasons she knew were there but didn’t dare think about.

He'd probably ditched his phone at the Isle of Wrath, anyway. All she was setting herself up for was more devastation.

But she didn’t delete the number. Instead, she pocketed her cellphone and started walking almost aimlessly as her thoughts whirled over everything she had just learned.

So caught up in her thoughts, the fox turned a corner and nearly ran right into Inspector Barkley. He raised an eyebrow at the no-doubt haggard look on her face, but something more pressing seemed to be on his mind.

“Oh, there you are. I was just looking for you.”

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“No, but we’re about to let Raleigh have his phone call. I thought maybe you’d like to witness it in person in case it gives a new clue to your case.”

She subconsciously tucked the Cooper file a little closer under her arm even though its title wasn’t visible. “I definitely want to be there. Is it happening right now?”

“Just about. We’ll have to hurry if you don’t want to watch a video recording later.”

They wasted no time returning to the interrogation room, where another officer could be seen through the one-way mirror letting Raleigh know that his call could be recorded or traced. The frog looked just as bored as ever, but Carmelita could see the way his fingers tapped impatiently against each other, the only tell to his eagerness.

She leaned up as close to the glass as she dared, watching every minute detail in the criminal’s body language as he was finally handed a cellphone. He turned it over in his hands for a moment, studying it, and then proceeded to dial a number so quickly that she couldn’t even catch the area code.

He put the phone up to his ear and waited.

The call had been set up to play in the adjacent room so that the observing officers could hear everything that was said on either end of the line. Both fox and badger waited with bated breath as it began to ring.

After almost half a minute, just when they thought there’d be no answer, someone finally picked up. There was no greeting from the other side; not a single sound could be heard at all.

Raleigh was not unnerved by this. He cleared his throat loudly, staring directly at the one-way mirror as though he knew exactly where Carmelita was hiding behind it.

“He’s all yours.”

Then he promptly hung up and laid the cellphone on the table.

No one moved at first, collectively confused at the cryptic message and such a short interaction for someone who had been demanding a call for two weeks. Raleigh kept his eyes locked on the mirror, gaze leering and knowing, and the inspector resisted the irrational urge to retreat from the window.

“That was…anticlimactic,” Barkley muttered next to her, sounding just as baffled as she felt. “Did that phrase mean anything to you?”

She shook her head, unable to turn away from the machinist’s piercing eyes.

“Hmm. Alright, well, I suppose you’re dismissed?”

It was a rare moment for her boss to be so perturbed, but she didn’t find any hilarity to it. With a final nod in his direction, almost afraid to turn her back to the other room, Carmelita pressed the Cooper case file close to her chest and began trudging back towards her office, turning the bizarre scenario over and over in her mind.

You’re missing something. C’mon, Inspector, it’s all right there in plain sight. I know you can put it all together.

The voice in her head sounded infuriatingly like Sly, which derailed her inner deliberating and scattered all potential connections to the wind. Suddenly angry at him for dominating her thoughts, again, and at herself for letting it happen, again, the fox stomped back to her office, slammed the door closed, and practically flung the case files onto her desk before whirling on her stupid corkboard.

Sly’s voice mocked her for being a terrible detective as she tore down every pin, every flag, and every interconnecting red string in a blind rage. Every time she was about to put the pieces together, every time she was close to making a breakthrough, he just had to worm his way back into her brain and destroy her progress. She was just – so – sick of it!

Her fingers curled around an entire cluster of pins stuck into the east side of China, venomously ripping them out and throwing them to the ground in pure, furious spite. It left a large empty space of map in its wake, revealing cities and marked landmarks that had been buried for weeks. Carmelita reached forward, ready to tear out another handful, when two words jumped out at her.

Kunlun Mountains.

The inspector froze, staring at that name.

“I lived in Kunlun as a kid for a while.”

Something clicked into place for the first time since she’d had her heart ripped out in Wales, and the fox let out a bitter laugh. Of course, he was still leading her on. Of course, he’d found a way to subtly push her towards his next planned destination. Even in the aftermath of his panic, he’d been trying to manipulate her into doing what he wanted.

Whether it was true that the raccoon had actually grown up in Kunlun didn’t matter; what mattered now was that she finally, finally had a lead on her next target, and she was going to run it into the ground until she had her criminal.

And whether that criminal was the Panda King or Sly Cooper didn’t matter. A criminal was a criminal, and she was going to show no mercy.

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A/N: Art was commissioned by the ever lovely @saikonohero! I'll reblog the standalone as well.

I know it's a day late from what I promised but I was very tired last night and I'd rather delay a chapter to ensure its quality than churn out a sleep-deprived mess.

The conspiracy deepens! Carmelita would normally be able to put the pieces together, but she's been dealing with heart-break and guilt so strong that it's been messing with her thinking process a little too much. Hopefully she's not coming off as incompetent, because that's definitely not my intention.

Thanks for reading, and see y'all in a month!

#sly cooper #carmelita fox #fanfiction #the lines we cross